In this instalment of the series, head of social and integrated communication at Havas shares her experience of becoming a single mother in a city away from her family, and how building a daily rhythm with her son has helped her grow in her life and career.
Motherhood in advertising has long been an unspoken challenge – a career-defining crossroads where ambition is too often questioned, and support systems fall short. And while the industry has made progress in acknowledging the realities of working parents, tangible change is still slow, leaving many mothers to navigate the journey alone.
In this instalment of Motherland in Adland – the series founded by NERD’s Milana Karaica in partnership with LBB – we hear from Davitha Tiller, head of social and integrated communication at Havas.
Davitha shares her experience of becoming a single mother while leading in one of the industry’s most demanding sectors – with no family nearby, no fallback, and a young son relying on her. What followed was a journey of emotional extremes: fear, liberation, exhaustion, growth. And, ultimately, pride.
From the challenges of raising a child alone in New York City to the structural support of working under strong female leadership, Davitha’s story is one of extraordinary resilience – and a powerful reminder that motherhood, in all its forms, can shape more empathetic, grounded leaders.
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IT WASN’T THE PLAN, BUT IT’S MY PATH.
I will never forget my first official day as a single working mom.
I was standing in the kitchen of the apartment my 11-month-old son and I had just moved into following my difficult separation from his father. After a long day of meetings, pitching and thinking; I had put him to bed, and now it was time to make myself dinner. But before I could so much as reach for a pan, a wave of emotion hit me – an overwhelming cocktail of debilitating fear and exhilarating relief.
There was the fear of the road ahead. The relentless logistics. The loneliness. The unknown. And at the same time, there was this liberating sense of reclaiming control – of knowing that, for better or worse, I was back in the driver’s seat of my own life.
How am I going to do all of this?
The sleepless nights. The childcare arrangements. The all-day meetings. The after-work mom mode. The after-mom-mode work mode. The co-parenting conflicts. The tiredness. The confronting reality of knowing that you’re staring at your greatest support system in the mirror.
And yet – alongside all that – came the longing to be the best mom I could possibly be. To stay healthy, strong and active. To nurture friendships. To make new mom friends. To help my son make his first friends. To sign him up for extracurriculars. To travel the world for work and for fun. To eventually, maybe, date again.
Being an expat single mom in a place like New York City, with no family nearby and a sole custody parenting arrangement, while working a demanding leadership job in our fast-paced industry, is its own level of hard. And being a stubborn Taurean who doesn’t easily accept help certainly didn’t… well, help.
The non-stop nature of it all was terrifying. And, honestly, some days it still is. But even in the darkest moments, I held onto one belief: that eventually, it would get easier. And it did.
To my own surprise, I wouldn’t change a thing about my journey.
Because what I’ve learned is this: just like writing, or riding a bike, once you get the hang of single working mom life, it becomes second nature. And in doing so, it reveals a level of vulnerability and resilience you might never have known you had.
I’ve always been a creature of habit, someone who believes that structure is the antidote to chaos. So I approached life with my son like a military mission – building a daily rhythm so reliable, both he and I could follow it with our eyes closed. That structure became my lifeline. It still carries us through.
And through it all – just as research so often shows about children raised by single mothers – my son has become the most loving, flexible, perceptive, and emotionally intelligent little man. He lights up my life every single day, and together, we make a pretty great team.
And speaking of teams; I am immensely grateful to work for an agency with a strong female leader at the global helm, where offering people the flexibility and support to navigate their personal circumstances isn’t an exception – but the cultural norm.
Over the years, I’ve come to wear my “single mom” title not as a burden, but as a badge of honour.
It wasn’t the plan, but it is my path. It has made me who I am. And today, I can finally say it: I’m proud of her.
Senior producer at Area 23 New York Jennifer Mejia-Ponce talks about being a queer Filipina mother in the US, the challenges of navigating a global pandemic and being a new parent, and more
Motherhood in advertising has long been an unspoken challenge – a career-defining crossroads where ambition is too often questioned, and support systems fall short. And while the industry has made progress in acknowledging the realities of working parents, tangible change is still slow, leaving many mothers to navigate the journey alone.
