Jadah Sellner - She Builds: The Anti-Hustle Guide to Grow Your Business and Nourish Your Life

To my mom, Joy, who taught me to build with my hands and my heart.

To my daughter, Zoe, a creative soul building a better future.

#shebuilds

She (noun)

[ shee ] / i /

1. anything considered, as by personification, to be feminine.

Builds (verb)

[ bilds ] / blds /

1. to engage in the art, practice, or business of building.
2. to establish, increase, or strengthen.

* * *

I recognize and welcome people of all genders and identities. If you feel drawn toward the holistic blend of feminine and masculine energy in business, this book is for you. You understand the importance of structure and action as well as trust and intuition. Representation of women of color is a topic close to my heart. I wrote She Builds from the perspective of being a multiracial cis-gendered woman. People who identify as women or were assigned females at birth receive implicit and explicit messages from society, social circles, and their families. I center womens stories and voices throughout this book, because this is what I wish I could have read when I became an entrepreneur. The beloved author Toni Morrison said, If theres a book that you want to read, but it hasnt been written yet, then you must write it. My wish is that you feel inspired to share your story, too.

There are no unique messages, only unique messengers.

I sat in the driveway at midnight, struggling to start my car. On the third try, the 1995 Toyota Corolla sputtered to life in the Kauai humidity. As I attempted to pull out unnoticed, my husband, George, ran outside frantically in nothing but his plaid boxers.

Jadah, stop! He spread himself across the windshield as I hit the brake.

What are you doing? I asked, rolling down the window, my voice reverberating in the darkness.

Dont go, he begged.

Youre crazy! I replied.

You can stay mad here, he moved toward the door handle.

GET. OFF. THE. CAR!

* * *

George and I had opened a day care center, Little Sprouts Playhouse, together at the height of the economic downturn in 2009. Owning a day care center had not been in our original plan. When we got married, we were both creatives trying to make it in Hollywood: I was a spoken-word poet, and George was the lead singer in a band with dreams of becoming a famous rock star. But once I got pregnant with our daughter, we needed stability in our lives. We had made the decision to leave California for Hawaii because my mom had moved there three years earlier and could help with child care. I had a secret fantasy that George would get a real job and provide for our growing family, while I stayed home with our daughter full-time. The big dream was that George would be able to make multiple six figures a year by selling time-shares, as did my bonus dad (many people might refer to him as my stepdad).

George did get his Hawaii real estate license to financially support our family, but hiring freezes were happening all over the United States. We started Little Sprouts Playhouse out of necessity. Our decision to open a day care center stemmed from numerous factors. George wasnt able to find work. I wanted to work, but with our eighteen-month-old daughter, Zoe, close by. Though it felt stressful and chaotic at the time, looking back, I can see how it was the perfect lead-up to starting my first businessanother secret dream Id always kept close to my heart. The early seeds of my entrepreneurial spirit had been planted with the help of my father. I remember him telling me stories about his entrepreneurial ventures as a kid, like buying bubble gum at the local store and selling it to his classmates for twice the price. When I was nine, he taught me how to spell the word entrepreneur. Id repeat the spelling, E-N-T-R-E-P-R-E-N-E-U-R, over and over again to myself. I guess it stuck.

The initial months of launching Little Sprouts were exciting, but the honeymoon phase quickly faded. Despite my passion for entrepreneurship, I didnt have a college degree or any business knowledge or experience. I treated Google as my advisor, flying by the seat of my pants. During business hours, I greeted families at drop-off, taught the kids lessons, and made snacks. I hired and trained other day care workers, returned calls to potential clients, promoted the business online and via social media, and cleaned the toilet. After hours, I worried about making payroll, managing my staff, and keeping the customers happy. I focused more on the administrative and marketing side of the business, and Georges superpower was making music and bringing joy to the kids. When he wasnt at the playhouse, he juggled odd jobs such as catering staff for weddings, evening server at an Italian restaurant, church choir director, and fulfilling random Craigslist postings. He did everything in his power to provide for our family during a recession. Money was tight, and we were both committed to doing what we could to keep our bills paid.

I felt a constant pull between my family and my business. Although I was with Zoe all day long, the realities of running Little Sprouts meant that I had less attention for her than ever. The stress of the business also put a lot of strain on our marriage. I was stretched too thin, and I had become a moody mom and partner who would snap without warning. I was exhausted and overwhelmed.

After pouring our savings into Little Sprouts, George and I discovered that we couldnt afford to pay both the rent for our home and our business. I proposed a solution: Instead of paying $1,600 per month for the house and $1,800 per month on our business lease, why not move into the playhouse? George laughed, but I was serious. A few months after opening, we moved our family into the day care center with its turquoise-painted walls, just a short walk from the beach. George and I slept on a futon in the main room that converted to a couch during the day, and we added a door to the large storage closet to make a room for Zoe. Our kitchen included a minifridge, a hot plate, and a George Foreman grill outside. The one bathroom in the playhouse, which housed a table for diaper changes and a sink to wash sticky toddler hands while singing Itsy Bitsy Spider, also had a shower that George, Zoe, and I used only when we werent open for business.

One afternoon during pickup, as a dad put on his childs shoes, he said to us, Julia keeps saying you live in the back of the playhouse. George replied, Yeah, we do. The dads face turned red, and his eyes widened. I dont know if he was embarrassed that hed asked or shocked that we lived in the playhouse (and that his two-year-old daughter had been telling the truth). Either way, the moment struck a nerve, sending me into a shame spiral: We are not okay. What was I thinking, moving my family into our place of business? I have no idea what I am doing. Who am I to run my own company?

* * *

A week later, my shame erupted like hot lava as George and I confronted each other in the driveway. I needed time and space to think. I felt as though I wanted to burn down everything that wed built. My heart was pounding and my thoughts ran wild as I sat there behind the wheel, thinking:

1. This had better not wake up Zoe.
2. I dont know if our marriage will survive this.
3. Fuck this business for getting me to this place of exasperated rage.

What do you want me to do? George asked in frustration as he hopped off the cars hood. Im working all the time, too, and the money just disappears. I never get a break.

Something has to change, I replied, not even sure what I meant. I cant figure all of this out on my own.

I shifted into reverse, leaving my husband standing there on the gravel as I peeled out and sped off down the Kuhio Highway. As I drove, listening to the waves crashing on the beach through my open window, I thought,