• My father-in-law's funeral was a celebration of his life with family, friends, music, and laughter.
• His memorial pushed my husband and I to begin talking about our own funerals for the first time.
• While at first we had differing viewpoints, we're now on the same page with what we want.

Our last family gathering was so memorable because it was the kind of spring day you dream of. There wasn't a cloud in the striking blue sky and plump yellow daffodils were dancing in the breeze.

We had chosen a pub with a large garden, and the laughter flowed as freely as the drinks. My sons, aged 6 and 2, ran from table to table, laughing uproariously as their cousins and uncles chased them across the grass. My mother-in-law and husband caught up with relatives and family friends they hadn't seen in a long time, with a soundtrack of classic 1960s and 70s rock humming in the background.

On that gorgeous spring afternoon, my father-in-law was everywhere - in the music that he loved so much that he recreated it in the bands he formed with friends, in the photo collages dating back to the 1950s, in the friends that had traveled from across the world to pay tribute to him and in the stories about his knack for a joke and ability to bring people together. Sure, there had been plenty of tears at the chapel service that morning, but the mood at the pub quickly shifted to one of gratitude and nostalgic joy. "Thank you for the days", as the lyrics to one of his favorite songs by British rock band The Kinks went.

My mother-in-law, who had barely sat down all afternoon as she went from guest to guest, commented that it was just like the parties she used to go to with my father-in-law, spending the whole time chatting separately with friends, only to reunite at the end of the evening. Except this time, the party was in honor of my father-in-law, who passed away in February, just a few months shy of his 73rd birthday. Unexpectedly, it also prompted my husband and I, who are in our 40s and with no reason otherwise to be thinking about death, to have an in-depth conversation about how we would like our funerals to pan out.

We had conflicting views - but now we're on the same page

As my husband and I took in the sunshine as we drove to the pub after the burial ceremony, we realized we had never asked each other about our funeral preferences, firstly, whether we wanted to be buried or cremated. My husband and I love to travel, plus we love the beach and have spent some of our happiest times covered in saltwater and sand. So naturally, I had thought that being cremated and having each of our ashes scattered at a beach of our choice, would be a poignant way of saying goodbye. It would be at odds with my own family's Italian Catholic preference of being entombed in a tiled cement grave above the ground. But it would be our choice and reflect our individual stories.

Boy, was I wrong. "There's no way I'd be cremated," my husband told me. "I hate the thought of my body being burnt, and to be reduced to nothing but a pile of ashes." In seconds, my romantic notions of a sunset ocean ash scattering ceremony disappeared. But I was surprised by my lack of disappointment, as there is also something romantic about being buried together, as we agreed would be our preference. Indeed, my father-in-law joined his parents in the same plot, and that is where my mother-in-law will eventually be buried, too.

While we were on the topic, it made sense to discuss what we wanted the day to look like. No black dress code, we agreed, and we wanted to emulate the garden party atmosphere of my father-in-law's wake, with personalized music and an open bar for all guests. There had also been a buffet of chicken wings and nachos, which we thought was so much more fun than a sad plate of cold, stale sandwiches.

We want to move away from tradition

My father-in-law's memorial service, while held in a chapel, was a non-religious ceremony, presided over by a civil celebrant. Humorous poems and speeches were read, but there was also the formality of the coffin arriving in a big, black, shiny hearse, followed by immediate family members in a black limousine. The funeral director was dressed in a black formal suit complete with tails and top hat, and he carried a large wooden cane. The attendants were also similarly dressed.

While it suited this occasion, we agreed this British tradition was not for us, and that we would look for an alternate venue for a more casual service. This would be in keeping with how we have approached our other life milestones so far. After all, my husband and I were married in a civil ceremony on the beach in Australia, and held our wedding reception at the pub next to it. My gown was coral colored rather than white. We don't need to follow tradition.

As the conversation with my husband gave us some clarity about what we do and don't want when the time comes, we thought it would be a good idea to formally write it all down, so that is something we are now doing.

I'll admit, I was never aware of how much funerals cost, and after seeing the four-figure bill for my father-in-law's service, we have decided to reserve some of our savings to cover this cost for us, too. A more casual affair will, hopefully, cost less, but we still want our family and friends to have a good time and feel uplifted — so the free bar we want them to enjoy is non-negotiable.

While the reason my husband and I have had the conversation about our funerals is a regrettable one, I'm so glad we have been open with each other about our thoughts and preferences. It's much better than spending the next three or four decades with completely different ideas about our funeral plans and being disappointed that we're not on the same page.

• My husband wasn't feeling fulfilled with his job, so we decided he should be a stay-at-home dad.
• Our new dynamic has challenged traditional roles and sparks mixed reactions from our friends.
• There are things that surprise me about our arrangement, including FOMO and continued mom guilt.

Having a stay-at-home husband used to be a novelty for me, but after nearly a year of it, we've settled into a routine where mom works, and dad takes charge of the kids when they are not in school and daycare. While for the most part we are happy in our roles, there have been times when I have been surprised about the reactions to our situation — from both our peer network and within myself.

While my husband was never that interested in kids until we had our own, he has since blossomed as a dad, insisting that he thrives even with little downtime as he enjoys spending time with our two boys so much. Certainly, there's no better sound than hearing their eruptions of laughter at yet another of dad's silly games.

It means that when my husband ended up feeling unfulfilled in his last full-time role, it didn't take him long to decide that he would feel more satisfied taking care of our kids. This opened up the space for me to open myself up to full—time work as a freelance journalist, from my previous part-time capacity, and for us both to lean into the environment where we're most happy. While we're now settled into our roles, there are some things that have really surprised me about our situation.

My husband knows things about our kids that I don't

One of the biggest revelations for me is that my husband has come to know certain things about our kids more intimately than I do. For example, their food preferences, and when they need new clothes and shoes. When I take over meal prep on the weekends, he'll often step in when I'm about to put something on their plates that they no longer like, but which is news to me. I shouldn't be surprised that this happens, but it does make me feel a bit out of the loop, and like I've lost my edge as a mom.

I still contribute a lot to the family

I also feel compelled to "help" where possible, even though I am working full time. We split drop offs and picks up equally, and I help with chores like laundry when he's out with our youngest during the week. On Friday afternoons, I pause work to be able to take our oldest to his weekly swimming lesson, and on Saturday mornings, I take our youngest. I see it as our weekly bonding time. As I work from home most of the time, it's usually easy for me to step in.

