No Crying on the Yacht
There is a running joke in my house right now that there is “no crying allowed on the yacht.” The yacht, of course, is a 1992 pontoon, which feels important to clarify because I do not need anyone picturing me drifting around on some massive luxury boat wearing linen and pretending I have life figured out. That is not the vibe. I live a real life. Real kids, snacks, chaos, horses breaking out of fences, sheep screaming at me, and our boat fits in perfectly: something that usually needs a little fixing before the next ride.
But still, the phrase has stuck with me.
It is ridiculous, which is probably why I love it. It is also weirdly true. Not because life does not give us reasons to cry. It absolutely does. Business does too. Entrepreneurship, motherhood, marriage, money, faith, leadership, responsibility, all of it has stretched me in ways I did not see coming. There have been plenty of seasons where I have cried, questioned everything, prayed desperate prayers, wondered if I was strong enough, and tried to make sense of things that did not feel fair or clear or easy.
But at some point, you learn that you can cry and still keep going. You can be disappointed and still be called. You can have a hard season and still be building something beautiful. You can sit inside a life you once prayed for and still have moments where you feel tired, uncertain, overwhelmed, or humbled by the weight of it.
That, to me, is one of the most honest things about entrepreneurship. It gives you freedom, yes, but it also gives you a front row seat to your own becoming.
Learning How to Fail Well
If I had to choose one piece of personal advice for entrepreneurs, it would not be about finding a niche, creating content, building a funnel, or scaling an offer, even though all of those things matter. It would be this: learn how to fail really, really well.
Learn how to be misunderstood without letting it make you bitter. Learn how to be undervalued without letting it convince you that you are not valuable. Learn how to launch something that does not land and still have the courage to try again. Learn how to pivot when the market shifts, when the timing is off, when the thing you thought would work suddenly does not, or when the door you were counting on closes.
Because business will humble you. People will be rude sometimes. People will underestimate you. Sometimes people will love what you are building, and sometimes it will feel like you are speaking into the void. Sometimes the first try will fall flat. Sometimes the second try will be the thing that opens everything up. Sometimes it will take three, four, or ten tries before you realize what God was teaching you in the process.
I used to think failure meant something was wrong. Wrong strategy. Wrong timing. Wrong offer. Wrong me. I do not think that anymore. I think failure is often where the deeper work happens. It is where your motives get tested. It is where your identity gets separated from your output and you find out whether you only wanted the result, or whether you are actually willing to become the kind of person who can carry the result.
That has been one of the biggest lessons of my life.
The Woman Behind the Business
Not a perfect version. I am not perfect now, and I was definitely not perfect when I started. But a steadier, more grounded person. A woman who could be disappointed without letting disappointment become her identity, who could be rejected without spiraling into “maybe I am not enough.” A woman who could build, lead, mother, love, surrender, and keep showing up even when things felt heavier than expected.
When I look back over the years, I can see so clearly that the greatest work God has done in my life was not really in my business. The business may be the thing people can see from the outside. They can see the clients, the revenue, the acquisition, the opportunities, the stages, the partnerships, the title, the posts, and the wins. But that was never the whole story. The real story was what God was doing in me while all of that was happening.
He was teaching me patience when I wanted immediate results. He was teaching me faith when I wanted certainty and how to surrender when I wanted control. He was teaching me humility when I wanted to prove myself and that my worth was never supposed to be tied to revenue, recognition, performance, titles, approval, or applause.
Motherhood, Grace, and Becoming
Motherhood, especially, has revealed parts of me that business never could. There is nothing like raising children to show you your own heart in real time. It reveals your patience and your impatience. Your softness and your selfishness. Your capacity for love and your desperate need for grace. It has made me more tender, more aware, more prayerful, and more committed to building a life that does not require me to constantly choose between being present for my children and pursuing the work I feel called to do.
That is another part of this conversation that matters to me.
I did not become an entrepreneur because I wanted to work less. I do not think most serious entrepreneurs do. In many ways, entrepreneurship asks more of you than a traditional job ever will. It asks you to make decisions without guarantees and to sell your ideas before anyone else believes in them. It asks you to be responsible for your own momentum and to hold uncertainty and still act. It asks you to be creative, disciplined, resilient, and honest with yourself in ways that can be deeply uncomfortable.
But I did become an entrepreneur because I wanted my life to feel more like mine.
Building a Life, Not Just a Business
The average person gets about 674,000 hours on earth. A huge portion of those hours will be spent sleeping. Another huge portion will be spent working, commuting, getting ready for work, thinking about work, worrying about work, recovering from work, or dreading Monday. And listen, this is not an anti-work statement. I believe work matters. Money obviously matters, like a lot. Responsibility matters. Providing for your family matters. Contributing to the world matters. There is dignity in work, and there is purpose in using your gifts well.
But at some point, I realized I did not want my actual life to exist only in the margins between obligations.
I did not want to give the best of my energy to survival and then hand whatever scraps were left to my family, my faith, my home, my health, and myself. I did not want to build a life where everything I loved had to fit around everything I was required to do. I wanted work and life to coexist instead of constantly competing for the same exhausted version of me.
Entrepreneurship gave me that. Not perfectly and definitely not instantly or without sacrifice. But it gave me the ability to design. It gave me the ability to ask, “What kind of life are we actually building here?” It gave me the ability to make choices around my family, my values, my energy, and my calling instead of blindly accepting that the only way to succeed was to stay on a path that was quietly costing me too much.
The Kind of Freedom That Actually Matters
That kind of freedom is not always glamorous. Sometimes it looks like taking calls from the car. Sometimes it looks like working after bedtime. Sometimes it looks like building something during nap schedules, school pickups, sports practices, sick days, and seasons where nobody in the house can find their shoes. Sometimes it looks like faith and grit and a very messy kitchen. Sometimes it looks like crying for a minute, but of course, not on the yacht, wiping your face, and doing the next thing.
But it is still freedom.
It is the freedom to build a business around your life instead of building your life around someone else’s business that does not love you back. It is the freedom to be present for the moments that matter. To take the trip, answer the call, sit outside with your kids, pray in the middle of the day, change direction when something is not working, and create something that reflects who you are instead of constantly trying to become who a workplace, an industry, or someone else’s expectations told you to be.
And that freedom has been worth every hard day it took to get here.
Let God Work on You While You Build
Waiting is never a punishment, and maybe that is the real lesson.
Roll with the punches, yes. Learn how to fail well, absolutely. Pivot when you need to. Try again when something does not work. Let people misunderstand you without handing them the pen to your story. Build the thing even when it feels slow. Keep going when the market changes, when the offer flops, when the answer is not yet, when the season is stretching you, and when you are tempted to believe that a hard chapter means the whole story is falling apart.
But also let God work on you while you build.
Let Him shape the person behind the business. Let Him steady your hands, soften your heart, strengthen your faith, correct your motives, deepen your patience, and remind you that your worth was never up for negotiation in the first place.
Because the goal is not just to get the business you prayed for. The goal is to become the person who can carry it with grace.
Steady Enough for What Comes Next
So if this season feels messy, I hope you do not automatically assume that means you are off track. You might be getting stretched. You might be getting prepared. You might be learning how to fail without quitting, wait without losing faith, and build without losing yourself.
And one day, you may look back and realize this was not the season where everything fell apart. It was the season where you became steady enough to hold what came next.
Until then, roll with the punches.
Keep your faith bigger than your fear.
Let the hard days teach you without letting them define you.








