I built it. I’m still waiting to be paid.

What the figures don’t show

I put years of work, ideas and personal savings into businesses and brands. The loss has taken money, time, energy and confidence. Then came the work of chasing payment, gathering documents and trying to understand how an agreement became something I had to fight for.

After the Savage Cabbage dispute, I was terrified and drained. Handing over Little Fish Labs was, for me, an attempt to reduce that burden. Shroomies and Forest Floor were brands I loved. I wanted a way forward for them and repayment of the money my mum and I had put in.

Some people might think I should feel stupid for trusting people more than once. Or embarrassed to say it publicly.

I’m not embarrassed. I have questioned my decisions and replayed the conversations. I can examine my own judgement without taking responsibility for someone else’s choices.

What about the people watching?

Am I frustrated? Fuck yes.

I struggle with the silence around what happened: the gap between knowing someone is struggling and doing something useful to help. I hoped for answers, intervention and a practical way forward.

I still appear on the Little Fish Labs website. I sent Darren Dinnage a cease-and-desist notice asking for the site to be taken down. I have had no response, the site has not come down, and I have not been compensated for the continued use of my name and image. My brands have not been returned.

Then came administration

Cannim Group and Cannim Australia entered voluntary administration on 27 October 2025, with Olvera Advisors in Sydney appointed. The companies went into liquidation on 30 January 2026.

To me, it felt like the door was closing while I was still trying to recover what I was owed.

What I want to understand is where that leaves the people still waiting to be paid.

Entrepreneurship with AuDHD

In some senses, the absolute breakdown of losing my company, and with it my future financial security, led to complete and utter burnout. My doctor insisted on evaluations.

Brutal.

At a time when I wanted someone to save me, I was being told I should add another label to an already extensive list of health-related ones. A late diagnosis at 46 was, initially, a kick in the tits.

I’m learning more about how my AuDHD intersects with the way I do business. I see possibilities quickly. I invest in ideas and people. I can give an explanation more time than it deserves because I still believe there is a way forward.

I’m examining where optimism became reliance, and where I continued relying on promises when I needed evidence.

“I can acknowledge my decisions without taking responsibility for someone else’s choices.”

I also recognise what I experience as justice sensitivity: how difficult I find it to leave an unfair situation unanswered. I want an explanation. I want responsibility taken. I want the agreement honoured.

That pursuit can take up energy I need for rebuilding. These are my experiences, not a claim that everyone with ADHD trusts or responds in the same way.

My AuDHD is also why I’m good at what I do. My brain spots patterns early. It notices the thing in the corner of the room that everyone else has learned to walk around. It goes deep, fast, on problems other people find tedious. And it has never been much good at pretending something makes sense when it doesn’t.

On reflection, I’ve stopped beating myself up. I’ve forgiven myself my fixations and eccentricities. And I’m genuinely enthused for the new, therapised, medicated me to rebuild through graft and determination.

Us Northern women are made of tungsten.
Built under pressure, and not easily broken.

What I bring into the next chapter: pattern spotting, deep focus, straight talking, a builder’s instinct and a calm head when everything is happening at once. I’m building again, with more experience, sharper judgement and a clearer sense of the work I’m here to do.

Corporate silencing: the cost of speaking up

Corporate silencing is the phrase I use for how this has felt: the pressure to stay quiet when challenging a business means risking more money, more energy and your professional relationships.

For me, silence can come from exhaustion, fear of repercussions and the cost of continuing. That is the pressure I am describing.

Having evidence and being able to afford to pursue a remedy are different positions. I have retained documents and involved lawyers. I am choosing not to spend more money on further legal disputes. That choice does not make the loss disappear.

Stronger?

I’d have preferred paid.

People say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I would have preferred payment and the chance to spend those years building rather than surviving.

I’m rebuilding after significant burnout and financial loss. I am not afraid to put my experience on record. I am also deciding how much more of my life I give to it.

I cannot promise that nobody will let me down again. I can change how much work, money and trust I put at risk before someone demonstrates that they honour their commitments.

I move forward with greater discernment: clearer agreements, firmer payment boundaries and independent advice before major commitments. I’m willing to stop when actions no longer support the promises.

I still want to create, collaborate and believe in people. Trust will grow as commitments are fulfilled.

Moving forward, with love—and a statement.

Stay safe, kids x
Jade