Before I Was Ready

Nothing is set in stone. Everything is a gamble.

Things don’t always arrive on time. And more often than not, the moment doesn’t come wrapped in clarity. Sometimes, it’s chaos that knocks. And you open the door anyway.

I didn’t have a perfect plan. There was no blueprint. No masterstroke of confidence. No road paved with guarantees. There was just a quiet ache inside me that said, “This isn’t it. Build something better.”

And so I did.

Not because I was ready. But because I couldn’t not.

I used to think you waited until you had it all figured out. Now I know you move when the call comes, even if you don’t know where it’s taking you.

Founding a business isn’t just logistics and strategy. It’s a kind of alchemy — pain and vision, frustration and fire. It’s deciding you’re done being angry at systems you can’t change, and putting your money, your mind, your time where your mouth is.

It’s pressure and power. A burden and a privilege. A dare to bet on yourself when the odds are still forming.

Especially when you’re a woman — and not a narcissist — the stakes feel personal. You’re building and bleeding and holding it all together, not because it’s glamorous, but because something in you can’t let it go.

The cost? Sleep, mainly. But also presence. The carefree kind that lets holidays just be holidays. The mental bandwidth to say, “I don’t know,” without guilt. You lose that. You become the one who must know. The anchor, the answer, the blueprint, the pulse.

But there’s gain, too. Real gain. The kind that reveals you to yourself in new dimensions. The kind that rearranges your limits. The kind that makes you understand the value of your own mind.

I’ve learned to climb the ladder even when I can’t see the top. To take risks that don’t always pay in money, but always pay in knowledge. I’ve learned the kind of hard work that matters isn’t about exhaustion. It’s about direction.

I’ve learned that “busy” doesn’t mean “effective.” That nourishing work — the kind that moves the dial — is smarter than burning out for the sake of looking like you care.

I’ve learned to recalibrate. To course-correct. To ask better questions. To lean on people who think differently than me — because they fill in the blanks I didn’t know I had.

I’ve had to shed ego. Release procrastination. Stop waiting for permission. And most of all, stop thinking I need to know it all.

I’ve learned that mistakes aren’t the end. They’re part of the road. And if you’re willing to keep walking — to keep rebuilding — you realise the real asset was never certainty. It was you.

And maybe that’s what founding really is.
Not the performance of certainty —
but the discipline of showing up with what you do know
and building the rest in motion.

The world wants clean answers.
A perfect timeline.
Proof that you’re qualified before you begin.
But sometimes life doesn’t offer you a polished door.
Sometimes it’s a crack in the wall
and a voice inside you saying,
“Go.”

I didn’t know everything.
But I knew myself.
And now I know even more.

Because the process of building something from nothing
forces you to become someone new —
someone who’s not waiting for clarity to begin,
but willing to create it.

So no, I didn’t start when I was ready.
But I started when I was called.
And that made all the difference.