I Lied to My Clients.
There. I said it. Let’s get that out of the way before we go any further.
I looked them in the eye virtually and otherwise and promised them media coverage in top-tier outlets, brand visibility that would make them household names, and a return on investment that would make their accountants weep with joy. All for the low, low price of… practically nothing.
It was the biggest lie I ever told. Not because I couldn’t deliver great work, but because I was charging $1,000 for what should have been a $10,000 retainer. I was selling magic beans and praying a beanstalk would grow, all while funding the “agricultural research” out of my own empty pockets.
I was a “help-aholic.” My addiction was your bargain. And it was bankrupting me in every way imaginable.
Let’s pull back the curtain on the s**t-show, shall we? Picture me, a supposedly savvy PR maven, juggling maxed-out credit cards to fund client campaigns I’d undercharged for. I was draining my savings to maintain the illusion of success for clients paying less than my monthly car note. Meanwhile, the actual cost of running a real agency was a five-alarm fire in my bank account:
* An OTT app, burning $35,040 a month.
* Cision and other PR tech, siphoning another $12,850 a year.
* And staffing? Don’t even get me started on the beautiful, soul-crushing labyrinth of worker’s comp, state taxes, and federal taxes. I need a triple espresso and a therapy session just typing that sentence.
I had an inability to let my “no” be my “no.” When clients bartered, I folded. I had an unrealistic, almost pathological need to help, even if it meant I couldn’t afford to help myself. I was funding their dreams by setting my own on fire.
A word to the wise: Don’t do it. This isn’t humility; it’s self-sabotage. It doesn’t make you a good person; it makes you a soon-to-be-former business owner. It ruins your reputation, as clients assume the lack of results is your incompetence, not the reality that they bought a Kia budget and expected a Ferrari outcome.
This unsustainable charade was my rock bottom. And it led to a 22-month deep dive into research, case studies, and raw consumer psychology.
For the skeptics: yes, I have the receipts an undergrad in Psychology from Marquette University, a double major in Communications, a degree in Human Services, and a deep dive into social welfare and justice.
Then, life, in its infinite cruelty, decided to really test the foundation. In the midst of this business implosion, I lost my mother, my grandmother, my uncle, and recently, my little brother. I grieved failed businesses, so-called friends, and my own shattered identity. With the resilience woven into my DNA by my ancestors and let’s be clear, with God’s will as the only logical explanation I didn’t become a statistic. I could have been a prime candidate for suicide, depression, or addiction.
But I am Tam. And I was built to last.
So, let’s get to the meat of why you’re here. The pain birthed a purpose. The failure forged a formula.
I’ve cracked the code.
I’ve completed the “Code Breaker” series, and today, I’m releasing the first workbook. It’s not based on theory; it’s built on bedrock research, current events, and brutal feedback from corporate event planners and A-List keynote speakers. This first release, “It’s a Vibe: The Speaking Industry,” is your blueprint.
This is for you if you’re ready to stop lying to yourself and start building something real, profitable, and powerful.
If not, no worries. Wait for the next book. But something tells me you’re as ready for a change as I was.
“The discomfort I’m feeling is not evidence that I’m doing it wrong. It’s evidence that I’m doing something NEW. Old patterns die hard. New frequencies require cultivation. I am coachable. I am committed. I am becoming inevitable.”
