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On a cold night in late October, I was sobbing hysterically in the Seventh Generation subterranean parking garage in Burlington, Vermont. The tears alone were surprising. Crying has never been a go-to emotional response for me. And I’d certainly never shed a single tear over anything work-related. But this was not an ordinary night.

Minutes before, the Seventh Generation board of directors had adjourned. To say the meeting had not gone well would be a monstrous understatement. It had been a hotbutton session of heated debate, and I was overwhelmed by the fear that the company I had fought so hard for was about to get seriously burned. The trouble had been brewing for almost a year, and it all started when I made a deal with a benign devil.

After nearly twenty years of environmental trials and corporate tribulations, I was burned out. The daily grind of keeping a challenging business afloat had finally taken a toll I couldn’t ignore. I needed to step back from my all-consuming, over-active role as Seventh Generation’s Co-CEO lest my last surviving nerve fray beyond repair.