I loved you when we started, you had always been a dream of mine. I spent late nights thinking about you:

- What you would look like?

- Where could this go?

- How would we build this?

Once just a beautiful idea, you one day became real, tangible and fulfilling. This idea of what I wanted to create in the world, it stuck with me and no matter what, I knew that this was a step I was going to take. For years I worked on myself, preparing myself for you, making sure I was ready to take on this journey. And then one day, I took the leap to go here, to start this, to delve into something I had never delved into before.

At first it was fun, it was easy; easy to stay up late and only focus on us, to give up hard-earned friendships, to stay in, to stay up, to workout less.

I told all my friends about you, I told old colleagues how great you were. I sought guidance on others experiences — what worked and didn’t work. I was an enthusiastic machine, uninhibited by the restraints of experience.

I spoke so highly of you, that you were everything I had ever hoped for. I never made a vision board, but if I had, you would have covered most of it — but I did write you down, on those late nights long ago when I dreamt about you, I wrote about you. I had checklists, timelines, must-haves and things I could live without (I thought I could fix those things later).

We grew together in the beginning, we brought new people into our life and those new people made us stronger and sometimes weaker. We took trips, always building something, somewhere new and sometimes it was great and rewarding and sometimes overwhelming and scary. They weren’t just trips, they were journeys.

We plateaued for a bit, past the honeymoon stage. It wasn’t this fun ‘idea’ anymore but it was real. Other people relied on us, you relied so much on me. I started to feel the burden of what this really meant. It was ok though because I loved you, and I knew you were how I wanted to represent myself in this world. We worked through it, and for that we became stronger.

We lost some of our early people, they just didn’t seem to quite ‘fit in’ with where we were going. This sounds mean but it wasn’t, it was their choice as much as ours. We grew more, we had some wins and some very big failures. I know I pushed you, I’ve asked you to change, to ‘pivot’ on who you are. I’ve watched you grow on your own, beyond anything I could have predicted. I see myself in you but I hope those around you see themselves in you too, the best part of themselves of course.

You made me cry a lot… a lot a lot. Drenching tears of loss and frustration, arguing with myself over whether you had been a mistake. Should I just walk away from this, take on something less ‘difficult’. I felt so deeply alone, I know you were there, a whole ‘team’ by my side but I felt more alone then I’d ever felt in my life. This was a profound sense of struggle — the question of how I could have been so stupid — to think I could do this or if I was good enough, smart enough. I could have screamed — it was like trying to untie knots in a parachute while already having jumped out of the plane. I hated you at times and resented you for what you were putting me through — but inevitably I could only blame myself.

I had once told them all about how wonderful you were; my friends, family, mentors, colleagues. Now when they asked me how you were doing I would stare blankly, hiding the truth sometimes, pretending like it was all ok. Sometimes I told them the truth, how hard it was, how I might have been wrong — the timing wasn’t right, you weren’t ready, maybe in two years the world would be different and we would have worked. I told them how tough it was and how much we struggled. When they asked what I needed or how they could help I had no answer — just any offer for advice. Again, I cried a lot. I thought this was a sign of weakness, I was a failure, I wasn’t the kind of person to be in this. This life wasn’t meant for me.

I kept my head down, I gave myself a timeline (I like those because I’m type A — I know you know this). I knew I would power through it and bite the pain, swallow the pit in my stomach because you were worth fighting for. I reevaluated every aspect of us. I took you off your pedestal and on the floor. I kicked you around a bit, and looked for holes in your armor. I thought about how I could change you, if there was anything that could change at all. I made you change who you surrounded yourself with, brought in new people. It made us better.

I hadn’t taken a vacation in a year — if it was one it was mini and I was always on my computer or phone, checking in on you. I needed my space and time to grow, meditate, sleep, read (non-business books — I have read A LOT of those). If we took a vacation I felt worse when we came back, more empty and stressed like I hadn’t been present enough.

And then it clicked. I left you for a minute. I turned off my phone and computer; I turned you off. When I came back, you were fine, just as I left you — maybe a bit better. We started to get along better than before. I watched the signs, followed my karma and opened us up to opportunities I hadn’t let in before. I was more laid back this time because you were strong on your own. I was so proud of you then and proud of you now. I know we’re still early but I love you, I love what you’ve brought to my life. I’ve watched you grow, you’ve forced me to grow, to be challenged to bring new experiences and people into my life. I gave up a lot but for you — you’re worth it.

You helped me find myself, lose myself and push myself. I’ve pushed the boundaries of who I am and you pushed back. One day I hope you read this letter again and we are stronger, brighter, closer than we are now. I know I’ll cry some more, be mad at you, feel the struggle and resent you. I’ll want to give up and pack it in and let people down but I won’t, I won’t because you’re special and you’re worth it. It will always be worth it.

Love,

A founder to her company