Shortly before I gave notice, I was sitting on my couch and saw an ad for Berlinger Art Academy’s course on digital illustration and thought cool. My husband’s career was progressing, so it wouldn’t be detrimental if we went through a period where I could experiment. My husband said, “Why don’t you think if there’s something you would enjoy and just do that.”

This was the first time the idea of “enjoy” ever came up in context of working. I thought about doing graphics, or interior design, but I couldn’t get that ad for digital illustration out of my head.

I did a lot of research about it. At that time, all the other digital art courses stipulated that you had to know how to draw. Berlinger Art Academy was different. I spoke to Ruchie Berlinger, who runs the course. She told me to draw a few pictures and send them to her, which was mortifying, but she said, “You have beautiful strokes, you’ll do amazing, go for it.”

And I did.

This was the first time I chose something for myself. I know it’s a luxury to make a choice like this.

Of course there was massive fear: Will I be good? Will I enjoy it?

I had imposter syndrome; remember, I never drew before, but I kept reminding myself, Hashem brought me to this! It was so clear how Hashem planted seeds leading me to make this decision.

I finished the course, and everyone kept asking me what field of illustration I’d specialize in, and I’d tell them, “I’ll let you know when I know.” Opportunities came up and I found my niche in custom art commissions and portraits.

I signed up for the course when I was 38, and realized right after, oh no, everyone else is gonna be 19. But had I done this course in my twenties, I don’t know how good I would’ve been. I bring so much more depth, life experience, and fulfillment at this age. I couldn’t be that artist at 20.

Another thing; having kids while doing the course was a challenging balance. It was also the best. They’re my biggest cheerleaders. My five-year-old, when asked what Mommy does for work, says, “Mommy colors.” My kids also give me excellent feedback on my work and are there with me in the brainstorming process.

It’s such an example to them. Their mother was not happy with her job and did something about it. Kids can see when their mother is working hard, persevering, and enjoying it; it’s meaningful. I was extremely mindful that my coursework didn’t spill into their lives, so they only saw what they gained from it.

Accessing this creative part of myself regularly: it feels like breathing. It feels like me. This is something I can see myself doing forever. Retirement? What’s that?

Nechy Sampson

“Are you going to teach or work in an office?”

When I graduated in the 1990s in Boro Park, these were our primary career options. For my friends and me, becoming teachers was a choice we made gladly. We were excited to step up to the challenge and privilege of shaping the next generation.

The irony was that teaching positions were scarce back then. After numerous interviews and model lessons, I landed a position teaching eighth grade at Bais Yaakov of Boro Park just a week before school started, where I spent a wonderful decade teaching physics, then history.

The turning point came when I had my third child. With a preschooler coming home at three each day, I had to reduce my teaching load. After calculating expenses, I realized I’d only come home with $500 monthly after childcare costs.

But beyond the financial considerations, my heart was torn. During the first 15 minutes of each class, my thoughts would drift to my children — did I forget a pacifier? Was my crying child okay now? While I’d also be panicking trying to remember whether I’d defrosted the chicken for supper. I told myself there had to be a way that I could earn $500 a month and be home with my children.

When I approached my principal with my resignation, she offered a raise. But I declined to even hear the amount — my decision went deeper than money. I needed a change that would allow me to be fully present as a mother.

My journey into graphic design began with my father’s promise to be my first client. Rather than enrolling in a formal course, I hired a designer for private lessons. I grilled her about every tool and technique, and at one point I asked her, “Am I your hardest student?” She laughed and said yes, but added that I was also her only student who was actually putting her lessons into practical practice.

It turned out that most design clients also needed help with “the words” that would go onto whatever I was designing. As I started doing more writing, I realized I actually liked it better than the graphics, and that I was better at it, too.

I didn’t even know what a copywriter was back then, but I’ve always enjoyed learning, so when it was clear that clients needed writing as part of their design projects, I ordered a couple of business writing books on Amazon, and that’s how I learned the ropes.

This self-taught foundation expanded when I invested in advanced certification programs in copywriting and marketing. This was before the advent of today’s excellent frum copywriting programs. I also joined a new email group for frum writers focusing on copywriting. Today, I moderate that group — FFCC (Frum Female Copywriters’ Corner) — which has grown to 230 members. My first website projects were back in 2009 when the frum world was just starting to establish an online presence. Word of mouth began bringing corporate clients with more complex projects, and I realized how much I enjoyed crafting words that could help each business shine.

As I worked with more clients, I discovered something that transformed my whole approach: Sometimes they weren’t even ready to create marketing materials, as there were hidden obstacles that would prevent them from succeeding. One client wanted to promote their new products, but in conversation with their team, it became clear that they first needed to make changes to better handle their current orders. Another had developed a fascinating course, but our market research showed that there wasn’t enough public interest in it yet. In cases like this, we had to take a step back to understand the full picture and then zoom in on what could really work.

