When a Client Leaves

I've been on the fence about writing about this topic. However, I know a few people in our industry read these posts, and if it helps someone navigate a difficult moment in their career, it's worth sharing.

What do you do when a client ends your working relationship?

Trust me, it will happen.

If you've been freelancing, consulting, or running a business long enough, sooner or later you'll receive a phone call or email that begins with some version of, "We've decided to go in a different direction."

Hopefully, it isn't because of something that damaged the relationship—a missed deadline, poor communication, or an unfortunate interaction. Most of the time, it's nobody's fault at all.

Companies change priorities. They hire someone internally. Leadership changes. Marketing directors move on. New decision-makers bring in people they've worked with before. All of those things happen every day.

I try to share personal stories in these posts because if I'm going to write about a topic, I should be willing to talk about how I've experienced it myself.

Very early after founding my company, a friend called and asked me to help with a project. The videographer who had filmed a series of videos for her client had unexpectedly backed out of the editing process, and the client was expecting finished videos within days.

Fortunately, I had some availability and was able to step in.

The client loved the work. At the end of the project, I sent the standard message we all send:

"If there's ever anything I can help you with in the future, please let me know."

A few weeks later, their marketing director reached out and asked if we could discuss another project. I was excited. What they wanted, however, wasn't what I expected.

They needed graphic design support.

At the time, I knew enough graphic design to get by. I wasn't an expert, but I was confident I could deliver what they needed. Then came the surprising part: they wanted to hire me on a yearly retainer.

For those unfamiliar with retainers, it's a simple arrangement. The client pays a set amount each month in exchange for reserving a certain amount of your time. In my case, they reserved twenty hours each month for their design needs.

For a young business owner, it felt incredible.

I knew I had dependable monthly revenue. There were even months when they didn't use all of their allotted hours, yet the payment still arrived. The consistency provided stability during a period when every invoice mattered.

Even better, they were wonderful people to work with.

The marketing director was organized, professional, and incredibly detailed. Most of the time, her project briefs answered every question before I could ask it.

After the first year, they renewed the agreement. Then, halfway through the second year, they asked if I would also be interested in handling video production work under a similar arrangement.

I couldn't believe it.

Just two years into self-employment, I was supporting a major company with both design and video production. It felt like one of those moments that validates all the risks you've taken.

Then November arrived.

The marketing director called and told me she had accepted a position with another company.

She invited me to meet with her supervisor before she left. Her hope was that an introduction might help continue our relationship after her departure.

The gesture was incredibly thoughtful.

Unfortunately, the meeting didn't go particularly well. Nobody was rude. Nobody was hostile. It simply felt clear that the decision would ultimately belong to whoever stepped into the role next.

A short time later, I received the call.

"We've decided to go with a different vendor. Thank you for everything you've done."

If you're wondering what happened, the answer is simple.

The new marketing director brought in a vendor they had worked with previously.

And honestly, I understand it.

People like working with people they trust. Loyalty matters. If I were in their shoes, I might have made the same decision.

That understanding doesn't make it hurt any less.

Losing a client means losing revenue. It means losing a relationship you've invested in. Sometimes it can leave you scrambling to fill a gap in your schedule.

So what do you do?

First, don't act immaturely.

I thanked them for the opportunity. I told them how much I enjoyed supporting their work. I let them know I would always be available if they needed help in the future.

There is no value in being rude, bitter, or unprofessional.

You never know when a door might reopen. More importantly, you never know who knows whom.

Burning bridges can be career suicide.

The overwhelming majority of my work comes from referrals. I am fortunate to have clients who recommend me to others, and the reason I'm still in business nearly a decade later is because of those relationships.

In fact, some of my strongest advocates are people I no longer work with regularly.

That means a lot to me.

Even this week, a former client recommended me for a project I'll be working on next month.

That's the lesson.

A client ending a contract doesn't have to mean the relationship is over.

