Six Years, Two Birthdays, and a Different Definition of Success

Six years ago, on October 16th, we officially launched TULA.

We chose that date intentionally because October 16th is also my daughter Emmy's birthday.

She was turning eight. And now, somehow, she's about to turn 14, TULA is turning six, and I have absolutely no idea how either of those things happened so quickly. Although, depending on the day, the last six years have also felt approximately 47 years long.

I've been thinking a lot about watching these two babies grow up.

To be VERY clear, I care significantly more about the human one. 😂

But there's something pretty special about having their birthdays forever tied together. Every year, as Emmy gets older, so does this little idea Cody and I decided to turn into a business. And every October, I'm reminded of just how much has changed.

When we launched TULA, we had a pretty simple belief: life had become unnecessarily complicated, people were overwhelmed, and having someone step in to take things off their plates could genuinely change how they experienced their days.

Six years later, I believe in that idea more than ever.

But what I believe about building a business, and what it actually means to be successful, has changed quite a bit.

When bigger was better

When we started TULA, success looked like growth.

More clients. More markets. More revenue. More assistants. More everything.

And for a long time, that's exactly what we chased. Because isn't that what you're supposed to do when you start a company?

You build something, prove it works, and then figure out how to make it bigger.

And we did grow. We built an incredible team, worked with amazing clients, expanded into new markets, and helped people navigate everything from the everyday chaos of managing a household to some of the most overwhelming seasons of their lives.

There have been moments that made me unbelievably proud of what we created.

There have also been moments when Cody and I looked at each other and wondered what the actual hell we were doing.

The last couple of years, in particular, have challenged us in ways I don't think either of us anticipated. We've had to make difficult decisions, rethink things we were once certain about, and accept that some of the things that worked for us in the beginning weren't necessarily going to work forever.

And somewhere in all of that, I started questioning something I had always taken for granted.

What if success isn't about how big you can make something, but how well it fits into the life you actually want to live?

What if success is having the freedom to make decisions that feel right, even when they don't make the most money?

What if it's knowing when to grow, when to simplify, and when to let go of something just because you've always done it?

What if it's building a business you love without letting it consume everything else you love?

I don't think I understood any of that six years ago. And I certainly haven't mastered it now.

But I have learned that you can be incredibly proud of something you've built while also wanting it to look different than you originally imagined.

That's not failure. That's growth, too.

And maybe that's the kind of growth that matters most.

The other baby

Which brings me back to Emmy.

At eight years old, I'm sure she had some pretty big ideas about what being 14 would look like. What she'd wear, who she'd be friends with, what she'd be good at, what would make her happy.

And now, as she heads into 14, some of those things are probably exactly as she imagined. Others couldn't be further from it.

And I know that the version of success she imagines for herself today will look completely different when she's 25.

At 14, success might look like making the team, getting a certain grade, fitting in, or feeling confident walking into a room.

At 25, maybe it's finding work she loves, building meaningful relationships, feeling independent, or simply being comfortable with who she is.

And at 35? Who knows.

I hope she keeps changing her mind.

I hope she tries things she loves and things she doesn't. I hope she has the courage to walk away from things that no longer fit. I hope she never feels obligated to keep chasing a version of success that belongs to someone else, or even to a younger version of herself.

And I hope she figures all of that out a little earlier than her mother did.

Because the truth is, we're all allowed to outgrow the lives we thought we wanted.

Even the ones we worked really hard to build.

The best business decision we ever made

Of course, I can't reflect on six years of TULA without talking about Cody.

Starting a company with your best friend sounds like a fantastic idea.

And it is.

Until it isn't. 😂

Building a business is hard. Building one with someone you love, whose friendship you value infinitely more than any business outcome, adds a whole other layer.

Before we launched, Cody and I made a pact that our friendship would always come first.

Before the company. Before the money. Before whatever felt like the biggest, most urgent problem of the week.

And I genuinely believe that promise is one of the reasons we're still here.

Because there have been hard business moments, but there have also been hard friend moments.

We've disagreed. We've frustrated each other. We've hurt each other's feelings. We've had to navigate the sometimes very blurry line between being business partners and being best friends.

And there have been times when protecting our friendship meant having conversations that were much harder than simply making a business decision.

But we've kept choosing the friendship.

Sometimes that means saying the uncomfortable thing. Sometimes it means giving each other a little grace. Sometimes it means remembering that the person on the other side of the conversation isn't just your business partner, but someone you loved long before there was a business.

And through all of it, she's still the person I want beside me.

I wouldn't have done this with anyone else.

Would I do it all again?

Absolutely not.

Kidding.

Mostly. 😂

Six years later

I think one of the strangest things about entrepreneurship is that you're constantly measuring progress.

Revenue. Growth. Retention. Profitability. Goals. Milestones.

There's always another number to hit, another thing to improve, another version of the business you're supposed to be working toward.

And those things matter. Of course they do.

But six years in, I'm realizing that some of the things I'm most proud of aren't particularly measurable.

The relationships we've built. The people we've helped. The incredible assistants who have represented TULA with so much care. The clients who have trusted us during really important moments in their lives.

The lessons we've learned the hard way.

The fact that Cody and I are still best friends.

And the fact that we're still willing to question what comes next instead of blindly chasing what we thought success was supposed to look like six years ago.

I used to think success meant building something bigger.

Now I think it might mean building something better.

Not necessarily better on paper. Better for the people we serve, the people who work with us, and the lives we want to live outside of work.

And maybe that's the biggest lesson of all: success isn't a destination you finally reach. It's a definition you get to keep rewriting.

So, happy sixth birthday to TULA.

And happy almost-14th birthday to the human baby who teaches me about growth every single day.

Here's to the things we've built, the things we've learned, the things we've let go of, and the things we haven't even imagined yet.

And here's to giving ourselves permission to keep changing our minds about what success looks like.t.

Love you, Cody. Mean it.

And Emmy, you'll always be my favorite October 16th creation.

Not even close.