In this edition of Motherland in Adland, we hear from Jennifer Mejia-Ponce – a seasoned senior producer whose nearly 30-year career spans broadcast, live events, and experiential campaigns for brands like Netflix, Canon, and Nike. As a queer Filipina mother, Jennifer brings a powerful, intersectional voice to the conversation – one shaped by decades of hustle, reinvention, and resilience.
From TV studios to Bayfront builds and virtual broadcast meetings with a baby on her lap, Jennifer reflects on the evolution of her identity as both a producer and a parent. She speaks candidly about the tension between ambition and presence, and the added layers of navigating parenthood as a non-biological mum in today’s political landscape.
Jennifer’s story speaks of adaptation, strength, and reframed success in both the projects she’s delivered and in the values she’s passing on to the next generation. Read on to hear her story.
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Wouldn’t it be grand if I could just put some prompts into ChatGPT and boom, here is my story. But of course that wouldn’t be authentic, would it? How do I talk about myself and my experiences and show everyone reading the private side of myself.
Opening up brings up feelings of not being enough, of ‘Am I worthy to read about’, self doubt and roadblocks of not feeling like I fit anywhere. I didn’t see many Asian Pacific Islanders/queer folk in the industry when I started my career. I missed the cultural connection that would make me feel like there were others like me. The industry is vast and can sometimes feed loneliness, especially after moving into remote work.
I’ve been a producer for almost three decades. Graduating from film school in the late 90’s, I worked for eight years in television with studios such as ABC and MTV. I was sadly making more than my single mom who then had served 20 years in the New York City hospital system.
Speaking of, I come from a culture where being in the medical field is almost a given – I could have been a nurse, like many of my fellow Filipinos, but I went into a job that to this day, my mom still doesn’t quite understand. It wasn’t typical. But when they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my response was always manifold – an accountant, carpenter, photographer. So in a way, it makes sense I’m a producer today – we’re seen as the multitaskers, budget-sorcerers, and fire chiefs of the industry. The planner and mother of the group. Long story short, when I graduated, I had dreams of working in film. With stars in my eyes, I imagined I’d be the next Discovery Channel Jacques Cousteau. But ‘The Deep Blue’ documentary made me rethink the idea. I ended up in television, but felt like I was young, naive and too nice for the environment.
I fell into experiential/live production and it was a 16-year-long ride of freelancing. Starting a staffing agency, creating Christmas at Macy’s for seven years, building production kits, training manuals and large installations in the middle of Miami Bayfront or FYSEE event spaces for Netflix in LA. I was also a bartender, security at a nightclub, tour manager, stage manager. I must have done 1000 interviews. Producing and being a workaholic was my life.
Time grew, experience grew and I realised I could take my experience and grow with it. I was building structures that were said to be impossible with my own hands and loving the adventure. I showed my wife that her tech knowledge was a great fit for production, and we worked together for years so we could produce our wedding and eventually raise enough money to start a family. We had a goal – more than just climbing some invisible work ladder. We were aiming for it all.
The adventure hit full stop when covid happened, coincidentally also when our baby was about to be born. The work I was building was gone. Travelling the country changed to travelling to the living room. The money we set aside was collapsing. Hustling and working three jobs at a time all came to a halt. I had just started feeling comfortable in my suit and tie I wore to events, but events were no longer.
When the world came out of lockdown with masks and virtual events. I had to re-start; contemplating about travelling 80% of the year for production jobs or not seeing the child we planned to have.
I call myself blessed after eight months of struggling with fear of how to care for our growing family. I said yes to a full time job being a virtual and senior producer in broadcast/advertising. One of the best work perks was that I was able to hold my baby during conference calls. I felt like a fish out of water, but being able to smell my baby was what calmed me. Broadcast was familiar but far from what I recalled – I reminded myself of the hustle to learn every facet of experiential with no guide book; this new role was no exception.
At 48, our daughter was born and I buckled down at my new job. Life was fulfilling its destiny after marrying my wife five years earlier when marriage became legal in the US.
Now it’s 2025. Feeling older than my peers, where in most businesses you would be looked at to exit or move up positions. I am also now navigating a not-so-baby four-year-old with emotions that I need to understand, through experiences I myself wasn’t allowed to feel as a child. I am the gentle parent who is trying to keep the gentleness, even though I was plopped in front of a TV growing up and constantly told to keep quiet.
