The Mindful Mug

I’m writing this in a moment where, honestly, I feel like I could cry.

Luca, my youngest, was with me at the café all day yesterday and he’s here with me again today. I’m serving customers, trying to keep everything running, checking stock levels with one hand while grabbing snacks with the other. He’s only little, and I want him to feel safe and close.

But juggling him, The Mindful Mug, and the million other things that come with running a business is full-on. Some days it’s just… a lot.

Rent is due soon, and I’m not even close. I can’t just not open. This place means too much. But doing it all while trying to be a full-time mum is exhausting. It’s not just the physical tiredness. It’s the emotional weight. The invisible pressure that builds up and makes you question everything. I knew this was going to be tough. I’ve never shied away from hard work. But I didn’t expect this level of hard.

Part of me, the quiet, self-doubting voice, says I’m not cut out for this. That I should quit. Do something easier. Something safer.
But then there’s the louder part of me. The one that’s fought to get here. The one that’s faced trauma, juggled uni with a newborn, been underestimated more times than I can count, and still stood up and said, “I’ll try again.”

That’s the part I choose, every single time.

It doesn’t make the anxiety disappear. It doesn’t magically solve the childcare or the bills. But it keeps me going.

I didn’t start The Mindful Mug just to sell coffee. I built it out of lived experience. Out of chaos. Out of heartbreak and hope and a stubborn belief that things can be better. It has taken everything in me to get here. And right now, keeping it going feels just as hard.

Some days, I wish I could curl up and have my mum hold me. I miss her so much. I want to be told it’s all going to be okay. I want someone else to carry it for a bit. But there’s no one else. It’s me. And I keep showing up.

This week has been so quiet, it’s hard not to let the doubts creep in. That bad review keeps looping in my head. He said most businesses fail in the first six months. And maybe he thought that would scare me. But I didn’t come this far to fail. I signed the lease for three years. I’ve got people depending on me. I’ve got something real here.

Still, the quiet can be loud. The what-ifs can be heavy. I know I’ll bounce back — I always do — but in this moment, I’m tired. Raw. A bit broken.

If you’re feeling that too, you’re not alone.