The Story Behind Scatterjet

Every business has a story behind it.

The name Scatterjet actually comes from a nickname my dad has called me since I was a child. It’s a name that carries years of memories and affection, and over time it simply became part of who I am. When I began shaping this work, I found myself coming back to it again and again. Partly because it felt deeply personal, but also because it reflects something many entrepreneurs experience: a swirl of ideas, opportunities, and responsibilities that can feel scattered without the right direction.

This didn’t start as a polished consulting brand. It started through years of building, learning, failing, and discovering what actually works in business.

If you’re curious how Scatterjet as a whole came to be, here is the full story. 👇

It Worked. And That Was the Problem.

We were busier than ever and somehow numb to everything.
We had no option but to keep going, and so we did.

It didn’t start that way.

It started with a new home oven and a love for baking. I had always loved it. I was not professionally trained. I just loved creating. So I started experimenting. Pastries. Cinnamon rolls. Cookies. My husband would take them into work. They sold. Then people started placing orders. Then a local bakery owner told us they were the best cookies they had ever had.

That was the first shift.

Within a few months, we were accepted into one of the biggest pop up markets in town. We sold out the first day. Then the second. Then the third. We came home every night to bake more because we had nothing left for the next morning.

Every market after that felt the same. Lines before we opened. People trying to buy cookies while we were still setting up. I created new flavors every single time because I loved the creativity and because that was what people came for. They never knew what they were going to get.

It felt like momentum.
It felt like blessing.
It felt like we had found something special.

And in many ways, we had.

But momentum has weight.

My husband still worked full time. We had a young son. Market weeks meant staying up all night baking in our kitchen after our son went to bed. Labeling cookies at four in the morning. Showing up to markets on no sleep and pure adrenaline.

We told ourselves it was just a season.
We told ourselves this is what it takes.

And in many ways, that is true. Entrepreneurship requires work. It requires sacrifice. There are seasons where you stretch. Where you stay up late. Where you carry more than feels comfortable.

But a season is meant to end.

When the opportunity came to open a commercial shop, it felt like the natural next step. We signed a lease. Hired employees. Took on debt. I shifted from baking to managing. Payroll. Menus. Marketing. Staffing. Overhead. The physical baking slowed down for me, but the pressure multiplied.

Now it was not just about creating something beautiful.
It was about sustaining something heavy.

We were open fixed hours whether customers came or not. We had to produce at a scale that justified the overhead. The output never slowed. The expectations never slowed.

It was consuming.

After a year, we stepped away from the storefront and moved production back home, this time with a commercial oven and better efficiency. We were accepted into multiple farmers markets across Arizona. Nearly every weekend of the year.

Two weekends off out of 52.

That year became a rhythm of constant motion. Prep. Bake. Travel. Sell. Repeat. Still with a full time job, my husband drove to markets for months straight while I took care of the home. Mondays were for ingredients. Wednesdays,Thursday, Fridays for baking. Weekends for markets.

We were always moving.
Always producing.
Always planning the next thing.

And somewhere along the way, we stopped living inside our own life.

We were busier than ever and somehow numb to everything.
We had no option but to keep going, and so we did.

My health began to decline. I was exhausted. We were eating whatever was convenient. I was gaining weight. I was not sleeping. And then I received the news that my biological mother had passed away from breast cancer, the same disease her mother had died from.

It was not dramatic.
It was clarifying.

The Lord used that moment to slow me down.

No amount of revenue, no amount of momentum, no amount of success is worth losing your health, your peace, or your family in the process.

That summer, God made it clear it was time to pause. Not because we had failed. Not because the business could not continue. But because we were being owned by something we had built.

We stepped back. We let the adrenaline settle. It took months to come down from it. We went to a cabin. We went to the park. I started cooking real food again. I lost nearly forty pounds. We spent time together without calculating production schedules in our heads.

In the quiet, Christ began to reorient my heart.

Entrepreneurship is hard work. It always will be. But hard work is different from losing yourself. Hard work builds something. Losing yourself erodes everything.