Nothing can prepare you for having a kid and a full-time job at the same time – not even working months on a production and 72 hours straight of no sleep. It’s a completely different type of exhaustion. Now, you’re living for a small human who needs you literally at every step of life – priorities shift.
Now, I am a senior producer who slowed down her career to be home with the toddler, and a mama who’s had to navigate feelings of not being ‘the biological mom’. The mom who had to get court papers – to be my child’s legal mom if something was to happen. You’d think loving it would be enough, but our political climate is not supportive of queer lives.
Each day weighs differently in my head. Family versus work? Am I getting too old for this? Which comes first, the toddler who asks me to put my phone down, or the meeting? Do I say to my child ‘Wait five minutes’, so I can send my pressing emails about timelines, budgets and client must-haves? Do I feel all the guilt of missed playdates? Do I start missing school events to not be up ‘till midnight working through what I didn’t do during the day?
I sometimes miss the set builds and events where I was king with my walkie talkie and creating experiences that made people smile. But now I get to be home when my child gets out of school or needs a hug. I finally fit in with so many other moms, who, too, juggle work and parenthood. I found my community in some way, even if it’s through a screen! I’ve found a space where I can produce award-winning work – one that matters in the real world.
I’ve always said, producing is being asked to make unicorns fly. One, unicorns don’t fly. Two, unicorns aren’t real. But being both a producer and mother in today’s world is even harder – we shift, we reset and find the ways to survive and to learn from the struggles. We fight to be stronger, to be better and to secure balance like we do on any production set. I’m looking forward to the future where my kid learns to see the world, hopefully knowing her mom could do pretty much anything with a good mindset.
I can’t say I’m at all perfect, or that I don’t struggle daily with my direction. But, the best part of this industry is that it’s an open door. Like an AI prompt, I just need to figure out the key words to get me where I’m supposed to be.
In this next instalment of ‘Motherland in Adland’, managing director of Turner Duckworth London tells LBB about the lessons she learned about the industry through motherhood, and why no parent should have to “miss a sports day or a school play” because of work.
Motherhood in advertising has long been an unspoken challenge – a career-defining crossroads where ambition is too often questioned, and support systems fall short. And while the industry has made progress in acknowledging the realities of working parents, tangible change is still slow, leaving many mothers to navigate the journey alone.
In this installment of Motherland in Adland, the series started by NERD’s founder Milana Karaica in celebration of women’s month, we hear from Georgina Leigh-Pemberton, managing director of Turner Duckworth London.
From her own experience, Georgina tells an all-too-well story of broken promises and settling for a lower-than-deserved role due to her pregnancy. Overworking herself due to the invisible pressure of the industry, and riddled with parental guilt, Georgina inevitably had to address the burnout and left her workplace with nowhere else to go to.
She calls it a “painful but valuable lesson” — one she believes no mothers in the industry should have to learn due to the downfalls of their employers. Read on to find out more about Georgina’s story.
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My first personal experience of this came when a previous employer took me out to dinner after strongly implying that I was in line for a senior role — until, after declining a martini and, when pressed, confiding in the CFO that I was pregnant, the opportunity quietly disappeared.
When I returned to work in a different role after my first child was six months old, I was determined to prove that being a great MD and a wonderful mother was possible. I put myself under immense pressure to succeed — and in doing so, I set myself up for failure.
Every day, I left home before my daughter woke up and returned just in time to put her to bed. My company never explicitly pressured me to stay late, but I was acutely aware of the unspoken expectations. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and guilty, I left after six months, without another job to go to. It was a painful but valuable lesson, one I carry with me to this day: no one should choose between being present for their family and excelling in their career.
I’m incredibly fortunate to now work for a company that fosters a culture of genuine support for working parents. It’s not just about returning to work — it’s about ensuring ongoing flexibility and understanding throughout our careers.
No one should have to miss a sports day or a school play because of a presentation — these moments matter.
I know many in this industry are not as lucky. Parenthood is too often viewed as an inconvenient disruption rather than a natural part of life. This mindset has to change. Flexible working is part of the solution, but we need to go further and offer more adaptable hours, greater autonomy over office days, and a culture that values productivity over presenteeism.