I don't think this stems from mom guilt or not feeling like I can fully hand control over to my husband. It's quite the opposite, actually. I'm fully aware of everything on his to-do list and how being a stay-at-home parent is hardly the easier option, having taken 13 months maternity leave myself with our oldest son, now 6, when our roles were reversed.

Whether it's doing laundry, cooking, shopping, gardening, financial and life admin, plus providing silver butler service to our boys, he barely has a free moment all day. I know some moms I know who don't do paid work, or work part-time, while their partners work full-time, concentrating solely on their work during the day and being largely unavailable. I can only imagine how unsupported they must feel.

I still feel FOMO from time to time

It's also hard not to let FOMO (fear of missing out) creep in, especially when it sounds like everyone is having lots of fun in the other room while I am working. Or worse, when the boys come to blows and need grown-up intervention, and I have to stop myself from going in.

It can be distracting, but I like hearing what they are getting up to, because I miss them, even though we are in the same house at the same time.

Other people are going to have opinions about our arrangement

Other people's reactions have been strange too — perhaps not totally unsurprising, but a little disappointing and frustrating. We sometimes get asked how we're affording to live on just one income, even though there are plenty of stay at home moms in our school peer group and nobody asks them the same thing. Likewise, no one asks when the stay at home moms plan to get a job, but I regularly get asked this about my husband.

Our situation might not be permanent, as we're happy to flex as different opportunities arise, but I can bet that if I returned to being the primary carer, fewer people would ask about my career prospects.

Older people also seem to assume that my husband is working and I am at home with the kids. For example, at a recent family gathering an old family friend was with us looking on as our boys ran around the room. We were talking about what a handful they are, and the friend said to my husband, "But your wife does all the work, right?"

The friend also asked whether I was a terrible cook, because my husband looked like he'd lost weigh. Little did they know, he is the cook in our house, and always has been, even before we had kids. These kinds of preconceptions from older generations are unhelpful, but I try not to take it too personally and remember that things used to be different.

Mom guilt doesn't go away

The mom guilt does rise up, though, when I see how fast our youngest in particular is growing up. When our oldest was the same age, around 2, I worked four days a week, and Friday was our day together. I don't have that with our youngest at the moment, as it makes sense for me to work as much as possible, so sometimes I feel a pang of regret of what I could be missing with him.

But I have to remember he is with his dad, and when I was bonding with our oldest on our Friday adventures, daddy was at work. At that time, there were things that I experienced and he missed out on, so it feels like we've come full circle. What I love most, though, is how our boys are seeing that it doesn't matter which parent works and which parent is at home.

• After hosting a party for my son, we were overwhelmed by the birthday presents he received.
• Unwrapping numerous presents led to chaos and seemed to diminish his appreciation for each gift.
• Now, I always gift cash. I know the kids can use it to buy something they are sure to like.

When my older son turned 5 last year, we invited his whole class to his birthday party. We hosted a rowdy group of 30 kids disappearing down ball pits, whizzing down slides, and climbing padded ladders for two hours. It was definitely some kind of carnage. The other kind of carnage we experienced later that day was going through the birthday presents he received — nearly 40, by the time you included those from family.

We suffered from a severe case of present fatigue. That's when I decided I would never buy birthday presents for kids' parties again.

Unwrapping presents is pure chaos

Tearing off the brightly colored wrapping paper and watching my son's eyes light up as each gift was revealed was a joy, for all of five minutes. About three presents in, it ended up being more of a chore than fun, especially for my husband and I. My son wanted to play immediately with the ones he liked, forgetting about the still very large unopened pile. Keeping the enthusiastically written cards with their rightful gift to be able to thank the correct child later on quickly became a losing game, too. Throw a 1-year-old sibling in the mix of a discarded wrapping paper tornado, and it was a total recipe for disaster.

We decided to make the call to unwrap the remaining presents over the next few days rather than keep going, as it felt like we were force feeding our son and sucking the happiness out of the occasion. As each gift opening session went on, present overload firmly set in. Each one felt less special than the one before, like a chore we had to get through. There were many that my son would realistically not use, like craft kits which he showed little interest in. We ended up regifting some and stashing some away in his cupboard to take out at a later date so they would feel new, but even now, a year later, many still feel forgotten.

Parents spend good money on gifts

I feel bad for the parents who spent their hard-earned money on gifts that have received such little gratitude and appreciation. I want my son to appreciate the time and effort that may have gone into the gifts he receives, but I also know that many of them were likely hastily picked up at a drug store or regifted after it was rejected by their own child.

I'm also not comfortable with the message that receiving so many presents sends. It has wired into my son's brain that in order to have a successful birthday, you must receive a mountain of gifts, regardless of what they are or whether you even want some of them. It reinforces the overconsumption I believe Western society is struggling with, where we equate more stuff with how happy we are.

Money is always a good choice

Don't get me wrong, I do love giving my kids presents, and receiving them myself, too. Fewer, thoughtful ones rather than something someone picked out last minute while running other errands is always something that is going to be meaningful to me.

Turning up at a kids' birthday party with an impressive looking gift that's difficult to carry and towers over the other packages on the gift table can be seen by some as a statement of generosity. Admittedly, I do sometimes feel outdone when we show up with an envelope bearing cash, but I do urge my son to write his own personal message in the card.

I sometimes wonder if some view the gift as lazy or last minute, but I hope that the parents are secretly relieved that there's one less present for their child to open and eventually discard. After the party, many send me a message to say what their child wants to spend it on. To be honest, I wouldn't even mind if the parents pocketed it themselves. They deserve it for all the effort they've put into not just the party, but successfully raising their child.

This year, for my son's 6th birthday, we opted for a simpler affair, inviting three friends to our home for an afternoon of games, pizza making, and ice cream sundae topping. Three presents felt much more special and manageable. For a second, my husband and I thought we should reconsider our stance on giving cash, but when the next party came, we headed straight to the ATM. Giving cash rather than a gift is empowering and liberating, for both the giver and the receiver.

