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It’s not always your mission that drives you — it’s your shadow. The sooner you name it, the sooner you can build something real.
Barbara Corcoran once said her favorite founders are the ones with a chip on their shoulder. The ones who’ve been underestimated. Dismissed. Misunderstood. The ones who still — quietly or ferociously — have something to prove.
And honestly? She’s not wrong. Because building anything that matters takes more than vision. It takes something deep. Something primal. A fire that doesn’t go out just because you got rejected, again. Or ignored, again. Or told to stay in your lane, again.
Every founder I know — every real founder — has a villain. A voice they hear when it’s hard. A memory they carry when the stakes feel too high. A reason to get back up that isn’t just about the mission. It’s personal.
For me? It’s my father.
I wanted to be just like him. And yet I always felt like I was somehow… wrong. Like I didn’t understand how the world worked. Like I was dramatic, emotional, too much. I’ve spent most of my life trying to earn his approval — and much of it recovering from the times I stopped trying. Our relationship has been many things. He was a terrible father. He was a beautiful father. Both are true. That’s the part I’ve had to learn to live inside of — the in-between. Because naming a villain doesn’t mean you erase their humanity. It means you stop erasing your own truth.
And it’s not just him. It’s every person who ever underestimated me.
Every man who said “that’s cute” in response to my ambition.
Every teacher who looked confused when I had the right answer but said it in the wrong way. And paradoxically — it’s also every person who saw something in me I hadn’t owned yet. Every woman who said I had “celebrity energy.” Every friend who whispered “you’re gonna build something big someday.”
That tension — between rejection and resonance — is the fuel.
It’s the same force that drove me to build Mom Bomb and eventually MOAB, the holding company behind it. We give 100% of our profits to moms in crisis. That part was easy to say. What was harder? Reconciling how to say it while still paying salaries, covering overhead, and staying operational.
Because when you say you give it all away… people assume you’re working for free. And while I’d love to live on air and goodwill, that’s not how you scale a business — or a movement.
What I’ve learned is that it’s not about whether money is spent.
It’s about what it funds, who it lifts, and how transparent you are about the choices you make.
Yes — we pay our people.
Yes — we cover our costs.
Yes — we sometimes carry debt to keep growing.
And yes — we still give 100% of our profits to moms in crisis.
All of that can exist at once. It’s not a contradiction. It’s a commitment.
Because the real question isn’t “do you need money to grow?” The real question is: what does your money grow into? That clarity — the integrity of intention — is what allowed me to keep building when I started to doubt the story. When I wondered if I could still claim to be doing good while making room for growth. And that clarity didn’t come from spreadsheets. It came from finally naming what had driven me all along.
Once you name your villain, they lose their power.
They don’t disappear — but they stop driving the bus.
And that’s when the real vision can take the wheel.
So here’s my ask: If you’re building something — anything — be brave enough to trace the wire back. Who made you feel small? Who lit the fire? Who are you still secretly trying to impress, outshine, outrun, or outgrow?
