Everything I Learned in Year One of Building DayMade

I’ve been sitting with this one for a while. Not because I don’t know what to say, but because I wanted to say it right.

Year One of DayMade was the hardest, most rewarding, most disorienting thing I’ve built since becoming a mom. And I think it’s worth being honest about all of it: the wins, the lessons, and the moments I almost talked myself into walking away.

If you’re in the early years of building something, or thinking about starting, or wondering whether you made the right call, this is for you. Not as a blueprint. As proof that the messy middle is real, and it’s survivable, and sometimes the things that feel like they’re breaking you are actually building the foundation for what comes next.

I Didn’t Plan to Build a Team. The Business Had Other Ideas.

When I launched DayMade, my plan was simple: do great work, serve clients well, keep it lean. I thought I could manage the full client load on my own. What I didn’t account for was what happens when the work actually works. When clients say yes, when referrals start coming in, when the demand outpaces what one person can hold.

We grew faster than I expected, and I quickly realized that if I wanted to keep growing (not just financially, but in the number of people we could actually help), I had to bring people in. Not because I couldn’t do the work, but because doing it all myself was the ceiling. And I wasn’t ready to live there.

What I’ve learned is that the right team doesn’t just take things off your plate. They expand what’s possible. When I give someone the strategy and the ownership to execute, they do it in ways I couldn’t, because they’re focused, skilled, and not spread across twelve other things. We can now help more people with more things. And that’s the whole point.

If you’re a founder hitting this same wall, hear this: the moment you start building support around you is the moment your business stops being limited by your personal bandwidth. It feels scary to invest in people before you feel “ready.” But if you wait until you’re ready, you’ve already waited too long.

$92,000. Eight Thousand Short. And I’m Proud of Every Dollar.

My Year One revenue goal was $100K. I hit $92,000. Part of me was surprised I got that close, and part of me wasn’t, because from the beginning I’ve believed that what we’re building has a real place in the world. There are so many creative founders who are drowning, and this work matters.

I worked a lot of hours. More than I probably should have. It felt, in many ways, like having another baby. Something you pour yourself into completely, something that consumes your extra hours and your mental space, something you sacrifice other things for because you believe in what you’re growing.

Here’s the irony I sat with all year: DayMade’s mission is to help founders build a business that supports their lifestyle, not the other way around. And Year One? It was the other way around. I said no to things I wanted to do. I worked nights and weekends. I put in the hours that Year Two and beyond are going to be built on.

I don’t regret it. But I’m not doing it the same way in Year Two.

For any founder reading this who’s living in the irony of preaching balance while grinding: that’s not hypocrisy. It’s the cost of building infrastructure. The important thing is recognizing the difference between “this season requires more of me” and “this is how it’s always going to be.” Year One was the investment. Year Two is where the return starts.

You Don’t Have to Put Up With Bad Service. Even When Firing Someone Is Scary.

One of the biggest practical lessons from Year One came from my website. I had hired an outside agency to design and build it. The work was good. The service, the communication, the timelines, the follow-through, was not.

I expected to launch in early fall. By November, we were still building the homepage. I followed up repeatedly. I waited. I gave more grace than the situation probably warranted. And eventually I made a decision I was terrified to make: I ended the contract.

I wrote them an honest email. Outlined what I had expected, what hadn’t happened, and said I wanted to cancel. I didn’t ask for a refund because the work had been done, but I wasn’t going to keep paying into something that wasn’t working. And then I shared the feedback I’d been holding back, because they needed to hear it.

They responded beautifully. Owned it. And we ended on good terms.

The website launched in March 2026 with a new vendor (hi Marci of Dragonfly Ave) who has been an absolute joy to work with. And I’m more proud of it than I would have been if I’d just pushed through with the first agency.

If you’re sitting on a vendor relationship that isn’t working, you probably already know it. You deserve to have good experiences with the people you hire. And sometimes the most professional thing you can do is say, clearly and kindly, that something isn’t working. The fear of that conversation is almost always worse than the conversation itself.

