Building with Mom Guilt

I’m building a business in front of my kids.

Not in a performative way. Not in a “hustle culture” way. In a real-life, lived-way—where they see what it takes to honor commitments, solve problems, and show up with consistency even when it would be easier to choose comfort.

And if I’m honest, building in front of them has required me to practice a leadership skill I used to reserve for work: holding boundaries with empathy.

What “building in front of my kids” actually looks like

In our house, it’s pretty straightforward—and often inconvenient.

After book time, I work.
I wake up early and sometimes can’t eat breakfast with them because I need to check in on client projects.
I need a quiet space in my office, and sometimes they have to entertain themselves when I’m in meetings during “odd” office hours.

If you’re a working parent (especially one building something of your own), you know this isn’t a dramatic list—it’s the reality of what it takes to run a business responsibly.

And still, there are moments it stings.

Because kids are kids. They want us. They prefer us available. They don’t always understand “later.” Sometimes they’re disappointed. Sometimes they’re angry. Sometimes they test the boundary to see if it’s real.

That’s where the emotion often shows up.

The emotion we label “mom guilt”

For a long time, I would have called that feeling mom guilt.

It’s that internal tug-of-war where your values are clear—and your nervous system reacts to your child’s disappointment like it’s an emergency that must be solved immediately.

Then I came across a framework from Dr. Becky Kennedy that stopped me in my tracks. In her conversation on Jay Shetty’s podcast, she offers a simple definition that helps separate what’s true from what’s emotionally loud:

“Guilt shows up when we act out of alignment with our values.”  

That sentence gave me language for something important: not every painful parenting feeling is guilt.

Sometimes it’s not guilt at all—it’s discomfort. It’s the deeply learned tendency (especially for women) to absorb other people’s feelings and treat them like our responsibility to fix.  

Why this matters for working parents (and leaders)?
At work, many of us have learned (sometimes the hard way) that:

• A client being disappointed doesn’t automatically mean we did something wrong.
• A team member having feelings about a decision doesn’t mean the decision lacks integrity.
• Holding a boundary isn’t unkind—it’s often the thing that makes trust possible.

Parenting isn’t identical to leadership at work, but the overlap is real.

Because in both places, your job isn’t to prevent all discomfort. Your job is to lead with clarity and steadiness.

And if I check in with my values, the choices I’m making are aligned:

• I value being dependable.
• I value building something meaningful.
• I value providing for my family.
• I value modeling grit, follow-through, and focus.

My kids won’t learn resilience because I tell them about grit. They’ll learn it because they watch me do hard things, keep promises, and regulate myself when it would be easier to cave.

“Strong and sturdy leadership” can still be loving.

One line from Dr. Becky that keeps showing up across her work is this idea of maintaining strong, sturdy leadership as a parent—without becoming cold or disconnected.  

That’s the balance I’m practicing:

Warmth without collapse
Empathy without surrender
Validation without reversing the boundary

It’s not: “You’re upset, so I’ll change the plan.”
It’s: “You’re upset, and I’m staying steady.”

Here are a few scripts that help me hold the line without minimizing my kids’ feelings:

“I know you want me. I love you. I’m going to work now, and I’ll be with you after.”
“It’s hard when you want something different. I get it. And the plan is still the plan.”
“You can feel disappointed, and I can still keep my boundary.”
“My office is quiet time. You don’t have to like it. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

These aren’t magic phrases. They don’t eliminate tears. They aren’t supposed to.

They’re for me as much as for them—because they keep me anchored in the truth: I’m allowed to have needs, responsibilities, and goals.

The leadership lesson I hope lands over time

My hope is not that my kids remember every meeting I took or every breakfast I missed.

My hope is that they internalize something deeper:

You can love people and still keep commitments.
You can feel disappointed and still be okay.
You can tolerate discomfort without making it someone else’s problem to solve.
You can build a life you’re proud of—and do it with integrity.

And maybe, years from now, they’ll recognize that what they saw wasn’t a mom “choosing work over them.”

They saw a mom leading, at home, with the same clarity and steadiness she brings everywhere else.

A note to the parent who feels this too

If you’re holding boundaries that support your family and your work—and you’re feeling that familiar ache—consider this question:

Am I actually out of alignment with my values?

Or am I just having a hard time tolerating someone else’s disappointment?

Those are two very different things. And that distinction can be the difference between spiraling in guilt and standing in grounded leadership.