I Thought Freelancing Would Save Me After Motherhood. I Was Wrong.
Before I got pregnant with my first child, I was a marketing manager in the corporate world—and I loved it.
It was intense, demanding, and exhilarating. I traveled the world, advanced quickly in my career, and built a diverse skill set. As a single woman and then as a newly married one, the lifestyle worked. More than that, it energized me. I was ambitious, capable, and fully immersed in my work.
But even then, I knew one thing with certainty: once I had children, I wouldn’t want to work full-time in a corporate role.
I never wanted to be forced to choose between being a present mother and being good at my job. So when I became pregnant, I assumed part-time work would be the perfect compromise—a way to keep my career while making space for motherhood.
I was wrong.
The Day I Realized I Couldn’t Go Back
When my son was 7 months old, I returned to work for a “keeping in touch” day. On paper, it was just a gentle reintroduction. In reality, it was a shock.
That single day reminded me of my old life: the fast pace, the pressure, the expectation to give everything I had. And I realized that to do that job well—at the standard I expected of myself—I couldn’t hold anything back.
At the end of the day, I sat in my boss’s office and cried. I told her I couldn’t come back.
I wasn’t just leaving a job. I was mourning the end of my identity as a young, free, high-flying corporate professional. I knew that version of my life wasn’t compatible with having a baby, and letting it go was far more painful than I expected.
Choosing Freelance—and the Illusion of Flexibility
After months of deliberation and dreaming, I decided to go freelance. I was excited. Working for myself would allow me to create the balance I craved.
The plan was simple: I’d be fully present with my son when he was awake and work while he slept.
The reality was anything but simple.
I was exhausted—bone-deep, relentless exhaustion from sleepless nights and the steep learning curve of new motherhood. I adored my son more than I had ever imagined, and every moment away from him pulled at my heart.
From that depleted state, I tried to build a business.
I hadn’t fully grasped how much work self-employment actually involves. Beyond client work, there were countless non-billable hours—admin, sales, finances, systems. Unlike corporate life, there was no team behind me. Everything was on me.
Unwilling to put my son in daycare and hoping to save money, I tried to work with him around most of the time, relying on my mom or sister for a few hours a week.
I was on a hamster wheel from the moment I woke up—working as if I didn’t have a child and parenting as if I didn’t have a job.
The standards I set for myself as both a mother and a business owner were impossible. Burnout wasn’t a possibility; it was inevitable.
When Determination Turns Destructive
Only 20 months after my first son was born, I had my second.
I kept going.
My second child never took a bottle, so I often breastfed him on one side while working on my laptop on the other. I was determined—almost obsessed—with proving that I could do it all and do it perfectly.
Part of me wanted to prove people wrong. To show that I could be a completely present mother and an exceptionally successful business owner.
Instead, my mental health collapsed. My physical health deteriorated. My marriage suffered. I was exhausted, resentful, and utterly depleted.
This wasn’t what I thought freelancing would be like. And it definitely wasn’t what I wanted motherhood to feel like.
Self-employment is often portrayed as the “easier” path for new mothers. For me, it wasn’t easier—it was unsustainable.
Rebuilding With Support
Something had to change.
I went back to the drawing board and asked myself a hard question: What do I actually need to thrive?
The answer wasn’t more grit or better time management. It was support.
I joined a marketing franchise that allowed me to keep doing the work I loved, while giving me access to back-office systems and a team. I no longer had to carry everything alone.
For the first time in years, I could breathe.
The Advice I’d Give My Younger Self
If I could go back in time, I would tell myself this:
You can’t do it all—and you shouldn’t try.
As a mother, I can’t put myself last. When I do, everything eventually suffers: my health, my relationships, my family, and my work.
A sustainable life doesn’t come from doing more. It comes from building systems, boundaries, and support that allow you to show up whole.
Burnout doesn’t make you stronger. It just makes you tired.
And no success—professional or personal—is worth losing yourself in the process.