Honor Your Founding Clients. They Took a Chance on You First.

Towards the end of 2025, I overhauled the Business Concierge Club model. The old structure (blocks of hours tracked against usage, with more purchased as needed) wasn’t working at the scale we’d grown to. I couldn’t tell clients when we’d have capacity. I couldn’t confidently quote timelines. The model that made sense when I was solo didn’t make sense anymore.

The new model is cleaner: a quarterly subscription with a 90-minute strategy session and flat-fee project quotes for anything beyond that. Clear deliverables. Clear timelines. Priority calendar access for members.

But here’s what mattered most to me: the clients who were in the club from the beginning, who believed in DayMade before we had a website or a full team or a polished process? I grandfathered them in. I’m not charging them the quarterly subscription. Because they showed up when we were still figuring things out, and that deserves to be honored.

The lesson here is bigger than pricing: the people who bet on you early are not the people you optimize away when you restructure. Build the new model for new clients. Protect the people who got you here. Loyalty goes both directions.

The Part I Haven’t Talked About Publicly: I Almost Walked It Back.

Here’s the honest part.

In Q4 of 2025 and into January 2026, I didn’t pay myself. Not because the business was failing, but because I had invested heavily in everything it needed to become what it is: a new website, software, a team. The right investments. But investments that meant my own paycheck came last.

January was slow. I was having conversations with potential clients, but nothing was converting the way I thought it would. I had expected the new year energy to kick things into gear. It didn’t. Not right away.

There were real moments in January where I thought: Is this worth it? Should I just go back? Should I scale down, let the team go, go back to being just me?

I didn’t go back. I knew in my gut that this was the hard season that comes before things click. The one where you’ve invested in the infrastructure and you’re waiting for the return. You have to stay the course long enough to find out if you were right.

And then February happened.

We hit our monthly revenue goal by February 8th. I didn’t see that coming. I did not believe it would happen that fast. And it was one of those moments where you feel the whole year make sense. All the late nights, the missed things, the months without a paycheck, the decision to keep going.

That’s the roller coaster. Big highs, real lows, and the constant work of staying committed through both.

If you’re in the gap right now, the one between investing in the foundation and seeing the return, I want you to know two things. First: the doubt is normal. Every founder I’ve worked with has had their version of January. Second: the doubt is not data. It’s fear dressed up as logic. The actual data is your clients, your work, and the business you’ve already proven can exist. Don’t let a slow month rewrite a year of evidence.

Year Two Looks Different. On Purpose.

The thing I’m most focused on this year, beyond revenue goals and client growth, is learning to run DayMade like the business it’s actually become. That means understanding our finances with real intention. Building a plan: what’s the goal, how do we get there, what happens if we don’t, what other revenue streams exist.

I never want to be in a position where I can’t pay myself again. My team will always come first. That won’t change. But building a business that’s financially sustainable isn’t just about serving clients well. It’s about treating your own livelihood with the same respect you give everyone else’s.

And this summer? I’m working three days a week. That’s not a wish. It’s the plan. More time with my son. More time with family and friends. Travel. Rest. Actually living the thing I’ve been building toward.

Year One taught me that you have to sacrifice some things to build the foundation. Year Two is where I start living on top of it.

If You’re in Your Hard Season Right Now

I want you to know that the roller coaster is not a sign that something is wrong. It means you’re building something real. The doubt, the slow months, the moments where you wonder if you made the right call, those are part of it. They’re not evidence that you should stop.

But I also want you to know that you don’t have to figure it all out alone. That was the biggest lesson of my Year One, honestly. The moments where I felt most stuck were the moments where I was trying to hold everything by myself. The moments where things shifted were the moments I let someone in.

Keep going. And if you need someone in your corner while you do, that’s exactly what we’re here for.

If you’re a creative founder in the thick of building and you need someone to help you see the path forward, that’s what Office Hours is for. It’s a single strategic session where we dig into what’s actually happening in your business, what’s working, what’s not, and what the next right move looks like. No commitment. No pressure. Just clarity from someone who’s been in the exact same place.