• Eighteen years ago I moved from Australia to the UK and built a life for myself there.
• My parents are still in Australia and caring for them as they age from afar has been difficult.
• I love my life in the UK and don't plan to uproot my family.

I grew up in a small sugarcane farming community in rural northern Australia. It's the kind of place where there are more cane toads and crocodiles than people. My teenage years were spent fantasizing about escaping the quiet humdrum town where nothing happened, for an exciting life in a big city where you could go out every night of the week. World travel was also high on my agenda.

True to my word, I was out the door and on the first flight to the UK once my savings allowed. London was an ideal base with its cheap flights to Europe allowing for frequent trips to my dream destinations of Italy, Spain and France, and an easy to secure working holiday visa for young Australians, which also meant a strong Australian expat community in the city.

I had no idea that the handsome English stranger I met in a bar in central London would be my future husband. It's the reason that, 18 years later, I am now a permanent resident of the UK, raising two young boys who speak with British accents and have no idea what Vegemite is. I have so much to be grateful for in this life I've built on the other side of the world, but the price I am paying for that is becoming more painful as the years roll on: not being there for my parents as they get older.

The distance helped me fulfill my dreams

In the last two decades, I've ticked off many of my life goals, mainly thanks to my big move. With my husband, I've traveled to more than 60 countries, even quitting our jobs for six months to visit far-away places like Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Bhutan, Oman and Georgia. Together, we've trekked the Himalayas, surfed in the Philippines, and motorbiked through Vietnam. We own our own house, and I've built a rewarding media career, cutting my teeth on business magazines as a young journalist in London.

Things are getting complicated

While I wouldn't change any of it, this life I've built on the other side of the world has started to feel bittersweet. My mom and dad are now 71 and 80 respectively, and while we make the long, expensive journey to Australia to see them each year, it's becoming more apparent with each trip how fragile their health is. With my father in particular, I've become painfully aware that we may only have a few years left to spend time with him.

I knew when I married my husband that this would be something I eventually would have to deal with if I chose to settle in the UK with him, but I put it to the back of my mind, and focused on how happy we were to be building a life together. We still are, but as my parents' vulnerability increases, so too does my guilt for not being there to support them.

For example, both my parents have regular doctor appointments, and need to travel to the nearest city which is a 90-minute drive away. This used to be no issue for my dad, who until recently, was a very dependable long-distance driver. But his mobility has been severely impacted in recent months, and he can no longer drive that far. My mom has not driven long distances for some time, so now they both rely on favors from friends to drive them to and from their appointments. It's not a small ask, as it's a whole day commitment for that person.

Medical issues aren't the only thing I worry about

Their town also recently experienced severe flooding, which saw my parents' whole backyard and downstairs area inundated with water. Going through the damaged items and cleaning up after the water receded was hard for them, both physically and mentally, and again, they had to rely on the kindness of others, this time neighbors. I did what I could from nearly 10,000 miles away. I completed their online government financial assistance applications for them, and I managed to find a volunteer delivery service to drop them off fresh, hot meals. All of this was helpful, but I still wasn't there to physically help them, and that made me feel like I'd abandoned them when they really needed me.

I don't know what the future will bring, but I do know I'll be in the UK

My husband, boys, and I are going to stay with them for three weeks this summer, but I will have to regroup with my sister to work out what support they now need, and how we will facilitate that, as while she lives in the same state as them, though she's still a half day of travel away. Organizing outsourced services is the only way I can realistically help, as I can't cut myself into two.

So while I realize that the years are passing quickly and that time with my parents is precious, I won't be moving back home. Our boys are settled into school and daycare here in the UK, and I also have my husband to think about, as he recently lost his dad and needs to support his mom.

If I had known 18 years ago how this would feel, would I have canceled that first date with my husband? Not a chance. The life we have together is precious too, and that is something to feel proud of, not guilty.

• I grew up in a conservative home where we didn't speak openly about topics like sex.
• I'm doing things differently, answering my kids' questions in honest, age-appropriate ways.
• I've spoken openly with my 6-year-old son about death, periods, menopause, and climate change.

When my 6-year-old son saw my tampons in the bathroom and asked what they were, I froze for a minute, with all the possible fictional explanations I could give flashing through my mind like neon lights. They were giant ear plugs. They were for stopping bleeding noses. They were for cleaning between dirty bathroom tiles.

But it seemed like a lot of effort to explain a natural part of life, and something that I thought knowing about would benefit him. So I took a deep breath and explained how a woman's body gets ready to have a baby every month, and when she doesn't have a baby, it doesn't need everything she's stored up for it, so it comes out as blood, and tampons are something a woman can use to help with that. I'm relieved I went down that path, as I think my son asked me fewer questions about it than if I had made something up, and I would have just wound myself up in a web of lies that I'd only have to undo in the future.

It also gave me a flashback of how my heart sank when, as a young girl, I found out that I'd have to bleed every month. I didn't know it was part of the reproductive cycle, as my all-important life briefing on periods didn't come from my own parents, but from one of my friends while we were playing during recess at school. My mom eventually found out that I knew about periods, so she called me in for a talk after dinner one night. She basically reiterated what my friend had already told me.

My parents didn't speak openly about many things

Being told things on a need-to-know, often too late, basis was how my parents operated. They grew up in conservative, Catholic families where parents were not to be questioned, and lines of communications were not meant to be open. I never even had a sex talk with my parents. Instead, at my Catholic high school, we had a visit from church representatives who advised a room full of 16-year-olds that the best form of contraception was to save yourself for marriage.

I recall other occasions where my parents told me significant pieces of information to do with our family well after the fact, and I remember how it made me feel — that my feelings and voice didn't count, and that I wasn't important. As a parent myself now, I want my kids to grow up feeling that they have a say in how (some) things happen in our house, and that my husband and I respect and value them as intelligent humans.

We don't hold back in my house

As a result of our beliefs, my 6-year-old is also aware of other seemingly grown-up topics like menopause and adoption. The conversation about menopause came about when he asked why his grandmother wouldn't be having any more children. I can't quite remember how we got talking about adoption, but it made sense for him to understand it as my cousin is adopted. War has come up too, especially with the current conflicts constantly being featured on the news, but admittedly, that has been a harder one to explain, and it's not something we proactively bring up.

