It Was A Labour of Love

It was a labour of love.

Not for the industry, nor for the clients, and not even for the employees. I certainly did not do it for money, and definitely not for visibility. I am not known to be sentimental and probably lean more towards the detached, but I did it for love. And now I am closing it, still for love, just a different kind.

As an only child, I grew up with what often felt like a quiet noose around my neck: “One day this business will be yours.” There are only so many ways one can jokingly say, “No, thank you.” Yet, as a dutiful daughter, I showed up for my father. The truth, however, is that the idea of eventually carrying the responsibility of owning a business in an industry that never truly interested me filled me with dread.

My earliest memories of the agency were from childhood, sitting on leather sofas shrouded in cigarette smoke while my father furiously hammered away on his typewriter. Years later, in my mid teens, I spent a summer idolising the office administrator, a woman of extraordinary poise and elegance. I remember thinking, “This woman is actually the one in charge here.” After completing my first degree and needing to fund my postgraduate studies, I found myself behind that same reception desk. From there, and out of sheer under stimulation, I moved quickly through the ranks, finance, client handling, office management, HR. But, unlike a traditional career path, I did not replace responsibilities, I accumulated them. The role eventually resembled what would normally be a 60 hour working week spread across multiple positions.

Joining the agency as a professional, however, was not easy. I cannot honestly say I ever felt that I fully belonged. In the beginning, a few senior colleagues treated me with suspicion, later, some with open and unfiltered resentment. I learned very early that because of who I was, I would never enjoy the simple privilege of easy collegiality or friendship at work. I would always be seen as someone’s daughter, and not in a way that made things easier. And yet, among the many people who passed through our doors over the years, I was fortunate to build a handful of lasting relationships. Those connections were grounded in shared humour, mutual respect, and a stubbornly strong work ethic. They mattered more than most will ever know.

Working in a family business with a parent, at least in my experience, means learning very quickly that the rules are different for you. You are expected to work harder than everyone else, receive less praise than anyone else, and perform well, but never so well that you appear to outshine the generation before you. You must shine, but never too brightly. Being young, energetic, and eager to improve things does not always earn the respect one might hope for from more senior colleagues. And eventually, when you become the most senior person in the room, you discover that the younger generation may question you in much the same way.

My role also differed from that of my male counterpart, who enjoyed open praise and easy partnership with my father. I cannot say I was envious, but it did surprise me. In hindsight, it was likely one of my earliest encounters with gender differentiation. As much as I loved my father, to say he was sexist would not be an exaggeration. Our realities were simply not the same. I had to carefully manage both familial and professional relationships simultaneously, while he could simply enjoy the job. Eventually, that dynamic shifted.

Between navigating a complicated family dynamic and gradually stepping into greater responsibility within the business, I often found myself occupying the parental role long before I should have. And the truth is, that space can be profoundly lonely. Middle management in a family business often feels like standing between worlds, carrying responsibility from above while absorbing pressure from below. Senior management and ownership, I later discovered, are hardly less isolating, with the added burden of a constant, quiet worry that never quite leaves you.

Many people I have spoken to about this transition say, often in a sympathetic tone, “That must have been a very difficult decision.” I almost feel callous replying, “No. Deciding to close was the easy part.” The truth is that the grieving had already happened over many years. My partner and I had long mourned the sacrifices we made in order to honour our family obligations: keeping people employed, keeping the business strong, swallowing pride with certain clients, and exercising restraint with some employees when responding in kind might have felt far more satisfying. At times it felt like absorbing blow after blow and simply standing my ground. For as long as my father was alive, I carried it.

So, when the moment came, the decision itself was clear. Convincing my partner, on the other hand, took a few years, but one should never underestimate a determined woman. I took full ownership of TBWA\ANG some fifteen years ago. My father had already been battling cancer for some time and wanted the reassurance that the agency, should he take a sudden turn for the worse, would be in safe hands. I still remember how my hand shook as I signed the paperwork. It felt as though a weighted blanket had dropped over my shoulders.

One principle my father and I both held firmly was the care of our employees. Ensuring there was always money for salaries, pay rises, equipment, and career development was never negotiable. Just as important was creating an environment where people felt safe, valued, and genuinely supported. Signing those papers meant I was legally responsible for the livelihood and wellbeing of all those people, and I took that responsibility very seriously. In the years that followed, my father fought cancer four or five times. Eventually, in 2021, we lost him to COVID. I held his hand through every chemotherapy session, every operation, every doctor’s appointment. I held his hand again in his final days as he slipped slowly into a coma.

And although it may sound abrupt, I knew the moment I walked out of Mater Dei that the chapter of the business had ended for me. I promised myself I would not act impulsively, but the truth is that when I gain clarity, I rarely change direction. My obligation had always been to my father. Once that purpose was fulfilled, the weight of continuing felt unnecessary.

In the years that followed I waited patiently, though often feeling as though I was sinking beneath the combined weight of grief, responsibility, and a loneliness that leadership rarely allows you to voice. Owning a business often requires you to be the bigger person, again and again, while witnessing behaviour that can be shockingly vulgar or ignorant. And still, you remain composed, truth be told, hardly my strong point. Bert, my partner, joined me for the last two years. I suspect he hoped that sharing the responsibility might somehow soften my determination to close the business. It did not.

It is therefore with great relief, and genuine joy, that I announce that TBWA\ANG will close its doors to clients at the end of March 2026 and will gradually be liquidated in the months that follow. Before closing this chapter, it is essential that I thank the people who helped us reach the remarkable age of fifty eight.

Josephine, who inspired me more than she will ever know. Noelene, whose kindness and elegance always left an impression. Jeff, for more than thirty years of remarkable highs and equally remarkable lows. Paul and Roberta Giorgio, whose support never wavered and with whom I always enjoy the best laughs. Dr Kris Borg, who has guided me throughout my professional life and whose wisdom I respect deeply. Dr Georg Sapiano, who has been of great support in the years since my father passed away.

Desi, a loyal friend and colleague to whom I owe much of my professional sanity. Richard, a true gentleman and the most brilliant creative mind I ever had the pleasure of working with. Leanne, a true gem and kindred spirit.

To some of our clients, particularly Tiziana and Ianina, who exemplified class and kindness. To Mr Daniel Magrin and Mr Kenneth Farrugia for the professionalism and seamless working relationships we shared. I would also like to thank Mr Melo Hili, who taught me everything I know about ticking the integrity box.

And finally, my deepest thanks go to my husband Bert. This truly was a shared labour of love and you invested as much heart and energy into TBWA\ANG as I did.

The promise has been honoured. With that, this chapter comes to a close, and the love that sustained it will now find its way into projects that truly inspire us and the remarkable people behind them.

Sincerely,

Julianne Grima

M.A. (Lond.); B.Psy.

P.G. Dip. Gestalt Supervision; P.G. Dip. Gestalt Psych.

ADHD Life Coach (iACT)

Psychotherapist and Clinical Supervisor

Executive Chairperson Victim Support Malta

Victim Support Europe Board Member

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