What I realized in that stillness was not that business is bad. It was that growth without strategy will eventually own you. Bigger is not better if there is no foundation beneath it.

We had built a business.
But it was no longer serving the life God had entrusted to us.

It was running it.

Success had come faster than strategy.
And survival had quietly become normal.

It Wasn’t Just Us

For a long time, I assumed we had simply mismanaged it. Maybe we expanded too fast. Maybe we were not disciplined enough. Maybe we were not cut out for the scale we were trying to build. I quietly believed the exhaustion was our fault.

But when I began researching founder burnout and entrepreneurial mental health, something shifted. What we had experienced was not rare. It was common.

Recent founder surveys show that a significant majority of entrepreneurs report struggling with anxiety, stress, burnout, or emotional exhaustion. Some data suggests that nearly nine out of ten founders experience at least one meaningful mental health challenge while building their company. That is not a personal failure. It is a pattern.

Research consistently shows elevated levels of stress, sleep disruption, anxiety, and isolation among business owners compared to the general population. Many founders report feeling overwhelmed by responsibility. Many describe the loneliness of decision making. Many admit they struggle to ever fully “turn off.”

When I read those numbers, I did not feel shocked. I felt seen.

Because when you are inside the machine, you assume the pressure is unique to you. You assume everyone else is handling it better. You assume the exhaustion is simply the cost of entry. If you were stronger, more disciplined, more strategic, surely it would not feel this heavy.

But the data tells a different story.

The problem is not that founders are weak. The problem is that most businesses are built in motion rather than in design.

We start with a talent, or an opportunity, or a wave of momentum. Then growth begins, and we respond by adding more. More offers. More platforms. More responsibility. We scale before we build structure. We go bigger before we go deeper. Revenue grows, but the foundation beneath it often does not.

Over time, the business that once felt exciting begins to dictate everything. Your schedule adjusts around it. Your mental bandwidth revolves around it. Even when growth is happening, even when activity looks impressive from the outside, something underneath feels strained.

Activity is not the same as sustainability.

This is where many founders quietly live. Not in visible collapse. Not in public crisis. Just under constant pressure. And constant pressure, when it goes unexamined, slowly becomes normal.

There Is Another Way to Build

When we stepped away from the bakery, I did not walk away from what I had learned. The Lord did not waste those years. Every system I built, every mistake we made, every late night and hard conversation, every realization about margin and exhaustion… He was building something in me long before I could see it.

When the noise finally quieted, I began asking different questions. Not How can I grow this faster? but What kind of life am I building around this? Not What will bring in the most revenue? but What aligns with the gifts God has actually given me?

Instead of forcing the same business model to work harder, I rebuilt it differently.

I began turning the recipes and systems I had already developed into digital products. Instead of baking every cookie by hand, I could teach other people how to create them. Instead of relying only on in-person markets, I built evergreen funnels and content that could introduce people to my work even when I was not actively selling. Traffic began coming through Pinterest and search, quietly bringing the right people to my content over time.

The systems ran in the background. I could create when I felt inspired, improve what already existed, and step away when life required my attention. The business still grows, but it no longer depends on my constant physical output.

That shift changed everything.

For the first time in years, the business was supporting our life instead of consuming it.

And along the way, something unexpected happened. As I rebuilt my own business with more clarity and intention, I began recognizing how many entrepreneurs were quietly carrying the same weight we once carried. They had momentum. They had customers. They had revenue. But they were exhausted. They were building faster than they could think, and many of them had never been given the space to step back and design their business intentionally.

That realization eventually became the foundation for Scatterjet.

Scatterjet was not built on theory or tactics learned in a course. It was shaped by years of actually building a business; experiencing momentum, feeling the pressure of growth, learning what happens when expansion moves faster than structure, and then doing the slow work of rebuilding something healthier on the other side.

Today, the work I do with founders is rooted in that experience. I help entrepreneurs step back from the constant motion long enough to clarify what they are actually building, and to design a business that can grow without consuming the life it was meant to support.

Because growth has never been the ultimate goal.

Faithful stewardship is.

And stewardship requires clarity, alignment, and the humility to build with intention.