I was born rushing into success. Though I was raised by two teachers, one being an academic, I never felt like I was pressured to succeed, but when you're a child of immigrants, it simply comes with the territory. I loved learning, I loved school, I was really good at it, and I was taking it (way too) seriously (like when I had my first stomach ulcer at 15, or the first panic attack that drove us to A&E in the middle of night at 16, over the upcoming BAC results, which I passed, with honours) so it's always been assumed by the people near me, and by myself, that I'd be successful. 

But I've had to renegotiate what success looks like for me over and over in the last 20 years, fine tuning its meaning. Firstly because of my incredibly sensitive nervous system, then because, or rather, thanks to motherhood. 

Because these two things have always coexisted in me, and I've spent most of my life in the tension between them. On one side: this highly sensitive nervous system, the kind where I've always been told I feel too much, I'm too much, too sensitive. On the other: bundles of drive, of enthusiasm, especially when it comes to dreaming of driving change and impact.  

For a long time, the second part took the lead. The drive, I thought, would make up for the sensitivity. Like it was something I had to compensate for. But motherhood shifted that. Because through your child growing, you actually witness the seasons, you can't pretend they're not happening. Capitalism encourages us to override the seasons entirely, to just keep going. That lie that everything is now or never, rush rush rush, it stops sticking when you've watched a whole little person arrive and grow in their own time, unhurriedly. 

I started my career in banking in Paris, briefly. I quickly felt like a small clog in a big machine I knew I was never going to understand, and after my manager kept berating me for wearing colourful outfits, I knew I had to leave. I went back to school, did an MBA in eBusiness, ended up in digital marketing, then moved to London managing the digital presence of big high street fashion brands. Fun at first, but I was finally ready to accept that I needed something more creative.  

I remember this realisation feeling very painful, being a Creative felt like such a departure from my idea of success. But all the Sunday night panic attacks I was getting could no longer be ignored. So, I started my fashion blog, studied coaching, launched confidence workshops. Then my husband was offered a job in Geneva, and I found my next thing sideways, as these things tend to happen: people kept asking about my hair extensions, which I'd designed myself because the options for Black women were so poor, and with nowhere to direct them, I answered the invitation. 

I had my son before we could launch; harrowing hyperemesis gravidarum got in the way of my timeline, but once I'd given birth, you couldn't stop me. No maternity leave, a very easy baby in tow, and I was out and about building a hair brand. Following successful pop-ups in Paris, London and NYC, RadSwan was born. We moved to New York, raised just over $2m in VC funding. When BoF announced it at the end of 2019, they dubbed us the Glossier of Black hair. 

A few months later, the pandemic hit. Supply chains were halted, the prices soared, and the launch was delayed by months. Meanwhile one of these so-called Covid babies pops into my womb. The HG is back, but this time we go from harrowing to apocalyptic. I’m bed bound in the dark for months, new fears unlocked such as choking on my own vomit should I dare take a sip of water. But as a Founder, you're always fundraising. The show must go on. 

We launched before my daughter was born. I give birth to a velcro baby who would only contact-nap for the first 18 months. Just like with my son, I have terrible D-MER but my daughter refuses any type of bottle or dummy, so I end up breastfeeding her for over 2 years. In hindsight, I think I was also enjoying the contrast with the fundraising shenanigans; my body was an easy solution to all my baby's needs, simply by design, I didn't have to force anything unnatural to me.  

Meanwhile on the investor zoom calls, I have to be chirpy, I have to be excited. Yet postpartum was a beast I couldn't ignore, and when I'm still drowning deep in it a year later, I confide in one of our investors I had grown to see as a friend. I can tell that she doesn't enjoy saying it, but she still tells me that all the other mothers who go through this still make it work. I'm absolutely floored and feel so alone. Because I'm also part of WhatsApp groups with new mothers who are also founders, I know that even those who seem to "make it work" are not okay. Publicly, we're all faking it, pumping milk in the taxi on the way to the investor meeting and posting it like it's a girlboss flex. But we're not okay. 

Still, the breakdown would come further down the line. We sign a huge US celebrity with over 40 million followers as co-founder, along with 2 major US retailers. We pause sales and get to work: we need funds for this epic comeback. 18 months and countless investor calls later, no luck. The context is bleak: tariffs are skyrocketing, DEI is being rolled back, the trend to back Black Founders is over, incredible brands like Ami Cole and Adwoa Beauty are forced to shut, all while more than 300,000 Black women are displaced from the workforce in a single three-month window in 2025. 

But to be completely honest, I'm also really relieved that we failed to raise. While we were busy BTS, I disappeared online. I've been offline, basically, since my daughter was born, four, five years now away from the noise, and it's that quiet place that allowed me to look at things clearly. 

What broke me in the end is the pace of things and what it does to people. When you look at the monopoly of Amazon, the sky-high rise of TikTok Live/Shop, the way everything has sped up and how fast high growth is now the only acceptable model, competition is now at its rifest, the stakes get so high and the speed so relentless, that something in how people treat each other just changes. With the commodification of absolutely everything on social media, I find that so many interactions or relationships are inherently self-serving before aiming to be anything else. We're not just doing jobs, everyone is a personal brand, everyone has the opportunity to make the next headline, to get the next accolade; both the stakes and egos are often so high that we end up treating each other so carelessly.  

They say you have to have thick skin to be a Founder, or to be ready to constantly be putting out fires. But I'm no firewoman, and I've come to accept, notably through a couple of neurological diagnoses, that I'm deeply introverted and sensitive, I have rigid morals and I can't sustain a never slowing pace. I move slowly, because I go deeply. With RadSwan, I wanted to upgrade and dignify the hair extensions experience for Black women, but to move with meaning and intention, I need space and time. Both things that capitalism, as we designed it, can't be generous with. 

But now I think again about what having my daughter in the midst of uncertain and trying times felt like, how natural and simple it was to my body to sustain her successfully. I started asking myself, what else comes simply and naturally to me? That's where true success lies, I know it now. All the winging and performing that I've witnessed and partook in truly made me crave authenticity, and mastery. I want to master something, hone it. I loved school, I absolutely love research, studying, exploring, and I love talking, and teaching, guiding. 

All of that comes so naturally to me. I'm still ambitious, still hungry for growth and accomplishments, but success isn't success if it requires you to be someone else. So, I'm excited to go back to university in September. For 3 years first, maybe longer after that. I like that I don't know yet. Success is personal, mutable, and ever-changing as your life itself unfolds. And I'm learning to be comfortable with the discomfort of the not-knowing.  

Freddie Harrel took the stage at theALLBRIGHT's Motherhood Works Summit in partnership with Mindplace (part of Bupa). It was a full day of panels, workshops and honest discussions about what motherhood really unlocks in women.

Mindplace (part of Buba) believes that mental health care should carry no more stigma than a visit to the gym which sits at the heart of everything Motherhood Works stands for.