There's nowhere else I need to be right now

Part four of the series: the dualities of motherhood and business

Jul 07, 2025

Hi! This is Part 4 of a 5-part series where I share the real, sometimes messy, behind-the-scenes story of how I’ve built my creative businesses.

Catch up here:
→ Part 1: The Winging-It Creative
→ Part 2: The Smart Newbie
→ Part 3: The Burnt-Out Founder

Motherhood is filled with duality.

Right off the bat: The elation at discovering you’re pregnant, mixed with the endless what-ifs?

What if something goes wrong?
What if my body betrays us?
What if it’s not meant to be?

If your journey into motherhood wasn’t quite as meticulously orchestrated as ours — the endless needles, the drugs with 20-syllable names, the carefully timed insemination date with my husband squeezing my hand (not in a passionate heat-of-the-moment way, but more like a silent prayer while the doctor, head between my legs, said, “it’s in!!”) — then maybe your duality looked different: terror at the double lines on that little plastic stick, mixed with a sudden, inexplicable love for the already-growing cluster of cells inside your body.

Motherhood is both/and from the very beginning.

Fast forward to labour:
More physical pain than I ever knew I could hold, and Christmas-Eve-meets-first-time-to-Disneyland-times-one-million level anticipatory excitement to meet the little bean who had been my literal houseguest for the past nine months.

Fast forward to holding him that first night:
Complete and utter awe at the beauty of this tiny, pure creature in my arms, and complete and utter fear of the immeasurable responsibility to keep him alive, safe, and well. Paging the nurse for the third time to ask, “Can you show me how to feed him again?”

Fast forward one week:
New Year’s Eve 2023. Sitting with my mom on the couch watching Somebody Somewhere. My husband walks in and says, “Happy one-week birthday” to our little guy… and the postpartum hormone-fuelled waterworks begin. Because suddenly, my mind zooms forward to his 18th birthday. He would graduate. Leave us. Move away. Time was already moving too slowly and too quickly.

Fast forward four weeks:
The visitors had cleared, and Andrew and I were on our own. Holding our eyelids open, running on stolen hours of sleep. Sitting in the nursery, rocking him to sleep (a total pro in the feeding department by now) and wishing so desperately to crawl back into my bed, put earplugs in, and wake up when my body was ready. But also, unable to tear myself away from the cozy, sweet-smelling little bundle in my arms. Beyond exhausted and completely smitten.

Fast forward five months:
Trying to find the creative energy to sit down at my desk and work on the branding concepts for a project I’d just kicked off (my first one back). I heard my baby cry in the other room and knew, from the specific pitch of that wail, that he was hungry. My precious minutes of quiet focus were numbered. I was grateful to be working, and guilty for leaving my baby in the hands of someone else.

The dualities don’t end.

Gratitude and resentment.
Trust in your maternal instincts and the late-night Google spirals.
Hurry up to the next phase and please stop moving so fast.

A season of slowness

I shared in Part 3 of this series that I entered motherhood having pushed myself into burnout territory. All with work I loved: design projects, incredible mentorship clients who had transformed their businesses, and a deep confidence in my work and impact.

But I was exhausted. My heart was tired. My cortisol levels were tired.

And for a few months after my son arrived, I relished in the slowness of newborn life: chilly morning walks around our neighbourhood with him strapped to my chest, my winter coat zipped around both of us. Long weekly phone calls with friends I had neglected to regularly connect with for years, because life hadn’t had the extra space to chat on a Tuesday afternoon before. A solo trip with my son to the island to see my parents, where they soaked up the grandparent time and I luxuriated in the moments of getting to sit with a book, sans babe.

Then April hit, and the cozy little newborn bubble started to burst. Our schedule was predictable. We all slept a little more. The mental fog became less all-consuming, and my mind started to return to thinking about creating content. Wondering how my past clients were doing. Worrying about rebuilding my income after a break. This niggling, inexplicable pressure to start DOing.

The saving grace

I started to come back to the mantra that had gotten me through the long, sleepless newborn nights:

“There’s nowhere else I need to be right now.”

Nap-trapped with my phone juuuuuust out of reach so I couldn’t open Instagram and start working on a post?

There’s nowhere else I need to be right now.

Awake at 1:30 am, then 4:00 am, then 5:00 am for the (how many-ieth?) night in a row.

There’s nowhere else I need to be right now.

That line was my saving grace. It reminded me that my job right now wasn’t to perform or produce. It was to be here. In the middle of the mess and the magic. In presence.

A pivot for presence

I’ve talked lots about my re-entry into my creative business: how I quickly figured out that I would need to pivot. I had been doing about 70% coaching and 30% design pre-baby, and was ready to take the official leap and claim my full identity as a mentor.

Intuitively, it was right. This was the work that I had observed was impacting my clients so deeply:

From feeling trapped in a day job to running a business that could support her (and then some).
From attracting the wrong clients to becoming the go-to in her industry.
From struggling to sell her work to showing up with clarity and heart, and sparking inquiries and sales with ease.

And strategically, it was even more right.

My pivot was for presence. No more 10-hour days sitting at my desk working on design drafts. I wanted the freedom to be fully in mom-mode and fully in work mode. A few half-days each week filled with mentorship calls, async Telegram support, and CEO work on my own business, and that’s it.

The conscious shifts

So as I reemerged to my postpartum business, I leaned into the changes:

Officially closed my design books under Samara Bortz Creative
Launched In Tandem Studios with my business bestie, giving design a new home inside an offer ecosystem built on VIP-style projects (quick turnarounds, short periods of focused work, no more months-long timelines)
Rebranded to Samara Bortz, offering high-level mentorship and an intimate group program designed for true partnership: impactful, supportive, and, for me –not reliant on constant time.
Started this Substack and my podcast to lean into the long-form, deeply nurturing, no-character-limits content I was craving
Created mini programs and free experiences to serve my people in specific areas like motherhood, business, and heart-led sales

There were some quick wins. And some “why isn’t this happening faster?” moments, too.

The mantra that kept calling me back to presence in the moments of fear —
(Can I really do this all? Can I run this thriving business and be the mom I want to be?) — was the same:

“There’s nowhere else I need to be right now

The dualities of business and motherhood

Loving your work and resenting what it takes from you sometimes.

Craving creative expression and fearing the visibility that comes with it.

Wanting to build momentum and not wanting to miss a single moment.

Feeling ready for more and scared that “more” might cost you something sacred.

Sitting beside the baby monitor with your laptop open, trying to finish an email before the next nap ends... and wondering if this version of business will ever feel whole again.

This is the experience of the Back in Business Mama.

She’s not starting over, but everything feels new.

She’s returning to work with a toddler on her hip, a whole new set of priorities, and a deep craving to do business in a way that actually fits her life now.

The Back-in-Business Mama isn’t looking for hustle. (It’s not even an option for her). She’s not interested in burning it all down. She wants to reconnect with her work, her creativity, her voice, without sacrificing everything else that matters.

She needs flexible structure. Permission to move slower. Messaging that reflects who she is now. Offers that feel light to deliver, but still impactful. She needs space to think and systems that do some of the thinking for her.

This version of me shaped so much of what I offer my clients today. If you’re rebuilding after baby and craving support that actually fits your season, The Expansion Collective is the space for you. We start on Wednesday, July 9th.

Sending you my love,
Samara

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