“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this.”

I love to read, and since college I’ve always alternated between fiction and nonfiction — with most of the nonfiction being business books. Books written by very “successful” people who had built massive careers, companies, wealth, and influence.

And before I became a mom, I especially loved reading books by ambitious women with children because I figured they had found the blueprint. Work really hard, become undeniably successful, and eventually you could afford the nanny, the beautiful house, the flexibility, the support, the help running the household… and that, my friends, is how you “do it all.”

I had my first child and continued consuming all of it — books, podcasts, interviews, content from women who had found huge success while raising families. But something slowly started to feel contradictory for me. I was consuming all this content about success while realizing some part of me didn’t actually align with the version of success being sold to me anymore… but I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly which part or why.

Then one day, during a promotion meeting after my son was born, my view on career misalignment finally clicked (or imploded, you can pick the most fitting word).

This promotion was a huge moment for me professionally. A title increase, compensation increase, recognition for a lot of really hard work during a season where I honestly felt stretched incredibly thin between work and home.

But, while discussing the compensation, my leader smiled and said:
“That should help with more nanny hours, right?”

And I remember having this almost immediate panic attack — a visceral, physical reaction to the comment — because instead of feeling excited, my brain instantly thought:

Wait… I don’t want more nanny hours. I want more time with my baby.

I was tired of logging back in after bedtime. Tired of feeling like every sick day created operational chaos. Tired of trying to squeeze motherhood into the margins of a life that still fundamentally operated as if I had unlimited capacity. I didn’t want conferences or travel or more visibility anymore. I would have taken a huge pay cut just to guarantee flexibility and more time at home.

I didn’t want “success” anymore. I just wanted stability.

It honestly reminded me of that line from The Devil Wears Prada, where Miranda Priestly turns to Andrea — who has basically blown up her whole life over a job she realizes she hates — and says:

“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this.”

And I think - despite the humor in that long time - I believed that about my career too.

I thought that everybody wanted the title. The visibility. The nonstop climb. The bigger paycheck that justified outsourcing more and more of your life.

But eventually I realized …I actually didn’t want what the Mirandas of the world had at all.

So, I quit my job after my second child was born. Started part-time consulting. Scaled back childcare and integrated myself back into more of it. Stopped stressing all the time - no like, actually stopped stressing all the time. Found more passion in my work. Started working out more. Eating healthier. Having time to cook. Taking on the sick days without arguments over whose spousal work schedule mattered more. I’m so happy, and honestly, I feel like I won the lottery.

Which… isn’t that feeling the epitome of what success is supposed to be?

The problem is that those business books — that narrative — are still one of the only north stars of success consistently being offered to women right now, especially mothers. And we see it reinforced constantly through the Mirandas of the business world - celebrity business founders like Emma Grede and Allison Ellsworth. Who (despite the fact that I greatly respect them) I get tired that the message is always some version of: if you want to be “successful” (aka rich-rich), you have to work for it, sacrifice for it, push for it endlessly. And only then will you finally “make it.”

Emma Grede recently said that “careers require proximity and visibility,” arguing that if you want “the big corner office,” you need to physically be there — even calling working from home “career suicide.” Allison Ellsworth, founder of Poppi, has also been quoted saying, “A lot of people talk about work-life balance. I think if you want to be successful, you kind of have to sacrifice that.”

And look, I don’t necessarily disagree with them…. IF your goal is to build billion-dollar businesses, become globally recognized, manage enormous teams, answer to investors and boards, and operate at the highest levels of capitalism. Yes, there are probably enormous sacrifices required.

But I also think we’ve lost perspective a bit by treating advice meant for building extraordinary wealth as the universal framework for fulfillment.

Because most people are not trying to build SKIMS. Most people are just trying to build a really solid life.

I actually read Emma’s book - and while 99% of it is how to get to follow in her footsteps - there was a tiny subsection in it which I immediately wanted to yank out and create an entire spin-off series about.

She takes a moment to talk about her friend Renata, who owns a luxury jewelry business. A small, self-funded company. She employs a handful of women part time, sells beautiful handmade pieces, has creative freedom, financial freedom, and a business intentionally designed around the life she wants. She uses it essentially to say, “And that works for her - and it if works for you, great. But if you want to build an empire, there are trade offs.”

And in a world of Emmas, honestly, I want to be a Renata.

That’s the life I want right now. Not the billion-dollar empire. Not the constant visibility. Not the endless scaling. A beautiful business. Creative freedom. Time with my kids. Enough money to feel stable and supported. Flexibility. Ownership over my own time. Space to breathe.

And through Both&, I’ve now interviewed hundreds of parents whose definitions of success look radically different than what dominates headlines.

• The mother who built a successful consulting business specifically so she could make every school pickup.

• The father who intentionally started his own law firm because he wanted enough flexibility to coach sports teams and be present for activities and dinners.

• The woman who stayed within corporate — but advocated fiercely for remote work, boundaries, and a workload that allowed her to succeed professionally while still feeling like herself at home.

• The founder who intentionally kept the business smaller so it could remain enjoyable.

• The consultant making less money than before — but describing herself as infinitely wealthier in time, presence, autonomy, and calm.

These stories rarely become headlines because they don’t sound flashy enough for the internet. There’s no billion-dollar valuation attached to them. No Shark Tank moment. No “girlboss” mythology.

But honestly… I think these stories are far more representative of what most people actually want.

A sustainable life used to be “enough,” desirable even. But somewhere along the way, we started calling that a lack of ambition.

So if you’re reading this while chasing someone else’s definition of success, especially one that requires you to constantly override yourself to maintain it, let this be your reminder that there are other ways to build a beautiful life.

And respectfully, Miranda… everybody does NOT want what you have.

Some of us would choose the smaller business. The slower mornings. The flexible schedule. The school pickups. The peace. The ability to breathe.

Some of us are no longer trying to build empires. We’re trying to build lives we actually want to live.

And I’d love to hear about yours.

Always here,

Kaleana