For a while, I felt proud of my abilities as a parent to talk about these tough topics with my son, laying the foundation for more open and productive conversations as he gets older, and with his younger brother, too, although he's only 2. Then my father-in-law, his beloved Grandad, died unexpectedly this month. It took my husband and I a whole week to break the news to him. We were dreading the conversation and kept putting it off.

To our surprise, our son's response to the tragic news was calm and rational. He knew Grandad had been in hospital, but we were all expecting him to recover and return home. He asked a few questions about what happened, but overall, didn't seem too disturbed as he figured he'd see Grandad again in heaven anyway. I don't know whether to be relieved or concerned at his lack of distress, but I have to remember, he is only 6, and death is a big concept to grasp. I'm open to continuing the conversation as he processes the loss to our family.

We're open, but keep things age-appropriate

I don't want to cause anxiety by over-explaining concepts that require a certain level of maturity — for example, my son has started to learn about the environment at school, so we talk about how important it is to look after our Earth, but we haven't gone into detail about climate change.

I also don't want to impose societal norms and views on him that only perpetuate negative associations. Race has come up in our conversations, but only in terms of noticing that someone has a different skin color and talking about why that is. My philosophy is that if he sees racial difference as normal, then he's less likely to adopt racist views. We also have different races in our family background so we make a point of talking about all the interesting and fun things about those cultures.

Having these conversations with my son has made me realize what a huge responsibility parents have to explain to our kids about how the world and life works. They look to us for reassurance about what's okay, and whether they'll be okay. But we also have a duty to not impart our own views, or accepted world views, on them too. By speaking to my son openly and honestly about these grown-up topics, I'm hoping to empower him to have the curiosity to seek the knowledge to come to his own conclusions.

• With our first child, I was adamant that my husband had to suffer through sleepless nights with me.
• For our second, my husband moved to spare room so at least one of us could get some decent sleep.
• While I'm fine with the choices we made, we didn't like feeling like roommates.

For nearly half a year, I chose to share my bed with a male other than my husband — it was my youngest son.

I kicked my husband out and into the spare room so I could co-sleep safely and comfortably with our second child, officially making us sleep divorced — something I never thought I'd do. It saved our sleep and sanity for a while, but when it ran its course, we had to be proactive about how we got back together, where we were meant to be.

With my first child, I was adamant that my husband had to suffer with me

Before having kids, I never understood the appeal or need for co-sleeping. Then, of course, I had kids. It was a long first year with my oldest, now 6, who didn't sleep through the night until he was just over a year old. I would fantasize about saying goodnight to him and not hearing another peep out of him until 7 a.m., but as it went, we would usually see each other at least 5 times a night, if not more. So I'd give in and let him sleep next to me.

During that time, I was adamant that my husband remain in our bed, to try to help share the load of soothing our nocturnally disgruntled son. It was mainly unsuccessful, but I wanted him there to provide solidarity and moral support.

The second time around, I had a change of heart

Those sleepless nights felt like a distant memory by the time our second son came along, when our oldest was nearly 4. I'd heard about the fabled easier second baby, and in some ways, this was true. Our youngest slept for longer stretches at night than his night owl brother in the newborn phase.

Then it all changed at the textbook 4-month sleep regression stage, dominated by my son's unquenchable appetite. He seemed to spend all night on my breast, dozing contentedly with a nipple in his mouth. It made me feel like I didn't really go to bed, that I was just clocking off from one shift to another, and simply changing out of day clothes and into pajamas.

But this time, with a demanding older kid to also take care of, I made the call to kick my husband out of our bed, and into the spare room. It didn't make sense for both of us to be exhausted when it was only me the baby wanted. At bedtime, we'd go our separate ways, me settling in for the night shift, and my husband looking forward to his restful, uninterrupted night — which I didn't begrudge him for, as he did (and still does) a lot of the heavy lifting during the day.

While admittedly it was a little lonely, it made things slightly easier for me. Despite still having to soothe the baby multiple times a night, being just the two of us made it easier and safer to co-sleep. My quality of sleep was better as I wasn't uncomfortable sandwiched between the two people. And I wasn't disturbed every time my husband went to the bathroom or got up in the morning, nor was I anxious that his movements would wake the baby.

The arrangement worked for us — until it didn't

We even kept this arrangement during a 6-week working vacation in Greece that summer. Our youngest was then 8 months and shared the main bedroom of our rental apartment with me, while my husband and our 4-year-old each took a single bed in the second room. While our setup helped me get as much rest as possible to enjoy that trip, that's when I really missed my husband the most. Despite being in a romantic vacation destination, there was very little romance going on.

When we did get a chance to talk, we established that we were both ready to get back together. We recognized that we gave everything to our kids during the day, and that sleeping in the same bed, on our own, felt like the last space that was just for us. We were tired of feeling like co-parents and roommates, rather than two people in a loving relationship.

So on our return, we put "operation eviction" into place. It took some time and planning, but we eventually were able to adjust our sleeping arrangement. Around 14 months, our youngest started sleeping through the night and out of my bed, and my husband and I were able to find a place for our relationship again.

We prioritize our personal space, but know we can adjust when our kids need us to

The only time since our sleep divorce that my husband and I have slept apart was when our oldest had to spend a week in hospital, in April 2024, to be treated for a kidney infection.

That experience showed how resilient and adaptable we are, and committed to our kids. So we don't feel bad about being protective of our personal space the rest of the time, because when it counts, we are ready to step up.

There was a period in our lives where sleep was a priority at the cost of our relationship, but after that chapter, it's time to prioritize ourselves again. Our sleep divorce days are behind us, and unless there's another medical emergency with one of our kids, I can't see them being in the cards again.

• Michael Albertshauser co-founded an erotic audio book startup with his wife, Hannah.
• Albertshauser worked his six-figure tech job by day and spent nights working on his new business.
• After ending up in hospital, he re-evaluated his work-life balance and went all-in on the startup.

This as-told-to essay is based on a transcribed conversation with Michael Albertshauser, the COO of Bloom Stories, an erotic audiobook startup. Business Insider has verified Albertshauser's employment and financials with documents. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

For the past five years, I've been living an exhausting double life.

I worked my 9-to-5 at a tech company. I'd then go home and work late into the night on the startup I co-founded in 2019 with my wife, Hannah.

