I just dropped my daughter off at school, and I'm sitting in my car in the parking lot because I'm not ready to drive away yet.
She bounced out of the car this morning like she owns the world—backpack bigger than her tiny body, singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star..." and wondering whether her best friend brought the good snacks today. She's confident now, secure, excited about her day.
But watching her skip toward those school doors, I'm transported back to that first week. Oh God, that first week.
The Hardest Walk of My Life
Do you remember your child's first day of school? Not the Pinterest-perfect version with the cute sign and the forced smile—the real version. The one that felt like someone was slowly tearing your heart out of your chest while you smiled and waved like everything was fine.
For two years, it had been just us. Two years of her tiny hand in mine, two years of being each other's whole world while I worked from home and cared for my parents. Two years of never being apart for more than a few hours, of her falling asleep on my chest while I typed emails, of us existing in this beautiful, inseparable bubble.
And then suddenly, the world said it was time to let go.
I can still see it in slow motion—her teacher gently taking her hand while my baby screamed "MOMMY!" with a desperation that made my knees buckle. I can still feel the weight of each step as I walked away, trying to be brave, trying to trust that this was right, trying not to turn around and scoop her up and run.
The slow walk to my car felt like a funeral march. And when I finally made it to my driver's seat, I sobbed into my steering wheel until my chest ached.
Because here's the truth nobody talks about: I didn't understand either. I didn't understand why we had to be separated. I didn't understand why loving my child so much and wanting to be with her felt like something I had to apologize for.
The Guilt That Follows Us Everywhere
We live in a world that tells mothers we should want to "get back to ourselves," that we should be grateful for a break, that we should embrace our independence. And maybe some mothers do feel that way—and that's beautiful for them.
But what about those of us who genuinely love being with our children? What about those of us who would choose their company over almost anyone else's? What about those of us who feel like we're missing the most important job in the world when we're at our "real" jobs?
The guilt is suffocating. Guilt for wanting to be with her when everyone says I should want space. Guilt for working when I want to be home. Guilt for not being grateful enough for the opportunity to work. Guilt for feeling sad about daycare when other parents seem thrilled.
Guilt for wanting wealth—not because I'm greedy, but because I'm desperate for freedom.
What Wealth Really Means
When I say I want to be wealthy, people assume I want designer handbags and luxury vacations. They think I want to show off or live some Instagram-perfect life.
But let me tell you what wealth really means to me:
Wealth means never having to watch my daughter cry "Mommy!" while I walk away because bills demand I be somewhere else.
Wealth means being able to stay home when I'm sick instead of dragging myself to work because I can't afford to lose a day's pay.
Wealth means walking through the grocery store and choosing organic strawberries without calculating whether I have enough left over for gas.
Wealth means being able to buy that beautiful shirt on ItsTechNicole (yes, shameless plug for my own creative work) without feeling guilty about treating myself to something that makes me feel beautiful.
Wealth means having the freedom to say yes to my daughter's field trip without checking my bank account first.
Wealth means being able to choose presence over productivity, love over logistics, connection over obligation.
That's it. That's what I want. Not millions of dollars or a mansion or a fancy car. I want the freedom to choose my family first without financial anxiety breathing down my neck every single day.
The Working Mother's Impossible Choice
We're told we can have it all, but what they don't tell you is that "having it all" often feels like being torn in half. Half of you at work, wishing you were home. Half of you at home, worried about work. Never fully present anywhere because your heart is always split.
I love my work. I love creating, designing, writing, building something meaningful. But I also love being my daughter's mother more than I've ever loved anything in my life. And the world seems to think these two loves can't coexist, that I have to choose, that wanting both makes me selfish or unrealistic.
But what if it doesn't have to be either/or? What if wealth—real wealth—is the bridge between these two parts of my heart?
The Freedom to Choose Love
Last week, my daughter had a fever. Not a high one, not an emergency, just one of those low-grade fevers that makes kids clingy and sleepy. She wanted to cuddle, wanted me to read to her, wanted me to just be present.
And I had to choose: Stay home and lose a day's pay (and probably hear about it from my boss), or send her to daycare and spend the entire day distracted, worried, feeling like the worst mother in the world.