Sometimes people leave organizations. Sometimes budgets change. Sometimes another vendor gets the work. Those things are part of doing business.

What remains is your reputation.

Protect it.

Losing a client can sting for a lot of reasons. Allow yourself a moment to feel the disappointment. Then get back to work.

Tomorrow the sun will rise, and you have no idea what the tide will bring in.

I'd love to take credit for that line, but I borrowed it from the movie Cast Away.

Why Do Video Shoots Use So Much Equipment?

Whenever a client or on-camera talent arrives for a video shoot, I can almost predict the first thing they'll say:

"Wow, that's a lot of equipment."

Sometimes that's where the conversation ends. Other times they'll add something like, "I feel like I'm on a movie set."

I usually smile because, from my perspective, the setup feels pretty modest. I've worked on productions with trucks full of gear, crews of dozens, and enough equipment to fill an entire room. Compared to those experiences, what I bring to most shoots feels relatively simple.

Still, I occasionally forget that for someone who doesn't work in video production, even a basic professional setup can look overwhelming.

The amount of equipment we use depends entirely on what we're filming. A single person speaking directly to the camera requires a very different setup than interviewing multiple people outdoors in broad daylight. Every project has unique requirements.

That said, there are a few essentials you'll almost always find on set: a camera, tripod, microphone, lighting equipment, batteries, memory cards, and enough cables to make you wonder if we're building a television studio.

Speaking of microphones, let me climb onto a soapbox for a moment.

If you want to make a video professional lose their mind, record without proper audio.

I've been seeing this more frequently lately. People invest in cameras, lenses, and editing software, then completely overlook sound. Viewers will forgive less-than-perfect visuals far more quickly than they will forgive poor audio. If your audience can't clearly hear what's being said, you've already lost them.

The other thing that surprises people is how much lighting is involved.

One of the biggest misconceptions about cameras is that they see light the same way our eyes do. They don't.

I could spend several paragraphs discussing aperture, sensor sizes, and exposure, but I'll spare you the technical lecture. The simple reality is that cameras need significantly more light than most people realize. What appears bright and comfortable to your eyes can look dark, flat, and lifeless through a camera lens.

That's why professional productions often use multiple lights.

A standard interview setup usually starts with three-point lighting: a key light to illuminate the subject, a fill light to soften shadows, and a back light to separate the subject from the background. If the background itself needs enhancement, additional lights may be added there as well.

Recently, I photographed professional headshots for a client. The participants were surprised by the amount of lighting involved. Looking at the finished photos, you'd never know. They looked like clean, straightforward corporate portraits.

That's actually the point.

Good lighting isn't supposed to draw attention to itself. It's supposed to look natural.

Those headshots required four lights to achieve a result that appeared simple and effortless.

And that's true of many things in our profession.

The more experience you gain, the more your work appears effortless to the viewer.

I'm not sharing this to brag about equipment or technical knowledge. What I hope people understand is that there is a tremendous amount of craft behind professional video production. There are skills that take years to develop—understanding composition, lighting, audio, storytelling, camera movement, color, and editing.

In today's world, it's easy to hear phrases like "We'll fix it in post" or assume that artificial intelligence can solve every production challenge. Technology is incredibly helpful, but it doesn't replace expertise.

I've always preferred the philosophy of getting it right in-camera.

That mindset comes from an era when filmmakers worked with far fewer opportunities to correct mistakes after production. Even though today's tools allow us to repair many problems later, I've never understood why you'd intentionally create more work for yourself.

The best footage is footage that already looks great when it's captured.

If you're hiring a video professional, pay attention to their work samples. Look beyond flashy editing and ask yourself whether the footage itself looks strong. Are the subjects well lit? Is the composition intentional? Is the audio clean? Those details reveal a great deal about a creator's skill.

And if you're a budding video professional, invest time in learning the fundamentals. Learn composition. Learn lighting. Learn lenses. Learn audio. Master the craft before relying on software to save you.

And for heaven's sake, use a microphone.