Working those long hours wasn't sustainable — especially with two young kids, but it took being hospitalized in October 2023 to realize I needed to quit my day job and go all in on our startup.

We decided to build an audio book business

Hannah and I first came up with the idea for Bloom Stories, our erotic audiobook startup, while searching for audio content for couples.

Towards the end of 2019, we were looking for something we could enjoy together. Everything addressed a male or a female, and it felt like one of us was being ignored.

We thought, "What if we do this ourselves?"

I'm not a good voice actor, so we started looking into narrators that could share some recorded fantasies. Once we found some good people, we realized we could publish this content on a website. We considered using Patreon, but weren't sure if our adult content would fit with their community guidelines.

I had previously exited a startup, so I thought we could go beyond creating content and build a business. I knew we needed to have control over the process. I didn't want to rely on third party platforms that might change the rules at any given time.

A founder friend recommended our now-CTO. Things were pretty straightforward at Bloom Stories at the beginning. We found some trusted freelancers who could write, voice, and mix the content. We would order it from them, then update the website when it was ready. I would speak to the CTO every couple of weeks to discuss what else we needed to build.

We uploaded three or four 'episodes' for free, as we hadn't added a payment function. 17 people instantly downloaded them. A few days later in April 2020, we added a payment mechanism for a $2.99 monthly subscription. By the end of that month, we made $700 in revenue.

I had started a new full-time job in February 2020, but this seemed manageable as a side project. Initially, Hannah and I juggled Bloom Stories alongside our day jobs, me at the tech company, and Hannah running her design business.

Things grew more quickly than we anticipated

By the end of 2020, we had a few thousand user sign-ups per week. We worked with freelancers from Fiverr and Upwork. The best of those freelancers eventually joined our core team from 2022 and today, we have around 15 people.

Hannah wound down her design business in 2021 to fully commit to her role as CEO of Bloom Stories, and she has been taking a salary since 2023.

In parallel, things were also going well in my day job.

I was promoted three times, and by the end of 2022, I was making six figures. A higher salary was great for financial stability, with two kids and a mortgage. But it came with more responsibility and late-night calls with the San Francisco team.

My day would be wake up, get the kids ready, go on Slack to check in on Bloom Stories at breakfast, do a full day at my tech job, collect the children, have dinner and put them to bed. Then do a night shift for Bloom Stories. Sometimes I'd work until 2 a.m., depending on how much needed to be done.

I thought I could manage both until I crashed and burned

In October 2023, I got a cold I couldn't shake. I worked through it until I woke up and my neck was completely swollen. I saw my doctor, who sent me straight to the hospital.

I had an infected lymph node, which didn't go down with antibiotics, so I had to have an operation. I was in the hospital for a week and had to take all of that November off work to recover.

I gained a new perspective on life, work, and family. Hannah and I initially reinvested any revenue from Bloom Stories back into the business. I realized I was cheating myself by giving my labor to Bloom Stories for free. You need to invest in yourself at some point.

We decided things had to change and made a plan for me to come to Bloom Stories full-time.

I chose Bloom because I love building companies and find it more fulfilling than my corporate job.

I also love working with my wife Hannah. We complement each other perfectly. She's the creative force, and I bring the data-driven business perspective.

I took a pay cut to do a job I loved

We made a list of financial goals Bloom had to hit by the end of 2024 to be able to invest in my salary as COO.

I wasn't willing to take more than a 50% pay cut compared to my tech job. I also wanted to ensure that the launch of our Pride & Prejudice 13-hour erotic audiobook was fully funded before taking a salary.

To begin the transition, I asked for a demotion to my previous role at the tech company, which had a smaller scope and fewer direct reports. There was a pay cut, too. In October 2024, I officially resigned.

January 7, 2025, was my first full day at Bloom Stories, and I got my first paycheck at the end of the month. I am making a bit less than my tech job, but not drastically so. The plan is to claim the evenings back. I haven't had a hobby for the past five years.

I'm looking forward to getting back into video games and going to gigs again. I'm also looking forward to spending more time with Hannah, that's not work-related.

Next is to work out how we tell our kids about what we do. But hopefully, it's a few years before we have to have that conversation.

• Growing up, I always felt that my parents favored my cuter, funnier sister over me.
• As a mother of two, I sometimes see myself favoring one child over the other.
• I don't feel guilty about seeming to have a favorite child at times, but I do look for balance.

When my youngest son was born, I craved spending time with his older brother, then 4, as the newborn stage is probably my least favorite part of having young kids. That phase of 24/7 breastfeeding and never ending night duty seems to be rewarded with little more than milk- and poop-stained clothes, and if you're lucky, blank stares and unreciprocated cuddles.

Older kids, on the other hand, can hold a conversation, eat, and go to the bathroom themselves (mostly), and make for great companions over a movie and lunch. Hanging out with my oldest while his little brother was in his so-called fourth trimester gave me a welcome respite from my role as milk machine and sleep enabler. It's safe to say that at that time, he was my favorite.

Things keep changing

Two years on, and that needy newborn is now a cheeky toddler overflowing with cuteness. He told me recently that daddy should change his diaper because mommy did it earlier. He regularly says, "Bless you," when I sneeze. While he's the worst at hide and seek — revealing his location before you've even begun the search — his supply of cuddles is plentiful.

My recently turned 6-year-old, on the other hand, spent the majority of his birthday party bossing his friends — and me — around, throwing in for good measure a meltdown over party game and prize politics. It's clear to see that the tables have turned, and who the favorite child is now.

But I realize playing favorites is a more dangerous game this time around. Unlike a newborn who has little awareness of the world around him, my older child is a fully sentient little human. While I don't feel guilty about often siding with his little brother when arguments blow up over who was playing with what toy, I'm definitely conscious of my oldest feeling isolated and developing some kind of inferiority complex.

I felt this growing up

I'm conscious of all of this because I know what it feels like knowing who your parents might favor at one time or another. Growing up, I often felt my younger sister was the favorite child. She was cuter and funnier and she had nicknames and inside jokes with my parents that I didn't have. She was offered singing lessons and after-school sports, things that were not made available to me.

