Founders are lying about their “why”
The problem → solution storyline is logical and clean, but starting a business isn't.
The myth of the perfect “why”
Since the day I decided to start my business, I’ve heard the same two pieces of advice on repeat from founders, retailers, and investors: identify a whitespace and have a strong “why” as a founder.
You’ve probably heard the formula: “I had ___ problem, I couldn’t find a solution, so I made it!” And while the story may be true, it’s definitely not why anyone starts a business.
My own story fit cleanly into this fact pattern. I had hormonal breakouts from PCOS and supremely reactive skin. I couldn’t find products that cleared the breakouts without wrecking my barrier, so I created formulas that help clear breakouts and brighten dark spots without disrupting the barrier. It was a tidy story. Clean, logical, easy to explain to an old white man at an event.
The problem is, that’s not my why. It’s more of a how. How I came across the problem and identified the gap. It doesn’t explain why I left a healthy six-figure salary in my mid-20s to start a business in one of the most saturated industries.
Starting a business is a deeply emotional decision. It can’t only come from logic. And the truth is, I let the formulaic “why” cloud my real one. So if you’ve been feeling lost lately, I hope that reading this at the very least reminds you that clarity often comes on the other side of those moments.
Everything was working until it didn’t
For some quick context: I launched my sensitive skincare business last November, and the first few months were filled with pinch-me moments. Real customers who loved the product. Articles in the biggest beauty trade publications. A West Village pop-up that was packed all day and felt surreal. I was finally gaining traction on TikTok where I was sharing my journey of building the business. It felt like everything was clicking.
And then summer arrived and something inside me shifted.
I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but I knew I was struggling. I started questioning my decisions and frequently felt a tightness in my chest. Every day, I put my “happy face” on to move through the day. I kept showing up for my business and our customers, but I found it harder to show up on TikTok, which had always been my business’ most impactful platform for discovery. There was a disconnect between who I was in real life and the version of “founder me” I was performing online and the gap was widening. In the most plain terms, I lost my spark.
But one day, I sat down with my parents for sushi at our neighborhood spot. We laughed, talked about everything except work, and they just sat with me. They knew I was struggling, and they showed up with no advice, no pressure, just their presence. It was exactly what I needed in that moment.
Remembering my north star
My parents have always been my inspiration to pursue hard things. My dad came to the U.S. from Guyana in the late 80s with no money and no formal education. He went from doing hard physical labor to senior management at an architectural firm, teaching himself the design and engineering skills he needed to get there. My parents did everything for my sister and me, starting with their decision to leave home so we could have opportunities they never had.
Growing up, I was acutely aware of the risks they took for us. Their stories are insane and my dad could literally write a book. The biggest lesson they taught me? How to have the audacity to believe in possibilities long before they seem remotely possible. It’s what made me believe that I could get into Brown (even though my parents didn’t go to college), secure a job at 19 in investment banking at Goldman Sachs (with no connections), and then walk away from all of it years later to start a beauty business.
I’m grossly oversimplifying this path for brevity, but the line from my parents to me is clear: I have the privilege of moving with delusional belief because they took bold risks long before I existed, dreaming of the future I now get to live.
Sitting with them reminded me of this truth, which is embedded in who I am and how I view my life.
Showing up with my real “why”
Shortly after, I posted something simple on TikTok. A carousel with photos of moments my parents showed up for me: the day my dad left Guyana, dropping me off at Brown, visiting me when I moved across the country after quitting my investment banking job, and a photo of them at my West Village pop-up earlier this year.
I posted it as a thank you to them, but also because it was the only thing that felt true in the moment. After weeks of floundering on social media trying to talk about the business while feeling disconnected from everything and everyone, this was the only thing that felt aligned with where I actually was. I couldn’t bring myself to film a “founder diary” video with an optimistic lesson at the end. It would’ve felt dishonest.
I pressed post, walked away, and within minutes the comments and follows started rolling in.
This post struck something in a lot of people. Caribbean immigrants, first-generation Americans like me, and people with no connection to Guyana at all, but who understood what it was like to benefit from their parents’ sacrifice. For weeks, I got messages every day from other first-gen women. Some wanted to start businesses. Some just wanted to say they finally felt seen. Many were Caribbean women who were just so excited to see someone who looked like them building a beauty business.
And that’s when it clicked. The real reason I walked away from a stable six-figure salary wasn’t because I “found” a whitespace. It was because of their sacrifice.
The question I’ve always asked myself is this: What would be the point of all the risks they took if I don’t even give myself the chance to try to live out my dream? Settling for safe because I’m too afraid to bet on myself would be such a waste. So here I am, trying to build the business I sat behind my desk dreaming about for years.
So yes, I’m obsessed with beauty and always have been. Yes, I believe there’s a gap in the sensitive skincare market. But that’s not what gets me out of bed on the days when the weight of uncertainty feels heavy. And I’d bet money that most founders have two whys: the one share openly because it fits neatly into the story of their business, and the real one that sits a little deeper. Whether they feel comfortable sharing it is a completely different story.
As for me? It took months of inner work to get my spark back. But when it returned, I realized that my why is still much simpler and more human than I let myself believe for so long.
It’s them. It has always been them.
