This post is part of The Mompreneur Edit — a philosophical manifesto for high-achieving women rewriting the script. View all Mompreneur Edit posts HERE.
Every Friday, when my employee leaves, I say the same thing.
“Have a great weekend. Don’t think about us at all.”
And I mean it.
Not in a cute way. Not in a “look at me, I’m such a chill boss” way. I mean I genuinely do not want this business occupying space in her mind between Friday evening and Monday morning.
I don’t want her checking email. I don’t want her replaying conversations. I don’t want her Sunday night shrinking because work is already creeping in. I know what that feels like.
Most young professionals start bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You land the job. You’re making real money. You feel needed. And being needed is addictive.
“They can’t run without me.”
You mistake that for importance. You mistake that for identity. You mistake that for security. Until you realize you’re not indispensable. You’re just accessible.
There’s a difference between being valuable and being consumed. Corporate culture is very good at blurring that line.
I’ve worked salaried roles where ten hours of unpaid overtime per week was just… expected. Not asked. Expected. Framed as leadership material. Framed as commitment. Framed as “that’s just how this works.”
It was free labor.
And it works because of golden handcuffs.
As your salary increases, so does your lifestyle. Bigger house. Nicer car. Tuition. Vacations. Dining out. Everything scales. And suddenly you’re not working because you enjoy or find value in the work. You’re working because you can’t afford not to.
Now when your manager implies you should stay late — again — you feel that twist in your stomach.
Because you need the job. And when you need the job more than they need you, the leverage shifts.
That dynamic is exactly why we chose small business ownership. I did not leave engineering and corporate stability to recreate the same exploitative system inside my own walls. If I’m going to build a business, it has to look different.
When my husband, Brandon, interviewed for a corporate role between leaving his job and going full-time into our businesses, the hiring manager asked him, “If we gave you a $50,000 bonus, what would you do with it?”
For many people, that’s life-changing money. For us, it wasn’t leverage.
He shrugged and said he’d probably put it in our daughter’s 529 plan.
The energy in the room shifted, it was a palpable change in the power dynamic of the interview. He wasn’t desperate. And systems (and hiring managers) prefer desperate. Desperation creates compliance. And maybe that does make easier employees. But that is not the energy I want in my business.
So every Friday, when I say, “Don’t think about us at all,” what I’m really saying is this:
You are not owned here.
You are not leveraged here.
You are not trapped here.
You are a whole person.
You have a family. You have responsibilities. You have commitments and relationships and a life that matters more than this front desk.
Nothing happening inside our Business Center is important enough for you to lose sleep over.
Now — does this mean I’m naive about hiring?
Absolutely not.
Hiring is risky. There is always the chance you hire someone who isn’t a fit. Someone who underperforms. Someone who drifts. If you hire, you must be prepared to fire. That’s ownership.
I can run this Business Center myself. I’ve done it. I know every system. Every workflow. Every responsibility.
I don’t want to run it alone. But I can. And that matters.
Because there is a huge difference between needing an employee and wanting an employee.
When you operate from desperation, when you need someone more than they need you, you tolerate misalignment. You avoid hard conversations. You build resentment.
I refuse to build from that place. We’ve learned this through experience.
Our first employee was wonderful, but she was salaried and her life became complicated. She needed more time off and a more flexible schedule than a small business with one employee could accommodate. Tension built until she finally chose to move on and prioritize her family.
And that’s why I almost always choose hourly pay. You work, you’re paid. You don’t work, you’re not. If you want overtime, it’s compensated. If you don’t, that’s fine too.
There is no expectation of free labor. No cultural creep of “just one more thing.” No unpaid mental occupancy.
Structure matters. Boundaries require structure.
We learned that lesson with weekends too.
When we first opened our coworking space, we accommodated Sunday guest bookings. We’d rearrange family time to open doors and clean up. We priced it reasonably because we thought that’s what good customer service looked like.
What we were actually doing was rebuilding the cage.
Now, if someone wants a Sunday guest booking in one of our larger spaces, it’s priced close to $1,000.
Not because the space isn’t worth it. But because our Sunday is. Because interrupting family time is expensive.
Members can access the space per their agreements. But if you need the owners physically present on a Sunday, that cost reflects more than square footage. It reflects lifestyle protection.
Most people want it cheap. Some want it free. The answer is no. And our business is now stable enough that we can say no.
And that stability is the point. Your job should support your life, not consume it.
I also insist that my employee take a weekday off every pay period. Not because she demands it. Because I do. Go to the doctor. Go grocery shopping when the store is empty. Handle errands without traffic. Or do absolutely nothing.
Because there is something deeply luxurious about a random Tuesday off and my employee deserves rest. I remember taking my birthday off when I worked corporate. Not to travel. Not to do anything extravagant. Just to exist. To sleep in. To wander. To breathe without obligation.
That kind of time is restorative in a way a weekend never is, because weekends are compressed with life maintenance.
Flexibility is finite. The Business Center still requires 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. presence. That’s real. As the owner carrying the financial risk, I cannot offer every schedule configuration.
Compassion does not mean chaos. But within the boundaries I can afford, I choose humanity.
Every Friday, I say it again.
“Have a great weekend. Don’t think about us at all.”
And what I’m really saying is:
You are choosing to be here.
And we are choosing you back.
Not because you’re desperate.
Not because you’re trapped.
But because this works for both of us.
That’s the kind of workplace culture I want to build.
Not one fueled by fear.
Not one fueled by leverage.
But one fueled by choice.