I returned to work 10 weeks postpartum and grew a multimillion-dollar agency with 2 under 2, all during carefully timed naps.
Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. Or at least, I thought I needed to. The truth is, I didn’t have the luxury of maternity leave. After three years at my workplace, I was hit with a clause: unless I returned for a minimum of 12 months, I’d have to pay back every dollar of paid leave. That broke my heart; and my employment contract (effective immediately).
The thought of taking extended time off — then somehow landing a job and showing up to an office five days a week — became paralysing. I applied for a few roles, half-heartedly, but every time a baby cried or crawled into frame during a Zoom call, I saw the moment it ended. Smiles tightened. Energy shifted. I was no longer a candidate — I was a liability.
It was early days. Mid-pandemic. My husband was in a football bubble, and I was home - drowning in silence, nappies, and a creeping sense of self-loss.
At the height of my postpartum anxiety and depression, while silently battling an undiagnosed but all-consuming eating disorder, I could feel my identity slipping through my fingers. Like water. A drip here, a drop there — and suddenly, I was empty-handed.
Work had always anchored me. It was where I felt powerful, purposeful. So, in a moment of desperation and defiance, I pivoted. From poor me to build it yourself, babe. If no one would hire me with the flexibility I needed, I’d hire myself. I missed the pulse of it — the building, the brainstorming, the doing. I missed the part of my brain that had gone dormant under the weight of broken sleep, chronic anxiety, nappy bags, and two small humans who needed me completely, constantly.
And so, I began.
My back-to-work era wasn’t a comeback, it was a suck-it-and-see. Motherhood cracked me open. And in doing so, it made space for a new kind of leadership.
I started Loft Social with a gut instinct and a hunger to create something I couldn’t find in the industry. A content agency with soul. One where strategy and storytelling sat side by side, where culture was just as important as conversion. And ironically, it was becoming a mum that forced me to take my own ethos seriously.
To lead with heart. To delegate without guilt. To switch off sometimes, not because I didn’t care, but because I finally understood that rest isn’t a reward — it’s a requirement. Note: I fully sucked at this for a very long time.
I’ve taken Zoom calls with a baby on my boob. I’ve proofed decks in the backseat of a car during naps. I’ve cried into a coffee before an 8am shoot because the baby was sick and I hadn’t slept. And I’ve absolutely delivered a client pitch, with my camera off, in a regional
Victorian town on the way to the snow whilst my mum ran past gagging a screaming two-year-old to save me the interference. (And yes, I landed that client in that meeting).
Glamour? Nowhere. Grit? Everywhere.
What I didn’t expect was how much motherhood would sharpen me. Not soften. Sharpen.
My ambition didn’t dissolve in the fog of postpartum — it crystalised.
I became sharper with time. Faster with decisions. Clearer on what mattered. I started working with brutal focus and deep intuition — because when your bandwidth shrinks, your clarity grows.
Before motherhood, I could stretch myself. Hustle. Push. Perform. Burn out and bounce back. There was always time to make up for it later.
After becoming a mum, I couldn’t. Not because I lost my drive — but because I no longer had the margin. Physically, emotionally, mentally; I was at capacity. And that forced a recalibration I didn’t see coming.
I started therapy. I was raising a daughter and desperate to understand myself. Raising a son and desperate for another woman to tell me I was doing it right — because honestly, why are boys like that?
Motherhood stripped away the mask I’d worn for years. I couldn’t perform through it like I used to. There was no room for pretending, no time for perfection. So I had to show up as I was — unpolished, uncertain, unmasked. And learn to stay there.
In the unknown.
And weirdly, that’s where I found the most clarity.
The truth of the matter is, it has made me a better leader. Not just because I became more efficient — but because I became more human. I had to ask for help. I had to delegate. I had to admit when I was tapped out. And in doing so, I built a business that could run without me — which is the goal, right?
My company didn’t suffer when I became a mum. It matured. Just like I did.
But it’s changed how I lead and challenged how I think. It’s made me question what “balance” even is — and redefine it on my own terms.
3 things I’ve learnt returning to work as a new mum:
The baby doesn’t ruin your ambition - it refines it.
Motherhood didn’t make me less career-driven. It just sharpened my focus. I don’t work more, I work smarter. I say no. I trust my team more. And I’m more ruthless with what matters. There’s clarity in the chaos, if you let it teach you, and listen to those instincts.There’s no gold medal for doing it all.
You’re allowed to ask for help. You’re allowed to let things drop. You’re allowed to be in your soft era, even while running a team. Your capacity will fluctuate. That’s not failure. That’s being human. Build a business - and a life - that makes space for both.Your child will never resent you for chasing your dreams — but they might resent you for giving up on them.
I want my child to see me in it. Building something. Getting back up. Loving what I do. Not because I want them to follow in my footsteps — but because I want them to know it’s safe to follow their own.
Returning to work as a mother isn’t about “bouncing back.” It’s about moving forward — with more compassion, more courage, and more conviction in who you are and what you bring to the table.
Even if the table is covered in toys and your laptop is covered in banana.