I was kicking off a major fundraising campaign when I learned my wife had gone into labour. I remember finishing off the final slides from the hospital room while she dozed off after a gruelling delivery, with our little one swaddled beside her.<\/p>\n
It was a sacred moment that deserved my full attention. But there I was, still juggling Slack and Google Docs.<\/b><\/p>\n
I didn’t take paternity leave, though I desperately wanted to. As a founder, you don’t have the privilege of an HR department or leave policy. You are the policy, and the risk of stepping back mid-fundraise was something I could not afford. With our series round underway, even a single day away felt like a make-or-break situation. It’s a decision I still wrestle with.<\/p>\n
When I look back, I realise what I missed. There is a quiet magic about those sleepless nights hustling, not for a project, but for your child. My partner had her hands full with a newborn and a spouse who wasn’t always there when she needed. As for me, my mind somehow always drifted back to work or my email inbox.<\/p>\n
As a founder, taking leave doesn’t just expose you to logistical challenges; it’s an identity crisis.<\/b> You’re wired to believe that stepping back might slow down momentum or might send the wrong message to investors, or worse, create space for doubt.<\/p>\n
The last thing you want is for people to think you’re not “all in.” And you worry — what if things fall apart?<\/p>\n
Verifying<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n
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