I guess I used to think accountability was just mumbling sorry and hoping no one digs too deep. Turns out it is nothing like that. It is like standing at the edge of a hole you dug yourself and feeling your heart in your throat as you realise how deep you’ve fallen.
When Glasgow Wonka fell apart I could have blamed deadlines or partners who walked away. But the real damage was inside me—my rush to get things done, my stubborn pride that shut out every warning. Admitting that felt like cleaning out a cellar full of rotten board games and empty boxes—awkward, disgusting, and impossible to ignore. I had to poke around until I found the stench, and then own it.
Saying sorry once was useless. I had to face the people I’d let down—friends who stood by me, investors who believed I had their back, a whole city that saw my name in lights and then in flames. I had to stop hiding behind bad luck or timing. I stayed in Glasgow, even when every fibre of me wanted to catch the next train out, because running away would have been a lie.
Guilt left alone turns into something sharp and poisonous. It sneaks up on you when you try to sleep or when you laugh at something stupid on TV. But if you turn that guilt into something—learning to listen, slowing down, actually fixing what you broke—it shifts. You feel the weight lift, just a little, enough to breathe again.
Every day now I’m reminding myself to do it right, not easy. Sometimes I still slip—I catch myself talking over someone or cutting a corner. But those moments are smaller now, because I’ve built habits that stick. I write the ugly thoughts down in a notebook I hide under my bed. I call the people I hurt and ask if there is anything I can do, even when I know they might not pick up.
My past is still out there in comments and articles. Sometimes it stares back at me in the mirror. But I’m trying to use it as fuel instead of chains. That is the real transformation—making every mistake pay for itself by teaching me, shaping me. It is messy, it is clumsy, and often it hurts. But at least it is real. And for once, real feels enough.