I don't want history to repeat itself

I often questioned how this dynamic with my parents and I came to be, and I know I don't want my oldest having to go through that potentially demoralizing thought process. At times I can sense his disappointment and frustration at feeling like he's being overridden all the time, and this will sometimes come through in his behavior. For example, my youngest is more danger prone so will often get into some kind of sticky situation and need rescuing plus a cuddle. My oldest will then immediately invent a sore leg or arm to also get a cuddle and take the attention away from his brother.

So despite being a sucker for toddler antics, seeing how my oldest processes and reacts to this means I have to remind myself to show him some obvious displays of love. I don't feel guilty about seeming to have a favorite child at times, but I do look for balance and I intentionally remind myself to choose each of them first at times.

How I find balance

It can be hard to show love towards a child that is behaving in a way you don't want, and naturally, it's easy to do that with a child that is cute and funny, and makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But I know that sometimes you have to pull yourself together to focus on the bigger picture, and choose what's hard.

For example, while I'd love to spend bedtime tickling my toddler until he's laughed himself into exhaustion, I always hand over my youngest to my husband for the final stages of bedtime so I can have a few moments alone with my oldest. That's when we chat about the day and I answer any of his burning questions about life. It's those moments of alone time with my oldest that help remind me what is also lovable about him. He's his own person, so finding intentional pockets throughout the week to appreciate that — and let him know that I do — is really important.

But as my toddler is starting to enter his tantrum era, I'm appreciating my 6-year-old more and more with every additional bedtime demand that comes from his brother's room. So just as the tables once turned, no doubt they'll do so again soon.

• My upbringing involved some strict discipline, and those memories have stuck with me.
• I don't begrudge my dad for smacking me as a child, but I'm not disciplining my own kids that way.
• Instead, I'm focusing on communication to foster a positive parent-child relationship.

My childhood was quite an unremarkable one, but there are things that stand out clearly to me, like endless sweaty summers playing barefoot outside, keeping my parents up all night during my yearly birthday sleepover, and watching my dad cook fresh pizza, pasta, and ragù on a Sunday.

That Sunday feast was well-earned after a stifling morning in church, where the air conditioning made no difference, and the rules of the Bible ruled our lives too, also shaping what I remember and how I feel about my upbringing. My parents, my father in particular, took the commandment, "Honor thy father and mother," incredibly seriously, and this spilled over into how I was disciplined. There was little tolerance for disobedience or backchatting, and being smacked was simply par for the course. But that's not how I'm disciplining my own boys.

The memories — both good and bad — stick with me

My dad is my hero in a lot of ways, moving from Italy to Australia at the age of just 18 and spending backbreaking years picking fruit and cutting sugar cane by hand to achieve the Australian dream: a stable job, house, and family of his own. And there are many good memories, like the Sunday cooking, as well as bedtime tickle fights, and after dinner Monopoly tournaments. But the smacking does stay with me, unfortunately. I don't begrudge my dad anything, as it was what he knew about parenting from his own upbringing, but I just don't want my kids to remember me that way.

I'm doing things differently

With two boisterous boys of my own aged 6 and 2, I can see how in the heat of the moment, being physical feels like the only option. I surely have seen red when there seems to be no stopping the volcano or tsunami of a young boy's tantrum, where attempts to reason are futile. I can now understand what my dad might have been feeling. But I am trying really hard to do something my parents weren't able to do, empathize and diffuse.

I have had to dig deep to remind myself that my kids' actions are not a reflection of how "good" or "bad" they are, but of how they are equipped to process that particular event at that moment. I am no child psychologist or gentle parenting advocate. But when I heard my dad say "That boy needs a good smack on the bottom," while seeing my oldest in a particularly rebellious moment, I knew that what he needed was the opposite. He needed the chance to be heard, reassured, and feel loved.

Sometimes it's hard

That is not to say I smother my kids with love even in the most trying times. Far from it. But when it's clear any amount of rational words are having about as much impact as an umbrella in a hurricane, I have to problem-solve. I have on many occasions slammed the door on my screaming older son to give him some space. It gives me a chance to cool down and move past my own emotions. Then when I re-enter, we're both in a position to talk, and most importantly, hug it out, while discussing what both of us might do better next time.

This doesn't work every time we butt heads, but I know it has helped keep us close. On a recent walk in the woods, my older son did not stop talking the entire time, filling my ears with his thoughts on his favorite TV shows, what he thinks he'll learn at school in the coming weeks, when the Tooth Fairy might come next, and ideas for what we might do on our next vacation.

Sure, my ears were ringing, and I couldn't wait to sit down with a coffee, alone, when we got home. But I can't remember ever having a conversation like that with my parents. I hope that walk is one of many good memories of my son's childhood — memories in which smacking doesn't play a part.

• My parents named me after traditional family names.
• A first-grade teacher changed my name so it'd be easier to say in English.
• I still go by that name because it is now part of my identity.

Whenever I meet people for the first time and tell them my name, I usually get asked where it came from. It's a fair question, given that I'm not from the American South and also have a distinct Australian accent 18 years after first moving to the UK.

I wish I could tell you that my parents were inspired by their love of country music and settled on my name after a whirlwind tour of all the honky tonk joints in Nashville, yet it couldn't be further from the truth — and nor is it my real name. But it's a subject that has created its own baggage my whole life, creating mixed emotions.

A teacher changed my name

I was christened Maria Luz with lots of noble, traditional intentions behind my parents' choice. My father is Italian and insisted they keep with tradition by naming me after his own mother. Indeed, there are many generations of Maria in my family. Had I been a boy, I would have been Salvatore, after my paternal grandfather, and there are plenty of them in the family tree, too.

My middle name, meaning light in Spanish, honors my mother, who is from the Philippines and has Spanish names throughout her lineage. My maternal grandmother, for example, was called Natividad, a popular name given to girls born at Christmas. I have uncles and cousins with the last names of Lopez and Cruz.

I was called Maria in kindergarten and pre-school based on the caption in our class photos. Then, I started first grade, and my mother labeled all my belongings with my full name. My teacher decided it would be easier to modify my name to something that was still true enough to the original but more palatable for the Anglo tongue.

I was raised not to challenge the decision of adults, so my mild-mannered 5-year-old self dutifully wrote "MaryLou" on all my worksheets.