While I’m encouraged to see attitudes shifting away from the expectation that working late into the night is just ‘part of the job,’ the change isn’t happening fast enough. And it’s not just parents who deserve better balance — no one’s time should be treated as less valuable simply because they don’t have children.
Everyone has responsibilities, relationships, and lives outside of work that deserve respect. Until we address the culture of systemic overwork across the board, creating a genuinely supportive environment for working parents will always be an uphill battle.
In this week’s installment of the series, Leo Burnett managing partner Charlotte Coughlan shares her journey from a disappointing maternity leave, to helping champion initiatives such as Parentland.
Motherhood in advertising has long been an unspoken challenge – a career-defining crossroads where ambition is too often questioned, and support systems fall short. And while the industry has made progress in acknowledging the realities of working parents, tangible change is still slow, leaving many mothers to navigate the journey alone.
In this installment of Motherland in Adland, the series started by NERD’s founder Milana Karaica in celebration of women’s month, we hear from Charlotte Coughlan, managing partner at Leo Burnett. As a mother of two, Charlotte has experienced the lack of representation and support for working mums in advertising firsthand.
Her own maternity leave left her feeling disconnected and underestimated which fueled her commitment to fostering a culture where parents can thrive without compromise. Under the leadership of CEO Carly Avener, Charlotte champions initiatives like Parentland, ensuring working parents at Leo Burnett feel seen, supported, and empowered to succeed both at home and in their careers.
Charlotte shares her perspective on why representation matters, how flexibility should be a given – not a privilege – and why true equity in the industry means encouraging both parents to take leave.
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I’m a working mother of two in the zany, exhausting, but rewarding world of advertising. Unfortunately, growing up in this industry, I had few role models who were mothers to look up to. My personal experience with maternity leave was disappointing – little communication, little support, and an assumption on my behalf that motherhood meant I wasn’t ambitious anymore. I therefore know firsthand how important it is to provide dialogue throughout the entire motherhood journey, from pregnancy through to returning to work and crucially, for maintaining a career. Just because we’re mothers, doesn’t mean we’re not ambitious anymore.
What’s key to creating a better environment for working mums is representation. We’re fortunate at Leo Burnett to have Carly Avener as our CEO. She sets the tone for our culture and agenda, making sure working parents feel included and can thrive both professionally and at home. Her leadership as a single mum is an example of how top-down support can truly impact a company’s approach to work-life balance.
When a culture is right, all working parents feel empowered to work flexibly. It’s not about being in the office five days a week; it’s about being trusted to excel in what we do, all within a structure that allows us to dart home if we get the dreaded call from nursery or need to volunteer at the school disco.
This freedom of flexibility is vital to ensuring that we’re not forced to choose between being good parents and being good professionals.
Feeling isolated and ‘the only one’ at an agency is crippling. At Leo Burnett, we’ve set up Parentland, a strong support system and network aimed at bringing parents to kids of all ages plus carers together and providing invaluable advice for navigating the realities we face. This includes expert guidance, financial advice, and even a Teams chat for solidarity and humour on the tough days. We lean on each other to better manage juggling it all. So, it’s not just our partners at home getting the brunt of our working-parent-frazzle! Personally I’m lucky with how much my partner has supported me through the journey.
One thing the industry needs to improve on, and we simply don’t see enough of, is encouraging both parents to take leave. It’s time for us to recognise that true equity can’t be achieved without shared responsibility.
If partners take leave, it helps reduce the pressure on mums and can drive long-term change, even as far as reducing the gender pay gap.
We’re so lucky to be a part of this amazing industry, one where we should ALL be able to thrive – but there’s still strides to be made. With dialogue, the right support systems, freedom of flexibility, and representation at the top, mothers in particular can soar without having to compromise.
As part of the series ‘Motherland in Adland’, Bethany and Chinkara share their stories of motherhood in the industry full of resilience, honesty, and a need for change, with LBB
Motherhood in advertising and production is still seen as a hurdle rather than an asset – a choice that forces women into impossible trade-offs, often laced with guilt and sacrifice. While the conversation around working mothers has grown louder, real action remains slow.
