For a long time, I thought there would come a point where life would feel balanced.
A season where the business was running smoothly, the children needed less from me, my schedule felt under control and everything finally sat neatly in its place.
I spent years believing that version of life was somewhere ahead of me.
What I’ve realised instead is that balance was never a destination. It was something that shifted constantly depending on what was needed most in that moment.
When I became a mother in my early twenties, my life looked very different to what I had imagined it would. Most of the people around me were still figuring out who they wanted to become, while I was learning how to care for two small humans who depended on me for everything.
At the time, I didn’t see it as something that would shape my career. They felt like two completely separate parts of my life. There was motherhood, and there was work.
Looking back now, I don’t think they were ever separate at all.
Some of the most important things I’ve learned about leadership, responsibility, patience and resilience came long before I ever had a leadership title attached to my name.
Children have a way of stripping life back to what matters.
They don’t care about your job title. They don’t care about how many clients you’ve won. They don’t care whether you’ve had a good quarter or a bad one. They need dinner. They need help with homework. They need someone to listen to a story they’ve already told you three times. They need you to show up.
And unlike business, where many problems can wait until tomorrow, parenting often happens in real time.
One of the biggest misconceptions I hear is that successful people somehow manage everything perfectly.
I have never found that to be true.
There were years where I felt like I was constantly moving between responsibilities, trying to be present in one place while thinking about another. I would be sitting in a meeting thinking about the children. Then later I would be with the children thinking about work.
For a long time I felt guilty about that.
Guilty when work demanded more attention. Guilty when family came first. Guilty when I felt exhausted. Guilty when I felt ambitious. Guilty when I wanted both.
It took me a long time to realise that much of that guilt came from believing I was supposed to choose one identity over the other.
As if being a committed mother somehow conflicted with being an ambitious entrepreneur. As if wanting a meaningful career meant I cared less about my children. As if success could only exist in one area at a time.
The older I’ve become, the less I believe those stories.
Some of my strongest memories aren’t the milestones people would expect. I don’t remember every contract. I don’t remember every award. I don’t remember every revenue target that was achieved.
What I remember are the ordinary moments that happened in between.
School drop-offs. Late-night conversations. Sitting on the sidelines of sport. Helping with assignments. The random stories children tell when they feel comfortable enough to say whatever comes into their minds.
At the same time, I remember building businesses.
I remember the uncertainty. The long hours. The decisions that carried real consequences. The pressure of knowing that employees and clients were relying on me to make the right call.
For years I thought those two worlds were competing with each other. Now I think they were quietly supporting each other all along.
Motherhood made me more patient. More resilient. More adaptable. More aware that every person carries challenges you can’t see.
Business made me more confident.
More independent. More willing to take risks. More determined to create opportunities that didn’t exist before.
Each role strengthened the other in ways I couldn’t recognise at the time.
When my children were younger, I often worried about whether they would remember the times I was busy.
What I understand now is that children notice far more than schedules.
They notice consistency. They notice love. They notice whether you’re present when it matters. They notice how you treat people. They notice how you respond when life becomes difficult. Perhaps more importantly, they notice what you model. Whether you pursue things that matter to you. Whether you keep going when something is hard. Whether you build a life that reflects your values rather than simply talking about them.
The reality of building businesses while raising children is that it rarely looks the way people imagine from the outside.
There are missed flights and forgotten lunches. There are school events squeezed between meetings. There are days where everything runs smoothly and days where absolutely nothing does.
There are moments where you feel completely in control and moments where you wonder if everyone else has somehow figured something out that you haven’t.
Most of the time, you’re simply doing your best with the information, energy and resources you have available that day. And maybe that’s what I’ve come to appreciate most.
The goal was never perfection.
It was never creating a life where every responsibility received equal attention at every moment. It was about building something meaningful while remaining connected to the people who matter most.
Years from now, I doubt my children will remember every detail of the businesses I built. I also doubt I’ll remember every challenge that seemed so important in the moment. What I hope remains are the things that sit underneath both.
The conversations. The memories. The values. The example.
Because when I look back on this chapter of my life, I don’t see motherhood and entrepreneurship as two separate stories.
I see one story.
A life spent building things that mattered to me, while raising two people who mattered even more.