I stayed home. But the anxiety about money, about work, about letting people down—it followed me all day, stealing pieces of those precious moments with my sick baby.
That's when I realized: This isn't about being lazy or entitled. This is about being able to choose love without financial punishment. This is about creating a life where caring for my child doesn't come at the cost of caring for our future.
Building Wealth to Build Freedom
So yes, I want to be wealthy. I want my blog to succeed, my creative work to flourish, my voice to reach people who need to hear it. I want to build something sustainable and meaningful that allows me to provide for my daughter while being present for her.
I want to create multiple streams of income so that if one fails, we don't fall. I want to save enough money that emergencies don't become catastrophes. I want to invest in our future so that she has choices I never had.
But most of all, I want to show her that it's possible to build a life around love instead of building love around life's demands.
The Mornings That Are Coming
I know there will be mornings—maybe sooner than I think—when my daughter won't want to cuddle before school, when she'll be too cool for my hugs, when she'll roll her eyes at my attempts to hold onto these moments.
But I also know there will be mornings when she's older and calls me just to talk, when she brings her own children to visit, when she tells me that her favorite childhood memories were of the times we got to just be together.
And on those mornings, I want to be available. I want to be present. I want to be free to say yes to love without counting the cost.
What Freedom Looks Like
Freedom isn't about never working. It's about working on purpose, with intention, toward something that matters.
Freedom isn't about having endless money. It's about having enough that money doesn't make your choices for you.
Freedom isn't about perfection. It's about having options when life gets messy—and life always gets messy.
For me, freedom looks like being able to pick my daughter up from school every day if I want to. Freedom looks like taking a sick day without panic. Freedom looks like buying organic food without guilt. Freedom looks like investing in my creative work without fear.
Freedom looks like building wealth not for what it can buy, but for what it can't be sold: time, presence, peace of mind, and the ability to choose love first.
The Drive Home 🚗
The parking lot is almost empty now. The morning rush of parents dropping off their precious cargo has ended, and we've all scattered back to our various obligations—some excited, some resigned, some heartbroken.
But this morning, I'm not driving to a job I hate. I'm driving home to work on something I love, something that might just be the bridge between who I am as a mother and who I am as a woman with dreams and ambitions and bills to pay.
I'm driving toward a future where dropping my daughter off at school feels like a choice instead of a necessity, where I can pick her up early just because I miss her, where wealth means having the freedom to love her the way my heart wants to.
And maybe—just maybe—I'm driving toward a day when other mothers won't have to choose between their children and their survival, when building wealth becomes about building freedom, when loving our kids completely doesn't have to come with guilt or apology.
That's the world I'm working toward. That's the wealth I'm building.
One day, one choice, one brave step at a time.
Your Definition of Wealth 💰
So tell me, beautiful soul: What does wealth really mean to you? Not the world's definition, not what you think you should want—but what your heart actually longs for?
Is it the freedom to travel? The ability to help others? The security of knowing you'll be okay? The choice to work less and live more?
Whatever it is, you're allowed to want it. You're allowed to work toward it. You're allowed to define wealth on your own terms.
Because maybe the real revolution isn't about rejecting wealth—maybe it's about redefining it. Maybe it's about building lives where love and abundance can coexist, where caring for our families doesn't come at the cost of caring for ourselves.
What would you choose if money wasn't a factor? Start there. Build toward that. You deserve the freedom to love without limits.
If this resonated with your heart, I'd love to hear your own definition of true wealth in the comments below. Let's rewrite the narrative together—one honest conversation at a time.
And if you're building your own version of freedom, join my newsletter where I share the real, unfiltered journey of creating wealth that serves love, not the other way around. Because sometimes we all need reminding that our dreams aren't too big—our fear is just too loud.✨
💬 What does wealth really mean to you?
Drop your truth in the comments—I read every one. Let’s shift the story together.
And if you read all this and thought, “Dang, Sis deserves a soft life,”you’re absolutely right! You can fund my freedom directly via [Here] — because generational wealth doesn’t build itself, but I sure am trying.
Look, freedom ain’t free — but your tip could help me get one step closer to picking my daughter up early just because I miss her. Venmo is open, Cash App is ready, and my gratitude is real. 💕💸😂
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