People ask how I do it. Usually I don't have a good answer, because the honest answer is that I do it badly, inconsistently, and with a lot of help — and somehow it adds up.
My alarm goes off at 5:15. I write for ninety minutes before anyone else is awake. This is the only hour of the day that is fully mine, and I protect it with the intensity of someone who knows how quickly it can disappear.
By 7:00 I am a mother again. By 9:00 I am a founder again. By 3:00 I'm back to being a mother, and by 8:00 I'm back to being a founder, and somewhere in the middle of all of that I am also a person who has opinions about what to eat for dinner and occasionally wants to watch television.
People ask how I do it. I don't have a clean answer. The honest answer is: badly, inconsistently, with a lot of help from people I could not do this without, and by deciding very deliberately what I'm willing to do poorly. I do not keep a tidy house. I do not respond to most texts the day I receive them. I have not read a novel for pleasure in four months, which feels like a particular cruelty given that I am trying to write one.
What I've stopped doing is apologizing for the chaos. There is a version of this story where the chaos is a problem to be solved. I've started to think it might just be the shape of an ambitious life. Not for everyone. But for me, right now, it seems to be working.