Motherhood, founding, and the firestorms between
Mother’s Day was yesterday. The cards were sweet. Breakfast in bed was on-point. My kids know exactly how I like my coffee, and I got the warm, wonderful moment we hope for on that day.
But after they ran off and the quiet settled in, I found myself deep in reflection. Not just about being a mother — but about the long, chaotic stretch of time when I was becoming one while building a business from the ground up.
Those years still feel like a blur. A firestorm. A triumph. A mess.
And honestly? A miracle.
I lived through a stretch of life that I now refer to as “beautiful chaos.” And I know I’m not alone. I know there are founders out there — right now — in the thick of it. Breast pumps humming during Zoom calls. Diaper changes between pitch decks. Sleepless nights, not just from teething babies, but from payroll anxiety and the spinning question: Can I really do this?
I see you. Because I was you.
The year of 2.5x growth — and a preemie
My son arrived six weeks early. No warning. No maternity leave plan. I was running a growing agency in our most explosive year to date (we were in process of 2.5x’ing our annual revenue). Gulp. And suddenly, I was being wheeled into surgery for an emergency c-section, terrified and unprepared. When my water broke in the middle of the night, naive me who was still in denial actually thought that the hospital staff would just put me on bedrest and "keep the baby in there" until it was go-time. Ha! I reassured myself with grand plans to work from bed and stay connected remotely, (and this was in 2013, long before Zoom was a thing).
Instead, I was whisked away to surgery. And I held Bennett for the first time with cartoon-like dizzy swirls dancing over my head, in total disbelief. This. Was. Not. How. It. Was. Supposed. To. Go. But we had our boy and he was healthy and beautiful, all five pounds of him. The next thing I remember is my co-founder sitting beside my hospital bed, tying up loose ends on client work that couldn’t wait. The business was still running, and I was expected to run with it.
I don’t think I ever really slowed down after that. I jumped straight into motherhood and kept my foot on the gas. I remember interviewing job candidates from my couch during my leave, a newborn curled into my arm. Not because I was trying to prove something, but because I didn’t yet know any other way.
“What’s that noise?”
I pumped in the middle of meetings that were phone calls. On calls with executives, I’d keep a straight face while the pump buzzed in the background. Every now and then, someone would ask if I had a “bad connection.” I’d smile and carry on. There wasn’t time to explain.
That sound (the hum of a breast pump) became the background music to my work. It was part of my life, my hustle, my rhythm. I’d toggle from strategy to swaddling. From spreadsheets to story time. I had to be two people at once. All day. Every day.
The Blood Moon baby
My daughter, Rowe, came into the world with a dramatic flair. Ahead of schedule. Breech. Emergency c-section. On the night of a rare Blood Moon. And only a couple months after the departure of my co-founder, so I felt I had a lot to prove to my team and clients and an even bigger financial obligation. We had been through so much together during my pregnancy. I had an emergency appendectomy and going under general anesthesia with incisions that close to the uterus was risky. We made it. I stepped up as a new version of myself and leader with a whole team looking to me to have the answers and reassurance during a time when things were changing at warp speed. I found my footing. I toggled between managing deliverables, figuring out how to juggle 2x the number of little humans relying on me, and trying to pretend I wasn’t stitched together and barely sleeping.
Motherhood didn’t stop the business. And the business didn’t pause for motherhood.
I carried it with the help of my amazing team. And some days, it almost crushed me.
The two-week whirlwind: adopting a baby and acquiring a business
When our third child arrived via adoption, everything changed — overnight. We had just two weeks’ notice. Fourteen days to prepare our home, our hearts, and our lives for a new little person. But here’s the part I can’t shake — I knew he was coming.
A few months before we ever got the call, I had a whisper in my gut. A knowing. A nudge that grew louder by the day until it became impossible to ignore. I turned to my husband one night and said, “Our baby is out there. I just know it. It’s time.”
