Every founder story needs an origin myth. Ours starts less 'lightbulb moment,' more 'structural collapse.'
Four months back from maternity leave, the startup I was COO of imploded. Spectacularly. The founder stopped showing up, we found a buyer without him in the room, and we lost our biggest contract. The whole thing came down. And I came down with it.
So I did what everyone tells you to do next. I went job hunting.
That's when I found out how fast the tone of an interview changes once you mention two small children at home. (A whole email on its own. Filing it for later.)
I wasn't willing to trade their bedtimes and their milestones for another founder who'd never worked out what growing a business actually costs. I'd just watched someone find that out the hard way, in real time.
But I also wasn't a founder. I didn't have the big idea, the sexy origin story, or the pitch. I was the person who took someone else's big idea and made it work.
So starting my own business wasn't on the radar. Not even a little. I told my friend Kofi over tea that I'd sooner go back to someone else's payroll than risk a relationship with another founder who'd checked out. He nodded like he understood. I thought he was just relieved I'd stopped talking about it. I was wrong. Kofi had made up his mind.
Kofi introduced me to Steven.
I'm not going to tell you what Steven said. That's his story to tell, on Friday. But I remember the moment something shifted. We were on a Zoom call. Real background, not a filter, which is how I knew Steven wasn't trying to impress me or anyone. And he asked me a question I hadn't been asked before. Not a pitch. Not a plan. Just a question that made me put my pen down. And it turned 'absolutely not' into 'actually, hold on.'
Claire