This series, spearheaded by NERD’s Milana Karaica, Motherland in Adland aims to give space to the realities of balancing leadership and parenthood, beyond the clichés and lip service
Following Milana’s story, we now hear from two more women navigating this delicate, demanding balance. Freelance senior agency producer Bethany Easton reflects on the relentless push-and-pull between career passion and the emotional weight of motherhood, sharing the raw, bittersweet moments of being present yet absent at the same time. Meanwhile, Chinkara Singh, SVP, group director of creative production at Area 23, sheds light on the systemic challenges – from missed promotions to self-funded maternity leave – while celebrating the power of solidarity and advocacy for working mothers in the industry.
Bethany Easton, senior agency producer Freelance
I am insanely lucky to have a job that I bloody love, and even luckier to have the daughter and then the son that I always dreamt of. We have the sort of genuinely happy lives that make most people want to vomit just a little, like when my kids snuggle under a blanket with their books, occasionally whispering ‘I love you’ to each other. I’m not even lying and I totally permit you to hate my smug gittish face.
But there’s something about being a working parent that forces a mum to live in a state of permanent, and painful, cognitive dissonance.
In the red corner: having an identity. I’m so happy when I’m working. I love that I’m modelling for my kids how amazing it is to be fired-up by hard work and passion, and I can afford to send them to schools where they’re safe and happy.
In the blue corner, weighing in at more than any heart can take: guilt.
There was the time I was working hard, utterly smashing it on a huge production, and through the baby monitor (which always adds a touch of horror-film quease), I heard my toddler saying to the baby “Don’t worry, baby, Mummy is just working. And do you know when she’ll stop working? Never. Even when she’s dead, she’ll be working and feeding the trees.”
There was another time, just after the youngest had learned to write, that I had to focus on an evening conference call while he brought me multiple notes along the lines of ‘WEN WIL YOU BE FINSHED’, and ‘YOU ARE HERE BUT I STILL MIS YOU’. And actually, perhaps the hardest part of that call wasn’t even the notes, but the way I felt I had to keep my eyes and smile fixed on the camera, and effectively blank my son. That hurt us both.
Nobody imagines that one day they might be the sort of mum who tries to mutter to her child that she honestly does love them, whilst briefly on mute and trying not to move her lips.
It’s exhausting to pretend that we don’t all have actual lives, in which we are charged with the safe-keeping of the tiny hearts of small humans who actually mean more to us than anything, even – whisper it – the smooth running of a shampoo commercial.
But things are definitely shifting, and in the right direction (ish). Along with the post-pandemic total breakdown of any work-life boundaries, and being required to be available 24 hours a day, comes the opportunity to be honest about childcare needs, GP appointments, gym classes, the dentist, and all the myriad things that, but a short few years ago, we felt required to pretend didn’t even exist. Everything is changing and, with luck, will change permanently, meaning my kids will forever be astounded and confused by what they thought were my choices to make. And that hurts, too.
Chinkara Singh SVP, group director, creative production Area 23
The last thing you want to see in an ad agency is the top of your 18-month-old son’s curls bopping down the main corridor on his way to a client meeting. He was squealing with joy that he made it away from me. Luckily, my kind creative director caught him just before an awkward career moment. The babysitter couldn’t make it, my husband was away on a shoot, and I couldn’t cancel my meetings because they were timed against an important award meeting. It was one of those ‘What do I do?’ moments.
After 25 years in this industry, I’ve faced many challenges both personal and professional. There was a time I was passed over for a promotion because I temporarily couldn’t fly. I also missed out on freelance opportunities because I had too many doctor’s appointments during my high-risk pregnancy. When my youngest was born, I had to pay for an entire year of maternity leave out of pocket to bond with my child. It wasn’t easy. But I’ve had wins too, like IPG being the first company I worked full-time for that allowed stepchildren on insurance! And being supported for speaking up when I needed to pump breastmilk on set and still watch takes.
I’ve also had to push through some incredibly difficult personal moments. I’ve gone to work after miscarriages, feeling physically and emotionally drained, because the expectation is often that we just keep going, no matter the pain we’re carrying. There should be more time for gig workers and staffers to take the time they need after such a loss. It’s heartbreaking, but it’s something many of us have had to endure in silence, because there’s often no room for grief in the fast-paced world of production.