There was no logic to it. No formal timeline pushing us forward. Just a quiet urgency inside me that felt completely out of step with what the world would consider “reasonable.” But I listened. (If you know me well, you know this is not completely uncommon in my world). I followed that whisper. And I pushed us, hard. I told him we had to move. Now. Fast. I made us accelerate the paperwork and fly through approvals on what felt like an artificially tight deadline. He trusted me.
And then, the day our approval came through, we got the call: a family wanted to meet us. For a baby boy. In our town. His due date? Just around the corner.
Henry.
It still gives me chills. Same-day alignment. A whisper that turned into a roar. A child who was clearly meant to be ours.
And right as that miracle unfolded, I was also finalizing the acquisition of another company. One chapter of expansion and growth, and another of deep personal transformation, unfolding at the same time. I was both mothering and merging, navigating legal docs by day and lullabies by night.
I remember the mental gymnastics of those days. I’d go from meetings about how to integrate two company cultures to decorating the nursery, from onboarding a new team to calling the pediatrician, from midnight feedings to 8 a.m. leadership team meetings to check-ins with the court-appointed case manager. I was emotionally stretched, physically exhausted, and still trying to act like everything was normal.
Because that’s what we do, right? We show up. We stretch. We make it work. Even when we’re breaking a little inside. Even when we’re bone-tired and soul-full and don’t know which way is up. And that’s the paradox so many founders face in these seasons: the immense beauty and the unbearable pressure, all wrapped into the same week. Even when we’re breaking a little inside. Even when the joy and the pressure live side by side.
There was no pause button. No “wait until I’m ready.” Life and leadership collided, and I was holding both with trembling hands. I’ve never felt more cracked open — or more grateful. I get to be Henry's momma and he is meant to be my son. And now, every time I see Henry’s eyes or watch him chase his siblings around the house, I remember: trusting the whisper matters. It always does.
What I wish I had known
After my first baby, I came back to work and immediately walked into a 70-hour week — a special project that was urgent, high-stakes, and relentless. I didn’t give myself space. I didn’t let myself heal. I didn’t think I could.
Now? I look back with compassion on that younger version of myself, unable to advocate or set boundaries in the way I would now. And grief. And a quiet promise to help others do it differently.
Because this is where my work at The Roar comes in.
Building better: at work and at home
At The Roar, I work with founders to design businesses they actually want to run. Businesses that don’t demand their health, their family time, or their sanity as a down payment for growth.
Why? Because I’ve lived the alternative. I’ve built while burning out. I’ve succeeded while silently struggling. I know what it means to hit every goal and still feel like you're losing yourself in the process.
So now, I work with founders to name the life they want before we talk about revenue goals. We get clear on what they want to protect: time with their kids, Friday evenings off, a fulfilling and meaningful marriage or relationship, space for their health, their creativity, their peace.
And then? We build the business around that.
Because you can have ambition and alignment. Growth and grace. You can lead with a full heart without emptying yourself every day.
Some of the most powerful changes we make are happening for my clients in one-day decisions:
How to say no without dying inside.
Designing a schedule with margins, not mayhem.
Hiring differently, so the founder isn’t the only safety net.
Building culture that honors boundaries, rest, and real life.
Getting comfortable taking advantage of the perks of business ownership (without the guilt).
These aren’t luxuries. These are survival strategies. And for working parents? They’re lifelines.
What I know now
Now that I’ve lived the full circle — from founder with a team and systems to solopreneur mom — I can say this with confidence:
You don’t have to build your business at the expense of your life. You don’t have to prove your worth through exhaustion. You don’t have to keep pushing through “just one more season.”
There is another way. I know, because I’ve created it — and now, I get to help others do the same.
So this article is for the mothers who are building. The ones who are juggling client deadlines and daycare pickups, business strategy and bedtime stories. The ones crying in their cars between meetings and still showing up with grit and grace.
You are not alone. You are not weak. And you don’t have to keep doing it the hard way.
Yesterday was for flowers and sweet drawings and burnt toast in bed. Today is for the truth. And tomorrow? Let’s build it better, together.