Anyone who has started a business can tell you, they are a lot like babies. In the beginning, they are simple but they occupy your mind and heart (and hands) most of the time. You stay up at night with them. They need you to survive. You give your all and hope you have enough to keep them alive.
I remember starting our company. I was 31, bright eyed and full of ideas and dreams. I had no idea how any of it worked. How do companies find investors and raise money? How do you build a product and get a nice shiny box for it and sell it on the shelf at Target or Amazon? How do you launch an app and build a user base? How do you get your website top listed on Google? How do you get the FDA to approve something and make those official looking labels?
It was exciting. Like watching a baby's first steps, every milestone was a first for us and for the company. Our first prototype, our first blog post, our first pitch, our first FDA clearance. We did crazy things to make it work -- drive across half the country and sneak in the back door of a trade show floor to save money. Stay up all night running a marathon experiment.
Slowly, with every milestone, our start-up started to grow. We got employees, investors, a board and eventually hired a CEO and other management to help run the company. Like dropping your kid off at kindergarten for the first time, you wonder if these strangers are going to take care of your baby.
I worried.
They did things differently then I would have and I had to ask myself, is this just me being over-protective or is this something I need to stand up for. They knew what they were doing most of the time, but they didn't know or love my baby like I did and I winced a little every time the company fell down or faced growing pains.
I wrestled with this growth. It was a spiritual journey for me to let go. Of course, the minute it needed me, I was right there doing what I could. But sometimes, there were somethings I couldn't help with and it hurt. I also had to accept that people need to own the work to invest themselves in it and sometimes I had to take a humble road, serve in the lower ways and step out of the limelight. This, was hardest of all.
Now, I've come to a new peace. I fully accepted that the company is just about ready to go off to college. No more diapers or hand holding. My baby is all grown up. I'm not done working there but I am no longer integral to its survival in this world. And that gives me back a part of myself that I need to redefine. I've changed and grown and learned so much over the past 9 years. I am not the same woman who jumped off that cliff all those years ago.
So, who am I now? and where does my path go from here?
Part of this Lent journey is exploring this question and listening for the wind to blow.
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