One thing I’m particularly proud of was encouraging a mother who had just had twins. She was about to go on a shoot and had to figure out how to ship her milk back home while she was away. I helped contribute to a guide for breastfeeding mothers on set, written by Bernadette Rivero, and pointed her toward this resource. A resource that every production department should offer to working mothers. Another mother came to me for encouragement for her IVF journey because I was open with mine. That sense of solidarity in the face of challenges knowing that we’re all in this together means community.
The truth is, being open about both the struggles and successes allows us to learn from each other. When we share the highs and lows of motherhood, we create a stronger support system for all parents in this fast-paced, high-pressure industry. It’s about showing up as your whole self and helping others do the same. By being honest, we can make this industry more inclusive, supportive, and encouraging for mothers.
LBB’s Zoe Antonov and NERD’s founder Milana Karaica kick off a new series focused entirely on celebrating mothers in the advertising and production industries, and their personal stories of triumph and pain against the odds.
“Motherhood isn’t a limitation. It’s a foundation, a training ground, and a path to better and more empathetic leadership.”
This is what founder and creative executive producer at NERD Productions, Milana Karaica, told us when we first started shaping the idea for this series.
Countless industry panels and talks dare to lift the veil of unspoken shame and controversy when it comes to becoming a mother in the advertising and production industries – or, really, in most industries. Yet, the stigma persists, and action is minimal. So, when Milana reached out to LBB with her idea, we knew it was time to carve out space for this discussion..
Pressure on women comes from all sides – wanting to be a mother is wrong, because you are not career-oriented enough; not wanting to be a mother is wrong too, because you aren’t fulfilling your ‘nature-given purpose’; wanting both, or neither, is somehow wrong too. It’s a tale as old as time.
In advertising and production, motherhood is treated as a hurdle, not an asset – choosing between a thriving career and a fulfilling family life is something countless women face, in silence. And even after the choice is made, the repercussions are life-long, and often tied with varying degrees of guilt and shame.
This is why, for International Women’s Month, and beyond, LBB’s Zoe Antonov and NERD’s Milana are launching ‘Motherland in Adland’. Through Milana’s story – and those of other incredible mothers – we’ll shine a light on the realities of balancing leadership with parenthood.
From challenges to triumphs, this series is about breaking a narrative – motherhood is not a ‘career break’. It builds stronger, more empathetic leaders – and it’s time for the industry to stand behind them.
To kick off the series, here is Milana’s story.
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I started in this industry very young – at the age of 17.
Through the early years of my career, it didn’t matter to me that I didn’t see women and people like myself around me, as actually, I never really had before either.
Taking inspiration from wherever I could, I excelled in my roles and made my way to executive producer. There were bumps in the road of that journey that were not easy to overcome but when failure is not something you allow yourself to accept, you keep pushing harder with each setback.
It wasn’t until I was in my early thirties – by which point I was running NERD Productions, a creative production company bringing diverse talent to our industry – that I started to feel extremely lonely as a female in a leadership role. NERD was my first baby, my family, and my passion, but I wanted a family at home too. Having always been a nurturer, the one that sees the potential in others and helps them realise that too, I felt that I had what it takes to be a great mother.
However, I had never really come across many women that were in senior positions and had children. It dawned on me that I didn’t know a single one that was running their own production company or agency. That scared me.
Our industry is so competitive and male dominated, that you can’t afford to ever be half a step behind. Aside from running successful productions, so much of it all is run on networking. The lunches, dinners and endless drinking, going out and entertaining. As long as you can keep up with that, you are ok. But how do you do all of that when you have your babies that need your time, love and affection. What do you do when you have an important meeting booked in for months and months and then your baby gets sick on that very day and simply wants to fall asleep in the comfort of mummy’s warm hugs? Do you cancel the meeting that could potentially change a young director’s career path, or tend to your cherished little treasure that can’t understand why you can’t simply just be there?
Women that decided to have kids were and still are often referred to as ‘taking a break to have a baby’. But we know what happens to women in our industry that took that break.
They never came back or were slowly pushed out due to lack of flexibility in their roles. Over 55% of women who had taken parental leave in the last five years believe that choosing to do so damaged their careers. Where do we go from that? This is why we are starting this series. To highlight all those incredible women who are somehow doing it all.
