I used to wake up at 5:30 a.m. to my baby crying like a siren. I’d cradle him while checking emails and Slack messages, trying to stay ahead of a 7 a.m. meeting. My coffee always went cold before I remembered it.
That was my life: spreadsheets by sunrise, lullabies by night. I wasn’t thriving, just surviving—but that felt like enough.
I worked with a baby in a wrap, changed diapers between Zoom calls, and muted meetings to sing him back to sleep. Once, when someone asked, “Is that a baby crying?” I joked it was my ringtone. After that, I kept my mic off.
Before motherhood, I was the go-to person—promoted, certified, dependable. My boss once said I was the kind of employee he wished he had five of. But when I returned from maternity leave, everything shifted.
I was still committed—logging in early, working late. But the support faded. “You look tired,” a colleague said. Then came unrealistic expectations: late meetings, weekend work, no flexibility.
When I asked for reasonable notice because of childcare, I was ignored. My paycheck was late. My boss joked, “It’s not like you’re the breadwinner anymore, right?” I told him I was. Divorced.
Eventually, I was called into a meeting—with HR. They said they needed someone “without distractions.” I stood up, calm but furious. “You mean my child.” Silence confirmed it.
That night, I recorded a video: “I got fired. Not for doing a bad job—but for being a mom.” I posted it. It went viral.
Messages flooded in. “Me too.” “You spoke for all of us.” One comment changed everything: “If you ever start something, I’m in.”
I did. I launched The Naptime Agency—a place for moms to work on their terms. We built websites during nap times, held meetings with babies in our laps, and met deadlines in the chaos of motherhood.
Clients came. The agency grew. One year later, we’re 30 women strong—designers, developers, marketers—all moms, all brilliant.
They called me a distraction. But what they dismissed became our strength.
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