While looking through old files, I found an outline for an herbal products company, pausing when I realized I had written it seven years earlier. Seven years of dreaming, brainstorming, crunching numbers, and choosing packaging and colors. I thought about how patient my friends must have been. They believed in me more than I believed in myself.

I've had a great career helping leaders develop and grow social programs. Creating strategic plans, brand strategies, and communications is my sweet spot. For years, my practice grew without a business card or website. Clients loved my work, returned, and referred me to others. I didn't have to try.

Yet I doubted myself. I suppose I always did. I was usually the only one, or one of a few, in most rooms who looked like me. There was a need to prove I belonged, and I succeeded until I went to business school. I had this wild idea that I would use business skills to strengthen nonprofit organizations. However, the only lens that mattered was the one through spreadsheets and charts. I struggled like never before. At my lowest point, a white, male teammate, all but a Ph.D. in economics, told me I was "lazy, didn't work hard enough, and it had probably been that way all of my life." Instead of giving him the tongue-lashing he deserved, all I could do was go home, have my cigarette, cry, and work harder.

That's when I began to feel like an imposter. It hovered beneath the surface for years, and I didn't realize it made me content to walk through open doors. When I learned about the barriers entrepreneurs had to overcome – and the steeper climb for black women, I paused. For years.

It's well documented that black women have less access to networking and mentorship opportunities, creating a gap in finding the ecosystem every entrepreneur needs to thrive. There's also less access to startup and growth capital. Even though I have fancy degrees, I let fear paralyze me.

Instead of diving into the deep waters of entrepreneurship, I spent years planning and giving away countless teas, salve, honey, syrups, and baths for friends and family. I read books and took courses but couldn't take the next step. Yet there's a big difference between activity and progress.

When the pandemic hit, it finally clicked. People who used my teas and syrups were getting better in a few days, and no one else in their homes got sick. Pregnant women who couldn't eat were getting well. It was time to launch because people needed my products. I couldn't hide anymore, so I took the leap of faith and
just did it.

...and my debut was as awful as my attempts at growing tomatoes.

Having worked with designers for years, I thought I could create my own brand identity and website—bad move. There were typos (yes, many typos!) and design issues. By trying to do everything myself, I made costly mistakes and spent days fixing simple things while filling orders, managing consulting clients, and overseeing my son's virtual learning. 

The best business decision I made was launching with a small group of 50 people to get their advice on how to improve. Their positive feedback became testimonials. The feedback that wasn't positive made my products and business stronger.

Kim Violet is a mom, certified herbalist, founder of Eden's Leaves, a premium herbal wellness brand focused on nervous system support. She formulates every product and article from a place of deep personal knowledge and genuine conviction to help people increase their capacity and live well naturally. She is also the founder of Simply Brilliant, and boutique strategy and brand consultancy.