From Guilt to Pride
I did what I do best – kept calm and carried on.
But this is where things get unbearably hard. Everything practical – juggling appointments, sickness, no sleep or time to eat – I could deal with, but there was one thing that I didn’t account for. The guilt. The kind of guilt you can’t imagine. The volume of it is so high, that sometimes you feel like you could drown in it with every breath.
I worked until my contractions were five minutes apart. And handed over my notes to one of our senior producers, ahead of rushing to the hospital to deliver my first baby.
After one long weekend, I was back to work. With my second baby, due to health complications we had a C section and I was back to work three days after.
In an attempt to be a full-time mother and a full-time CEO, I have breastfed my babies with my camera off on endless Zoom meetings. Feeling guilty that I have to hand them over to their dad as soon as they finish, so I can get back to supporting my team and then feeling guilty some more, that I may have not paid enough attention to every word uttered in that meeting.
In an attempt to support my team’s career goals, I sat on a flight for six hours, while my two-year-old was at home, not responding to medication. Being told that he stood in front of our photo attached to the fridge crying and begging daddy to tell mummy to come home killed me inside. On the other hand, I felt guilty that I had to dash back from a big production and leave my team on their own.
I missed my daughter’s first parents evening as I was running late on set – a moment in life I will never get back, but I helped a struggling director capture that one shot he really wanted that day! A sense of achievement with a dash of guilt in my stomach for not being the mum I wanted to be that day.
My son came home from nursery, running through the door to show me the card he had made me for Valentine’s Day and I had to almost edge him out of my screen and keep a straight face as I muttered that I will see it in just three minutes.
Feeling guilty for not cooking a fresh meal on a busy work day, feeling guilty for not attending a work trip… Guilt became the air I breathe.
Even with the most empowering and supportive partner, endlessly helpful family and friends, there is always something to feel guilty about because you can always do more. After all, you are the woman that wanted it all. You could just choose a career, or family, like everyone else and not struggle.
The flipside? You can carry on like this for so long before you notice your male peers not feeling guilty for taking work trips, for taking on more work, for progressing in their career and for going to a drink after work at the expense of not spending every waking hour with their little kids, or fulfilling their every emotional need.
They are okay to be more than a dad so why don’t we ever take a leaf out of their book?
We think and we are told that women are the issue, as we have this self-imposed guilt for wanting it all. But why is wanting a career and a family seen as wanting it all and why should we not want it? Why are we judged so harshly for choosing to have a career or for staying at home?
This is why now, I refuse to allow guilt to rule my life and my choices.
I worked incredibly hard to reach this point in my career and I enjoy my job endlessly.
Growing NERD from nothing to being here ten years later and representing incredible talent, crafting with people I love and respect, supporting each other in every milestone, including family life has not come easy and with no effort.
On the other hand, my children are my world and the centre of my universe. Nothing can compare to the love we share and the happiness they bring me with every little cuddle and every little smile they unselfishly and genuinely give. This is not having it all – it is making the most of life and the endless opportunity in it.
I refuse to suppress the sense of pride I get out of being able to set this example for my children.
Since becoming a mother, there is no force that I would not be willing to stand up against. So, in a way, it has allowed me to improve all of my skillset – patience, resilience, problem solving and the unwavering ability to show up, no matter what.
This is why mothers are so vital to each team and each company. They will be there first, support your cause, understand, give, champion and work harder! Sure, they need to leave for the school pick up, or take a day when their child is sick, but they will be back online later doing way more than reasonable and enjoying it too!
It was the pandemic too, that gave us the opportunity to go from denying that life outside of work exists, to acknowledging that we all have responsibility for other, little lives.
Had it not been for covid, my career, like many others, would undoubtedly have taken a few steps back after having kids. Now, I have even taken my kids to shoots and work trips. Clients seem to accept that you need to pop home and do family stuff before you come back and take them to dinner and post-shoot drinks.
The tiredness after all of these intertwined activities is undeniable. But after a long day, when you finally lay yourself to bed at night and close your eyes – you did do it all girl!
We are making progress. And I hope that in years to come, my daughter, and yours too, never have to shed a single lonely tear, if they choose to smash it in her career, and to be the kind of mummy that she wants to be too.
