When I look back on the last fifteen years of running a business, something stands out more than anything: it didn’t feel like a straight line. There were moments of joy, moments of doubt, moments when I wasn’t sure I’d stick with it, and moments when I realized those doubts were part of the journey, not evidence I shouldn’t be on it.
Most people think business longevity is about perfection or having all the answers. It isn’t. What keeps a business alive, especially one started by a woman, especially one balanced alongside family life, is persistence, community, and the choice to keep going when the questions feel bigger than the answers.
In the early years, you’re often just figuring it out as you go. There’s no real roadmap, just instinct, grit, and the tiny victories that make the next day easier to wake up to. You don’t have perspective yet. You’re inside the struggle.
For a long time I didn’t fully appreciate how rare it was to build something that lasts. I was just focused on moving forward. And that’s the heart of it: longevity isn’t born from planning. It’s born from doing even when you feel like you’re barely keeping up.
One of the hardest parts of building something long-term is the isolation. When you’re responsible for your own decisions, your own growth, your own team, that burden can feel like a weight no one else can see.
But here’s what’s true: it doesn’t have to be done alone. For me, finding my people — my business partner Heather, mentors, collaborators, fellow founders — transformed not just my business but also how I experience business ownership. When you have someone to reflect your wins or talk you off the ledge when you’re overwhelmed, it changes everything.
Whether it was other women founders, peers in different industries, or people two or three chapters ahead of me on this path, those connections mattered more than any business plan. They gave perspective when I couldn’t see it myself.
There’s a point in running a business, and it comes for nearly everyone, where the load shifts. You realize that doing all the things yourself isn’t sustainable. For me, the transition happened when I could finally bring someone else into the work in a way that truly lightened my mental bandwidth.
That moment when you can hand off what’s draining time without diminishing quality. That’s when the business starts to run with you, not just because of you. And that doesn’t just free your schedule, it frees your mind.
It’s the same when you start hiring professionals for functions like bookkeeping, quality assurance, or operations. Letting go of small details doesn’t diminish your leadership. It amplifies your capacity to think bigger, plan further out, and support the people you serve.
When you’re in the early days, everything feels like a cliff. When you’ve been doing it long enough, you realize the fall isn’t nearly as large as it looks from the edge. Survival isn’t some mythic achievement. It’s a series of choices: to keep going, to seek support, to adjust when something doesn’t work, to celebrate the small wins, and to trust the process.
What I’ve learned over fifteen years is that confidence doesn’t come from knowing all the answers. It comes from knowing you’ve survived uncertainty before and you can again. It comes from the community more than calculation. It comes from a willingness to keep showing up even when you aren’t sure exactly where you’re heading.
This isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s about building something that matters long enough to matter to others.
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