Can You Build a Business and Raise a Baby?

I remember the day I finally broke down. I was crying—really crying, like that ugly, snotty, deep-in-your-throat sobbing—and all I needed was a little understanding. Instead, someone told me, “You’re not the first mother who is working, running a house, and raising a child, so why are you making such a big deal out of it?” That moment cut deeper than I realized. I felt invisible and alone, like I didn’t even have the right to feel overwhelmed. Yet I’ve learned that even the strongest person in the room can reach a point where they can’t carry it all.

Before that day, I didn’t realize the full weight of being both a mother and an entrepreneur. I was just doing—surviving, adapting, keeping everything afloat without a moment to pause or reflect. When my son turned two, I surfaced long enough to see how much of myself was stretched thin. It wasn’t just the guilt or the exhaustion; it was the ongoing negotiation between work and home. It was the quiet resentment that creeps in when you’re juggling too much and trying to optimize every corner of your life. I was running on fumes, and all my life hacks—cutting out junk food, taking prebiotics, making movement a priority, going to bed early—helped physically, but they didn’t lessen the deeper mental load.

The hardest part was this invisible weight that follows you everywhere. As a mother, you coordinate the food, clothes, playdates and a long list—there’s no off switch. And even when I delegate tasks, I’m still the one ensuring nothing slips through the cracks. The same mental load took a different shape at work: I’d follow up with vendors, keep the team on track, handle deadlines, and put out all the little fires that popped up. Even when I closed my laptop, my mind was stuck on an endless to-do list.

Early on, I’d barely found time to catch my breath between diaper changes, client calls, vendor follow-ups, and pure survival mode. “Aapke maa aapko kya khilati?” is a question Indian mothers hear often, and it’s a reminder that people expect you to be in charge of every point of engagement of your child. That’s how I ended up with a two-month meal plan—waking up early to get a head start, then falling into bed exhausted at night. Yet the guilt never ended: I’d be at home, worried about work, or at a meeting, wishing I was home snuggling my child. The mental exhaustion consumed me that I allowed myself no time for anything else - every minute was for either my child or work. Suddenly, reading a newspaper or listening to a podcast felt like a luxury. My brain was drowning in micro-decisions, and I worried I’d lost my capacity for critical thought. This weighed on me, I started doubting my own intellect. 

As a psychologist, I encourage people to protect their sense of self, and here I was, letting mine slip. The brain fog was real. Sometimes, decision-making itself became infuriating—like when people asked where to keep something or which brand of diapers to buy. I realized I had to invest time in training others: explaining how I filter decisions, so they could learn to make them independently. That’s been a work in progress for me—trusting that someone else will handle details the way I would.

Meanwhile, my son started pretending to be me: a “psychologist going to the office,” wearing his backpack, waving goodbye, and announcing he’s off to see “clients” or attend a "work call". It’s hilarious and strangely comforting. It reminds me that children notice everything—our stress, our joy, our patterns. It also helped me see how important it is to build a life that mirrors my values, instead of burning out trying to prove I can do it all alone.

Eventually, a moment came when I realized I no longer needed permission or understanding from people who weren’t willing to give it. That led me to define my own non-negotiables, guided by what I really wanted. I started trusting my mother more—no one understands your instincts as a mom quite like your own mom. And I recognized that hiring an executive assistant wasn’t a sign of not being “big enough” but a step toward reclaiming my energy for what mattered most.

Of course, financial strain is real. When you have a baby, you can’t pour endless hours into your business, so you might stall or even regress a bit. It’s tough to accept, especially when you feel you should be contributing equally. But if you have clarity about why you chose entrepreneurship—because you crave the freedom, even if it comes with unpredictability—you learn to handle both the repercussions and the wins.

Postpartum adjustment is real, and being kind to yourself is crucial. Those early months are about rebuilding your physical and psychological resources. You get brain fog, lose clarity, and face exhaustion unlike anything else. The upside? You also become supremely efficient once you settle into a rhythm. A few systems and habits—like planning meals, structuring your time, and communicating your needs—go a long way in relieving the mental load. Talking to other moms helps too; you pick up advice and insights that shape your own approach.

Nothing about this is linear or perfect. Motherhood and entrepreneurship are inherently contradictory. You’re nurturing a business and a baby, and both demand attention, patience, and love in entirely different ways. If I could go back, I’d tell myself to outsource more, let myself be emotional, and quit apologizing for being overwhelmed. By letting go of the unrealistic expectation to do everything flawlessly, I discovered a renewed sense of purpose and resilience.

Two and a half years into this journey, the biggest lesson I’ve learned is that I don’t have everything figured out—and that’s okay. I’m still learning, adapting, and giving myself space to be human. We all just need to build a life that works for us, based on what we want and who we want to be. If you’re in the thick of it, juggling your own versions of motherhood and work, remember this: it’s not about having it all together; it’s about staying true to yourself and reaching out for help when you need it.

There’s more strength in that vulnerability than you might think.