While some conversations were difficult — especially when they led to shifting direction entirely — there was something incredibly fulfilling about uncovering the real challenge and offering clients a sustainable path to growth.  Adding marketing strategy to my copywriting services meant that I could get that thrill regularly.

After refining my approach over several years, I began sharing it with other marketers through consultations and marketing strategy classes, and that special energy that I had last experienced in my teaching days came rushing back. There’s something magical about helping someone find their path forward, knowing that they’ll have the tools to build a more secure future.

On the home front, I found that the elusive work-life balance wasn’t quite so easy to achieve. Even with a talented team helping me serve our clients, managing multiple marketing projects takes up considerable headspace. I often put in hours at night and work most Sundays. Still, the flexibility of setting my own hours allows me to align my work with my values. I block off days between school and camp, before Pesach, and sometimes choose a random day off to meet a friend for lunch.

One approach that worked well for me was drawing a consistent monthly salary regardless of how much the business brought in, and putting any extra into savings. This meant that when family simchahs came along, I could reduce my workload without worry. When my daughters each got engaged, I chose to significantly reduce my workload to savor this special time. I’ve had friends say, “Just pick a linen shop, the sets are all beautiful, have them choose a few and be done with it,” but I’m grateful that I could take the time to go from store to store with my daughters until they found exactly what they liked.

To me, success isn’t defined by traditional metrics — it’s about finding a path that allows me to be the best version of myself, both professionally and personally.

That’s why, when I work with teachers exploring freelance options, I often encourage them to keep teaching at least part-time if they can. Our community desperately needs dedicated educators, but beyond that, teaching offers unique rewards that are hard to find elsewhere. It’s not just the schedule that works well for mothers — there’s something special about the role itself that nurtures the soul.

What I’m eternally grateful for is that Hashem gave me the courage to recognize when I needed a change, and orchestrated every detail to help me find my way forward. Being a copywriter and marketing strategist turned out to be a perfect fit for me. Every career path, whether in education, business, or elsewhere, comes with its unique challenges and rewards — the key is finding what aligns with your values and works for your family.

Shana Katz

I grew up in Flatbush in the 90s. My mom always worked, but she made sure to be home by 3 p.m. She was the director of a retirement center and managed to balance work with being there for us. That kind of balance was important to me — work, yes, but still prioritizing family.

My aunt is a dental hygienist. She loved it, and it’s billed as something very flexible. I didn’t think about if I’d like it, or that mouths and teeth are gross. I just went ahead and did the two-year course plus.

I worked as a dental hygienist for a long time, with two different dentists in the Five Towns. I loved the patients, but the actual work… I was good at it, but no, I didn’t enjoy it.

In the meantime, in the rest of my life, I’m a workout junkie. I was always athletic and loved moving and using my body. I’d go through phases in the type of training I’d do. I did a running phase. I loved that, until like most things, I overdid it and started getting sick of it. I wanted to add strength training to help my body. If I were stronger, I could do more in running, recover faster, be healthier, all that.

I took a class and loved it loved it loved it. The instructor, Tanya, opened me up to the idea that exercise isn’t just about physical health, but that you can really access emotional and mental health through it. It brought a hashkafic angle I hadn’t considered before and I started researching the topic more.

And then Covid hit.

So no more hygiene work, and no more gym classes. My husband bought me the only set of weights he could find (they were sold out everywhere) and I was free and on my own. I live a block from the boardwalk, and every day I’d go there and work out, all by myself, and figure out what I could do with my one set of weights.

I learned so much in that time. That’s my personality. If I’m interested in something, I need to know everything about it.

Eventually, the world opened back up. I went back to working as a hygienist, but I wasn’t into it. Then I was schmoozing with one of the trainers at the gym and she said, “Shana, get yourself certified. You can do this.”

I went home, signed up for an ACE (American Council on Exercise) course, and did it all online. I was certified by the end of the summer. Then I used an app and made a name and a logo in 30 seconds, Sweat with Shana. People poke fun at my name. It’s not the classiest, but it’s so me, I don’t want to change it.

I posted an ad on the local WhatsApp groups and got three clients the next day. The rest is history. I’m now doing something that utilizes my entire self, physically and mentally. I redid my basement and turned it into a proper gym and raised my rates a bunch of times. It’s funny, I’m working a lot more now than I was a hygienist, but I love it. At some point, I thought abought expanding to a gym outside my home, but my husband pointed out to me, “Isn’t that defeating the whole purpose of having a home-based business? To always be around for the family?” He was 100 percent right.