I dreaded the first day of school

Of course I had no idea it would set off a chain of awkward conversations at the beginning of each school year, when the next teacher would do roll call and call out my real name. My classmates would always loudly correct them on my behalf, having also grown accustomed to my new name.

This continued into high school, and I would dread the start of the school year for that very reason. I hated that everyone except me seemed to have a stake in what I was called. I started to feel like I wasn't in control of my own identity and that I wasn't allowed to be my authentic self.

I thought I'd found the perfect solution. My dream of going away to college in a big city came true, despite my parents fearing I would fall in with the wrong crowds and protesting that I should stay local for my own safety and future. But I was determined to escape my suffocating small town — and reclaim my identity. I introduced myself as Maria on the first day of college, and so far, so good. I could dictate who I was and how I would be called.

But it wasn't that easy. Connecting with and responding to what was essentially a whole new name just didn't feel right, adding to the uncertainty I was starting to experience as someone from a less affluent background than my classmates. They wore designer labels I had never heard of and didn't need part-time jobs like the one I spent so much of my free time at.

Getting caught up in the party and binge drinking culture also meant I gained a lot of weight, making me insecure about how I looked. The guys at the all-boys dorm next door to my all-girls one even made nasty comments about it. This was a huge setback, as I was supposed to be breaking free of the braces, acne and lack of interest from boys that defined my high school days.

I kept the name that wasn't mine

The new me wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I couldn't wait to go home and return to being MaryLou, away from the judgmental college scene, and be back with people who knew me. I decided that even though I'd not really had a choice about my name all those years ago, I had one now.

Should I feel anger at my first-grade teacher for anglicizing my name without my consent? Possibly, but it wouldn't achieve anything. Should I feel disappointed in my parents for not standing their ground or empowering me to do so? No, because I can only empathize with how two immigrants who were finding their place in a new culture chose not to take on yet another battle against the racism they had already experienced.

So here I am, 36 years later, with a name that isn't really mine but is very much part of my identity. My family background already makes me unique in many ways, and the story around my name is just one more thing.

• Martha Kilner, from London, was a teacher for 20 years.
• She ended up in hospital after a panic attack due to the increasing stress and workload.
• She became a virtual assistant in early 2024 and was fully booked within three weeks.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Martha Kilner. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I wanted to be a teacher ever since I did my psychology degree. I did my dissertation on dyslexia in children, which involved lots of visits to schools, and I felt really comfortable being in front of a class. So I became a teacher in 2002, at the age of 22.

For years, I gave it my heart and soul. The school felt like a family, and teaching was my purpose and calling. I got married in 2010 and had three children in three and a half years. I took maternity leave and returned to teaching full time in 2018.

I realized that I couldn't have a family and be a teacher, so I became a virtual assistant in 2024.

I had no life-work balance as a teacher

Almost as soon as I went back, I realized that it wasn't working anymore. It became clear that it wasn't family-friendly. I used to think teaching would be great when I had kids because of all the vacations you get. But I was leaving for work at 7 a.m. and not getting home until 6 p.m. a lot of the time, so I hardly saw my children. The workload was also never-ending.

I started having lots of health issues, which I attributed to teaching. I was having hair loss and heart palpitations, and I had a ticking in my ear. After sitting down for six hours straight during a parents' evening, I ended up with deep vein thrombosis. I just felt like I wasn't living my life anymore, and things came to a head in 2019 when, after a session with a student teacher, my heart started racing. My colleagues called an ambulance, and I was taken to the hospital; as it turned out, I'd had a panic attack.

But I didn't quit teaching then. I thought it was me, that it was because I had been out of teaching, that it was a new school, and I needed to get into the swing of things, and it would all be fine.

The school offered me a new job but I knew it was time to leave

Then 2020 came, and the Covid lockdowns happened. On my 40th birthday, the announcement came that schools were closed and teaching would go online. We had the Easter vacation to prepare, and I had never had much to do with Google Classroom. I taught third grade, so they weren't used to using computers regularly and accessing resources online. It was stressful at first, but I actually enjoyed meeting my class online in small groups while being at home and not spending so many hours at school.

During maternity leave, I learned to crochet as I found it relaxing, and it was during the pandemic that I thought I could turn it into a side hustle by creating online crochet tutorials. I couldn't quite make it profitable, but I had already decided I wasn't returning to in person teaching. My school offered me a role as their marketing and communications officer — a role I actually loved, managing the school's social media, PR, and newsletters. But it was a low-paid, entry-level job, which wasn't sustainable financially.

I became a virtual assistant

A friend then suggested becoming a virtual assistant (or VA). I found a website called "The VA Handbook" and a Facebook group called "The VA Handbookers" and learned everything I needed to know about becoming a VA. It was mainly about marketing myself because I already knew how to build websites and organize spreadsheets and calendars. From my crochet business experience, I knew getting clients would be the hardest part.

I posted on my personal social media that I was going to try being a VA. Someone I had previously worked with booked me for 30 hours a month there and then, as she had just set up her own marketing agency. That gave me the confidence to officially set up my VA business. I then put up a LinkedIn post about it. So many people who I'd worked with before vouched for me, and I was fully booked within three weeks.

I now have four VA clients who work from 10 hours a month to 60 hours a month. I do everything from inbox and calendar management to social media and websites, proofreading and editing documents, data entry, and customer support. I'm more of a business assistant, as there are so many different aspects of a business that I help with.

I'm more present for my kids

Life is so different now. I take my kids to school every day, and I go for a 6k walk afterward, either with a friend or listening to a podcast. On a Thursday, a friend comes to my house to work, and on Friday, my husband, who's a lawyer, works from home, so I still have work buddies.

I actually make more money, too, and work fewer hours. I can earn about $58,000 a year as a VA, working about 30 hours a week, while I was making about $54,000 a year in my last teaching role. I don't get company retirement payments anymore — I will have to pay into a retirement fund myself — and of course, I don't get the teacher vacation anymore. But weighing up the pros and cons, I still think I have a better deal now. My cholesterol and blood pressure are now normal.

• Reddit went public in 2024 and is a more popular, profitable site than ever in its 20-year history.
• BI spoke to 11 Reddit execs about how they've handled new challenges while maintaining a beloved culture.
• They shared everything from their favorite subreddit to what the IPO means to them.

2024 was a great year for Reddit.

