I didn’t leave teaching with a five-year plan. I left because I couldn’t stay.
I had been an elementary school teacher for a decade, and somewhere around year eight, I started feeling the burnout creep in. I loved the kids, but the system, the demands, the exhaustion… It was too much. I knew I wanted more, even if I wasn’t totally sure what that meant yet. I had a side hustle in travel consulting and writing, and when my husband had an opportunity to work abroad for a few months, I took that as my sign. I left before contract renewal and flew off to Europe with our little family and a gut feeling that something new was coming.
When we came back, I still didn’t know what that “something” was. But I’m not the type of person who can sit still. So I published a travel planning book. I explored digital marketing. I took a certification course. And I started working toward a new goal: to become a project manager on a marketing team at a tech company. It felt like a smart pivot. It was creative, structured, and still people-focused.
Then I got pregnant.
And suddenly, the momentum stopped. I put everything on hold. My business, my book, my new ambition. My husband and I had already agreed that I’d stay home until our daughter reached kindergarten, and I thought I’d use that time to keep learning and growing on the side.
But motherhood took me by storm.
All of my motivation for anything outside of parenting disappeared. I wasn’t writing. I wasn’t building. I was managing nap schedules and snack rotations and learning how to be the mom I wanted to be. It felt all-consuming. The kind of perfectionism I had always carried into my work came roaring back, but this time, it was about doing motherhood “right.”
For a few years, I poured everything into my daughter. And for a while, that felt like enough. Until it didn’t.
When she was four, I volunteered for the marketing role at her cooperative preschool, which parents help run. The next year, I joined the board as the director of marketing. I created structure, strategy, and systems. I treated it like a real job, because for me, it was a lifeline, my first taste of myself again. I was doing something that mattered to me, even if it was still orbiting my role as a mom.
At the same time, I started lifting weights. I found power in that physical routine. It was a hobby that had nothing to do with parenting. It felt like a quiet act of self-definition. And I could feel and see myself getting stronger both physically and mentally.
When my daughter transitioned to a drop-off preschool, I finally had more space to think. I spent that year rediscovering minimalism, getting more into fitness, and (most importantly) asking the question I’d pushed aside for too long: What do I want now?
I started browsing job listings, hoping something would jump out. But everything either demanded experience I didn’t have or hours I wasn’t willing to give. I didn’t want to give up my afternoons with my daughter. I wanted to pick her up from school. I wanted to go to the gym. I didn’t want to disappear into someone else’s full-time vision.
So I asked myself what I actually liked about marketing. And the truth surprised me: I didn’t like sales. I didn’t enjoy the pressure to be constantly front-facing on social media. I didn’t want to market products I didn’t believe in.
That’s when I remembered SEO.
It had been a tiny module in my digital marketing training. Like barely ten minutes. But something about it had clicked. I knew just enough to be curious. SEO is the quiet part of marketing. It’s not about flashy ads or chasing trends. It’s about structure, strategy, and long-term growth. It’s about helping the right people find you when they need you. It felt like something I could believe in.
So I dug in.
As soon as my daughter was off at summer camps, I started studying. And the more I learned, the more everything opened up. SEO wasn’t just technical. It was psychological, creative, even empowering. It wasn’t about being loud. It was about being discoverable. It wasn’t about selling. It was about aligning.
I thought I’d just freelance a little, pick up a few gigs. But I quickly realised that if I wanted to be great at this, I needed experience with real clients. So I offered my services for free to a few small businesses in my neighborhood. Those projects led to referrals. And by the time my daughter started kindergarten, I had a steady stream of work. My first paying client is still with me, and the growth we’ve achieved together continues to remind me that I’m doing something valuable.
This fall will mark the one-year anniversary of officially registering my business.
Since then, I’ve focused on building my brand and voice in a way that feels like me, by sharing helpful content on LinkedIn, Reddit, and in Facebook groups, without being salesy or performative. I’ve had people reach out and say, “I’ve been following your posts for a while, and I’d love to work with you.” That kind of trust means everything.
More than anything, it feels good to be seen for something beyond being a mom or a wife. It feels good to have created something that’s mine and to know it’s helping people.
And the best part? I’ve noticed the impact on my daughter. She pretends to work. She plays “business.” She talks about becoming an author or making animated films. She’s starting to dream beyond what she sees in front of her.
She used to say she wanted to be a mommy when she grew up. Now she says she wants to write books and movies and be a mommy.
And I like to think that’s because she sees me doing both.
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