In business, I’m an entrepreneur—always looking ahead, always showing up, embracing risks, and solving problems with grit and determination. So why has parenthood felt so hard? That question lingered for years, until recently, when I decided to approach mothering the same way I approach business: by trusting my instincts and applying my entrepreneurial skills. What followed changed everything.

My own origin story

But before I share that story, I need to take you back to my own childhood and the foundation it gave me. My upbringing was wonderful, stable, and filled with lessons I carry to this day. I grew up on a self-sustaining organic farm—an experience that was far from typical, but it was my version of normal. At school, however, I felt the pull to fit in, to blend into a world that felt very different from my life at home.

In the 1970s, in Victoria, BC, being an English-as-a-second-language student didn’t make things any easier. But I quickly learned that when you want something badly enough, you’ll work for it. Fitting in became my priority, and I worked hard to overcome the language barrier, adapt, and make connections. Over time, I formed friendships that shaped me and became lifelong sources of support. 

Parenthood, like entrepreneurship, has a way of teaching you the lessons you need—whether you’re ready for them or not.

This is the childhood I dreamed of giving to my own kids—one filled with belonging, stability, and a strong sense of self. And that, I’ve come to realize, was my first mistake as a mother: setting expectations based on my own experience. Parenthood, like entrepreneurship, has a way of teaching you the lessons you need—whether you’re ready for them or not.  

The story of my son is one of untapped potential - and how the school system that lacked aspiration for him became my greatest inspiration.

Failed by the system — fueled by hope

My son has Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and Dyslexia, which means his path through school was never going to be straightforward. For years, he managed to adapt, finding clever ways to work around his challenges. But by Grade 7, he could no longer hide his struggles with reading. Day by day, I watched the weight of it take its toll. His confidence crumbled, and the spark in his eyes began to fade. I held on to the hope that his school would step in with solutions, but instead I heard justification and excuses. The breaking point came during a meeting with his District Support Teacher. I walked in, still hopeful for a plan; instead, I heard, “You need to accept the fact that it’s very likely he will grow up to be an illiterate adult.”  

If the school couldn’t dream bigger for my son, I would.

I couldn’t believe it. I asked her to repeat herself, thinking I must have misheard. But no, she said it again. I was floored. How could the system, the very place meant to nurture his potential, give up on him so completely? That moment shifted something in me. If the school couldn’t dream bigger for my son, I would. If they couldn’t see his future, I would help him build it — quite literally. That was his last day of school.

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When I made the decision to take my son out of school, it wasn’t out of defeat—it was an act of hope. The school’s lack of aspiration for him forced me to look beyond the traditional path and ask, what will bring him joy again? That question became the foundation of an opportunity I hadn’t seen before: to create a hands-on environment where he could learn, grow, and rediscover his confidence in a way that felt right for him.

From the very first day on site, the shop became a classroom for real world skills and self-discovery.

Charting our own course 

The project of building out the ice cream shop was right in front of me — we had leased the space and were making plans — but now I had a partner. From the very first day on site, the shop became a classroom for real world skills and self-discovery. He became fully immersed, working alongside tradespeople, learning to measure, cut, lift, and paint. Every task gave him a sense of accomplishment and pride in his progress and contributions.

When the shop finally opened, something remarkable happened. He stepped into his next role effortlessly - greeting customers, scooping ice cream, training new staff, and even mastering the Point of Sale (POS) system on his own. With each passing day, his confidence grew, and quickly the joy returned to his eyes.

This project wasn’t just a solution — it was transformative. We both learned that success doesn’t have to fit into one box —nor should it. I also learned that as a parent, sometimes the best thing you can do is let go of expectations and create opportunities for your child to define their own path.

What could have been a season marked by struggle and failure, turned into a beautiful testament of possibility. The ice cream shop is more than a business — it’s a symbol of strength, resilience, and the power of believing when no one else does. Today, my son isn’t just learning, he’s thriving. And every day as I unlock the door to our ice cream shop, I remind myself that everything my entrepreneurial journey taught me has prepared me perfectly for this defining moment of motherhood.

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