When I think back to the beginning of Serene Moms, I honestly laugh out loud. It was two years ago now, and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the first thing about social media, marketing, memberships, running a business, or building a community. I was completely clueless. All I had was a simple dream that wouldn’t leave me alone. I wanted to build a community where deeply spiritual moms could find each other. That was it. No business plan. No proof that it would work. Just a feeling that this needed to exist.

The beginning was hard. Really hard. For months I barely made any money. Hardly anyone joined. Everything felt messy. Every day I was trying something new, hoping maybe this would be the thing that finally clicked. Looking back now, some of my early posts make me cringe, but at the time I genuinely didn’t know any better. I was just trying.

I mean seriously, this was my grid at the time:

Back then I was inviting moms to help me test the membership. Since I was still validating the idea, I offered it for just five dollars a month. I made an Instagram post about it, excited that maybe someone would take a chance on this little dream with me.

The next day, one of my closest friends from high school posted a picture of herself with a bird feeder. She sarcastically wrote that she was “selling something for ONLY five dollars!!” I watched people we both knew like it and laugh in the comments. People who were supposed to be my friends. It was obviously about me.

I don’t think I’ve ever written about that before.

It hurt far more than I ever admitted.

Not because someone on the internet was making fun of me, but because it came from someone I had loved. Someone I had spent years of my life with. Someone I never imagined would publicly laugh at me while I was trying to build something that meant so much to me.

Looking back now, I don’t even know why I never confronted her. Maybe I knew it wouldn’t change anything. Maybe I just didn’t have the energy. Maybe we had already grown into different people.

At the time, though, I remember questioning everything. Was this idea ridiculous? Was everyone secretly (or not so secretly) laughing at me? Was I embarrassing myself?

The hardest part was that I had nothing to point to that proved I should keep going. There were no retreats. No app. No community. No funding. No team. No success story. There wasn’t a single piece of evidence that said, “This is going to work.”

There was only hope.

I think that’s the part about building something that people don’t talk about enough. Hope isn’t powerful because you know how the story ends. It’s powerful because you don’t.

Hope asks you to trust yourself before anyone else does.

It asks you to keep showing up when people don’t understand your vision. It asks you to keep creating when people think you’re wasting your time. Sometimes it even asks you to keep going after people you love laugh at you.

Two years later, my life looks completely different.

Serene Moms has grown into something I couldn’t have imagined back then. We have moms joining us from different countries. We have our own app. We’ve hosted sold-out retreats. We have multiple healers on our team. We’ve received funding. We’ve interviewed with investors. Every month more moms find us, and every month this little dream feels a little more real.

None of that existed when I was being laughed at.

All I had was intuition.

I’m still nowhere near where I want to be, but today I believe in this dream with a confidence I didn’t have back then. Not because we’ve accomplished so much already, but because I’ve watched what happens when you refuse to quit.

One thing I’ve learned over these past two years is that not everyone in your life will celebrate your growth. Sometimes the people you expect to cheer the loudest will be the ones who quietly hope you stay exactly where you’ve always been. That’s one of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn.

If you’re building something that matters to you, there is a chance people will laugh. They might doubt you. They might make sarcastic comments. They might even be people you love.

Let them.

They aren’t living your life.

They don’t feel what you feel.

They don’t carry the dream that’s been placed on your heart.

One day you’ll wake up and realize you barely think about the people who laughed anymore. You’ll have new friends, a new life, and a stronger version of yourself because you kept going anyway.

And maybe that’s the real lesson.

The people who laugh at you aren’t writing your story.

You are.