The company went public in March with a $6.4 billion valuation and reported its first quarterly profit in October. Shares have soared 230% since its IPO.

And as BI's Emily Stewart recently wrote, Reddit has become more mainstream than ever. Its daily active users jumped 47% in the most recent quarter compared to a year earlier, thanks in part to an unprecedented number of people tacking "Reddit" onto their search terms — a demand the company will try to meet with "Reddit Answers," its new AI-powered search tool.

To find out what this year has looked like on the inside, BI asked 11 Reddit executives — or "Snoos," as Reddit calls its 2,000 employees — to share their favorite highlights behind the scenes of the "front page of the internet."

They described some career-defining moments and talked about managing through rapid change and a new level of pressure. Here's what they said.

What it meant to take Reddit public

"You can pretend that this all makes sense, and it's all business as usual for a little bit. But there are moments where I kind of zone out and realize the scale and how cool a moment I'm in. I guess the word to describe it is 'awe.'" — Serkan Piantino, 41, VP of product, New York City. Joined Reddit in 2022.

"There are always going to be individuals that say, 'Reddit is not what it used to be.' Of course, it's not going to be what it used to be. It's going to be what we make it in the future." — David Trencher, 43, senior managing director, large customer sales, EMEA & Australia, London. Joined the company in 2019.

"2024 has been maybe the highlight of my career at Reddit. We are so focused on starting with community. I think in '24 we've embraced that value more than ever," — Laura Nestler, VP of community, Seattle. Joined Reddit in 2021.

IPO day was 'so Reddit,' execs said

"Getting Snoo (the company's mascot) to ring the bell (rather than our CEO) was just so Reddit-y. It was a culmination of so many years of hard work to get here, and to see it all come to fruition in a very Reddit way was awesome." — Paulita David, Senior Managing Director, large customer sales in North America. Joined Reddit in 2021.

"We broadcast live globally, and I got to emcee the entire thing on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. We all got to see and feel what was happening." — Michelle Lozzi, 40, senior director of experience, San Francisco. Joined Reddit in 2017.

"It was so nice having our new Snoo mascot up there ringing the bell, symbolizing our employees and the community. There is a human in there. We cannot reveal who it is, but the only clue I can share is you have to be 5'10" to wear the suit." — Monica Benson, 38, head of brand operations and creative production, Los Angeles. Joined Reddit in 2020.

How execs managed through change and volatility

"The biggest change for us has been just the sheer volume of advertisers wanting to advertise on Reddit. It impacts my job pretty dramatically. With this increased demand, we're really embracing more automation." — David

"We run a lot of experiments, so failure is a day-to-day thing. Many of our experiments just don't pan out, and a lot of my job is to refine the idea and keep going or decide to work on something else. We're not a huge company. We still have limited resources, so we have to prioritize." — Piantino

"There's a balance of excitement and pressure that keeps me grounded. The fact that we have a real share price that we can use to measure our size adds somewhat to the pressure, but ultimately the excitement and enthusiasm outweigh it. Something we try to instill in our culture is to not get too high with the highs, and too low with the lows." — Jesse Rose, 38, head of investor relations, Massachusetts, Joined Reddit in 2021.

"I know what volatility looks like, and I know how much that can be a distraction for the team. I liked being a calming force and reminding people that, some days, they're going to say great things about you. Some days they're going to say bad things about you, but you are never as good or as bad as they say you are." — Piantino

"That (two-year pre-IPO period) helped us prepare our teams, which helped alleviate some stress. We were going into it knowing what we needed to do." — Trencher

"Some of our communities are growing really fast, and that can be a challenge. There are a bunch of tools that moderators can now use to handle moments of accelerated growth." — Nicole Heard, 36, UK country lead, London. Joined Reddit in 2022.

Execs say Reddit's culture hasn't changed

"When I came back from maternity leave, I wanted to know how the company culture had changed. It felt warm to come back to that authentic, community-building company, but the stakes are higher." — Benson

"People in our UK office genuinely like spending time with each other. Our office had some of the highest real-life visits this year — probably three days a week. The people and culture is what makes it an amazing place to work." — Sam Hughes, 33, senior client partner, London, Joined Reddit in 2021.

"When I joined in 2021, we had this really small kind of Harry Potter cupboard at a WeWork that sat three to five people. Then we got a bigger space with a whole floor, and now, earlier this year, we got an amazing new building." — Hughes

"We just hosted Mod World in our San Francisco office, which was where we brought in 60 of our moderators and made them feel like they're also a part of this. Because it's not just us building the product, it's them maintaining, operating and, breathing life into it." — Lozzi

"My team has grown from three to eight this year. What I'm looking for is people who understand the human interactions that happen on Reddit, and understand exactly what Reddit stands for in the social media landscape." — Alia Chikhdene, 30, head of community, international, Paris. At Reddit since 2021.

Favorite projects included offline community-building

"I was able to travel to countries all over and meet moderators in local markets. I recently got back from a trip to Manila to see the people in our community called Coffee Philippines. Seeing local communities start to thrive and build local ecosystems is really magical." — Nestler

"Our mods are now able to access community funds, where they can apply for funding to do something great with their community and create an impact. The mods of r/Eurovision got funding to go to this year's competition in Sweden to meet the artists and take AMA questions. This became one of the top five fastest-growing communities in the UK, Germany, and Spain. It was a really impactful initiative that helped connect that community to the artists they love." — Heard

Reddit employees shared their top Subreddits

r/skincareaddiction. "I'm always trying to figure out how I can address these wrinkles and get glowing skin." — Young

r/PhotoshopRequest: "You can send in photos, and the community will do an incredible job for you." — Lozzi

r/vosfinances: "This is a community that is really helping with financial literacy. You're one question away from building your future wealth plan." — Chikhdene

r/askmeuf: "This translates to 'ask women.' I'm incredibly grateful to the mods who have built this space and made it safe, vibrant, and inclusive, and making it culturally available to French women." — Chikhdene

r/moderatelygranolamoms - "I'm often looking for the most non-toxic, sustainable products and ways to raise my baby, and this is the perfect group for talking about that." — Benson

r/TrueOffMyChest - "It's a very vulnerable place where people can be anonymous and just share personal stories they wouldn't anywhere else." — Benson