Some mornings, I wake up before the sun with this fire in my belly and my brain racing with ideas.
Not because I have to—but because I get to.
Before the boys are up and the chaos kicks in, I crack open my Mountain Dew, open my laptop, and slip into that quiet creative zone that feels like home. The house is still. The only sound is the hum of my thoughts coming to life. And for those few precious hours, I’m not “just” the mom, the maid, or the referee. I’m a builder. A dream-chaser. A woman putting bricks down on a legacy that lights her up.
That time before the world wakes up? It’s sacred. It reminds me I’m still me. Not just who they need me to be—but who I was created to be. A creator. A storyteller. A big-picture visionary who somehow finds space to dream big even in the middle of a small, loud house. That quiet moment when the coffee is still hot and the sky is still dark? It feels like God whispering, “You’re still in there.”
And the best part? I don’t resent the noise that comes after. I love that my kids get to see me love my work. I love that they wake up to a mama who’s already been lit up by her purpose. It sets the tone for the day. It’s not hustle. It’s harmony. It’s showing them that building something meaningful doesn’t have to come after motherhood. It can happen within it.
This rhythm isn’t always easy—but it’s powerful. And it’s mine. I built it with intention. With fire. With flexibility. Because I’m not just trying to raise good kids—I’m trying to build a life I don’t need a break from. One small moment, one early morning, one creative burst at a time.
This is what they don’t tell you about working from home with kids:
You won’t always feel balanced.
You won’t always feel productive.
Some days it’ll feel like you’re spinning in 17 directions, holding a dream in one hand and a dirty dish in the other. But if you’re clear on why you’re doing it? You’ll always come back to the work.
There are mornings I sit down and enter that sweet, unstoppable flow where the words pour out, the vision gets clearer, and I feel like I could build an empire before lunch. And then there are the days where nothing “productive” gets done. Days where I forget what I was even working on. Days where the only boxes I check are snacks passed out, boo-boos kissed, and hearts held close.
And both days? They matter.
Both days build something.
Because this isn’t just about results—it’s about rhythm. It’s about allowing yourself to ebb and flow with your life, not against it. It’s about trusting that the detour is sometimes the very assignment. That stepping outside to chase bubbles or calm a meltdown or have a long heart talk with your 10-year-old isn’t a distraction—it’s holy work too.
When you’re building a business that honors your season, your sanity, and your soul—it won’t always look clean. It won’t always look like the planner said it should. But it will always call you home. Because you’re not just building an income. You’re building a life. And every moment—every mess, every milestone, every “we’ll try again tomorrow”—is part of it.
Our rhythm isn’t perfect, but it works.
We stick to routines as much as we can.
Not rigid ones. Not military schedules that fall apart at the first tantrum. But rhythms that hold us—softly. Like breakfast together before we go our separate ways for a while. Like a midday reset with music and snacks. Like evening wind-downs that don’t always go to plan, but always bring us back to each other.
We carve out time for play, mess, and rest.
Because those things matter. More than we were taught. Sometimes, building a dream looks like turning the dining room into a craft zone and letting go of the cleanup pressure. Sometimes it means stepping away from the screen because your 5-year-old just asked if he could help make dinner. Sometimes it means napping when they nap—even if there’s a to-do list screaming your name.
We build businesses and blanket forts in the same living room.
The same space that holds Zoom calls and Canva mockups also holds LEGO cities and mid-morning meltdowns. And somehow, it works. Not because it’s perfect—but because we’re present.
And at the end of the day, when the house is finally quiet and the Legos have stopped crunching underfoot, I find myself dreaming even louder. Not because I’m chasing hustle, but because I believe in what I’m building. Because every moment I get to create something from scratch—something that supports my family, lights up my soul, and helps another woman feel less alone—I’m reminded…
This isn’t just work. It’s a calling.
Some days I want to burn it all down.
Let’s be real: it’s hard.
Not just the kind of hard that leaves dishes in the sink and laundry in the dryer for the third day in a row. The kind of hard that lives in your mind.
Being a creator means the ideas never stop. You’re folding towels while thinking about a new blog post. You’re cooking dinner while mentally rearranging your sales page. You’re responding to a child’s meltdown while silently scripting your next reel.
There are 37 tabs open in your brain at all times—and just when you check one off, five more appear.
You wonder if you’re doing enough.
If you’re falling behind.
If all this effort and energy and emotional investment is even working.
If you’re crazy for chasing a dream while still kissing scraped knees and finding shoes before baseball practice.
But I believe this is the way.
This is the path that doesn’t always look shiny or glamorous, but makes perfect sense to my soul.
The path where I’m allowed to build slowly. To work during nap time, think during school work, and create when the house is finally quiet again.
The path where I get to raise these wild, beautiful boys and rise into the woman I know I’m becoming.
It won’t be clean. It won’t be easy.
But I get to try. I get to pivot. I get to fail and rise and do it all again tomorrow—because this is my dream.
And I’m willing to build it one crack of daylight, one nap time hustle, one whispered prayer at a time.
If you’re building something that no one else understands… keep going.
You don’t have to choose between motherhood and meaning.
You don’t have to pick between your babies and your calling.
You were never meant to sacrifice one for the other.
You don’t have to wait until the house is clean, the laundry’s folded, or the timing finally feels right.
(If you do, you might be waiting forever.)
You just have to keep showing up.
In the cracks between chaos.
In the margins of your day.
In the sacred moments that are yours—and only yours.
Some of my best ideas have come with a toddler on my lap and spaghetti boiling over on the stove.
Some of my biggest breakthroughs happened after 10pm with tears in my eyes and worship music playing in the background.
Some of my proudest moments came after I almost gave up.
I’m building a dream with dishes in the sink, noise in the background, and faith in my heart.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything—because this is legacy work.
This is what it means to rise and raise.
This is proof that purpose can grow even in the messiest soil.
You’re not behind, friend.
You’re in the thick of something beautiful.
➡️ Want a behind-the-scenes look at how I’m building this dream life in the middle of motherhood chaos?
Follow The Gathered Kind—where real-life meets revival, where dreams are built between laundry loads, and where moms like us remember how powerful we truly are.
I share the mess, the mission, the breakthroughs, and the belly laughs—because we weren’t meant to do this alone.
Let’s rise together, build boldly, and create a life that feels like home.
Come join the movement. Your seat is already saved.
Leave a comment