I’m close to my clients. We’re friends. My gym is a very safe space where women can come, who often don’t love their bodies, who only want to be skinny, and this is where I get to share what training is really all about. It’s in the process and journey that the real change happens. I’ve seen that when there’s an incredible shift emotionally and mentally, usually excess weight takes care of itself, and confidence shows up. I know people view physical training and exercise as a physical thing, maybe even shallow, but Hashem created us with these bodies that do incredible functions for us every second of our lives. We walk, we talk, we lie down, we bend. We use our body for every functional thing we do, like saying brachos every morning, and so improving our body’s functioning through exercising can be holy work. It feels like that to me.

Meira Stagler

I’ve always been a hard worker, even as a kid. My parents raised us with a strong sense of responsibility. “If you’re going to do something, do it well,” was practically a mantra. I grew up understanding that a person’s job is a big part of who they are. Maybe that’s why I never thought about whether I’d work, just what kind of work I’d do.

I started out thinking I’d do something practical, like computer science. My father was convinced that was the way to go. But a week into my Intro to Programming course, I was ready to pull my hair out. By the time my father had to help me write a basic program, he realized, “Maybe you’re not cut out for this.”

I ended up majoring in education with a focus on special education and literacy, which felt like a good balance of meaningful work and steady opportunities. After graduation, I got a teaching job at a local school, and I poured my heart into it. I wasn’t one of those people who breezed through their first year — I worked late nights preparing lessons, tweaking them when they didn’t work, and trying to connect with every student. It wasn’t easy, but I loved it.

Over the next few years, I married and had kids. I took on more responsibilities at work for two reasons: One, it was a natural extension of me and my give-all approach. Two, with my husband in kollel, I was the sole breadwinner, and more responsibilities meant more money.

At home, I developed systems — bulk cooking on Sundays, designated laundry days, and a color-coded calendar to keep track of who needed to be where. Child care was a constant juggle, but I managed by hiring babysitters and relying on my mother. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

At school, I introduced a program to help kids see how math applied to real life — budgeting, architecture, and even cooking. I ran a literacy campaign, partnering with local businesses to provide free books to financially strapped families. Word got out, and I was invited to give a workshop at a local teacher training day. Then another. Before I knew it, I was presenting at regional conferences outside the Jewish world. It felt surreal. I’d always thought of myself as someone who just worked hard and kept her head down. But there I was, in front of rooms full of people, sharing what I’d learned.

Then I was asked to become the school principal. It was a huge honor, but also an adjustment. Suddenly, I was in charge of the big picture. Instead of focusing on one class, I had to think about the entire school. Being in leadership meant more visibility, more pressure, and more opportunities. I was dealing with students, parents, board members, community leaders, rabbanim, and government officials. I was very much a public persona.

I loved the work — I really did. But it wasn’t long before I started to feel the cracks. The more public-facing I became, the more people expected from me. I was working days and nights, hardly sleeping, constantly on the phone dealing with crises, guiding my staff, speaking to parents and rabbanim. And then there was politics — every school has politics. I stayed away from it, but some things were unavoidable, and it was stressful.

Through it all, I was still running the systems at home, making sure there were meals for Shabbos, that homework was done, and everyone had clean clothes. I never had a question of whether I’d work — it was how much. And the answer now, apparently, was “too much.”

I still remember the day I realized something had to give. It was a Thursday night. As I stood in my kitchen pulling together Shabbos, one of my daughters asked for help with her homework. I snapped at her, something about being too busy. The look on her face — that was it for me.

I loved my job, but I loved my family more. I didn’t want my kids to remember me as the mom who was always “too busy.”

That night, I told my husband I was thinking about stepping back. He supported me completely, even though it meant uncertainty for us financially.

It wasn’t an easy decision, but I knew I couldn’t keep going the way I had been. I started looking for something that would let me use my skills without the constant pressure of being in the spotlight. Eventually, I found a position with an educational publishing company as a curriculum specialist. It was perfect on paper: higher pay, flexible hours, and no public-facing responsibilities.

The job isn’t particularly meaningful. I spend most of my time creating teacher guides and lesson plans, but it gives me what I desperately need: time. For the first time in years, I had free evenings to spend with my family. I could go to my kids’ school events without worrying about my own deadlines. I could even take a nap on Sundays if I wanted to (and I often did).

I miss the meaning in my old role — the connection to students, the parents, the community, the sense of making a tangible difference. But I don’t miss it enough to go back. The personal sacrifices it required simply weren’t worth it anymore.

Looking back, I’m grateful for every step of the journey — even the hard ones. My time as a teacher and principal taught me so much about resilience, adaptability, and the power of community. And while I miss aspects of my old role, I know I made the right choice for my family and myself.

These days, I try to focus on the positives of where I am now. My work still helps students, even if it’s in a less direct way. I have time to volunteer at my shul and help out with my kids’ extracurriculars. And I’ve learned that job satisfaction doesn’t always have to come from the work itself — it can come from the life that work makes possible.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 930)