Me, on my first day of full-time remote work after seven years as a SAHM

The Email That Got Me a Six Figure Job After Seven Years as a SAHM

This is the story of how one email got me a six figure job. Me, a stay at home mom, who had “stayed home” for seven years, a full-time, fully remote, six figure job doing something I love.

But you’ll need a little background. I’ve freelanced as a copywriter for ten years. Not consistently, but here and there. I’d have seasons where 10 hours a week was doable. I’d have six months or a year where freelance felt unthinkable. One year, my two older kids…

Public parks and playgrounds

I found myself at the park, again, for the fifth time in five days. I watched my sons ramble around the playground navigating new alliances with an equal mix of street smart and subtle cooperation. And I couldn’t help but feel so proud. Somewhere in my suburban upbringing I also found this skill set. Growing up alongside six siblings on an acre of land surrounded by acres and acres and acres of open land. Neighbors on BMX bikes and companions I wouldn’t pick but fell in with because of geography. If you lived on our street, we were friends. It’s…

Never work for free.

Don’t work without a contract.

Work with people you like.

Don’t charge an hourly rate.

Read like it’s your job.

LinkedIn. (Then Twitter. Then Instagram)


We are all writers.

If you own a business, if you write an email newsletter, if you use email, if you send texts, if you caption Instagram photos, if you write Facebook posts, you are a writer. We’re not talking about quality, we’re talking about necessity. We are all writers by necessity.

If you’re reading this article, I’m assuming you’re in one or more of a few categories:


  1. like to write and want to do it more

2. already write and make money but you’re not sure what you should be charging

3. want to hire a copywriter and…

On April 1, 2020, I was laid off. A brief video call from California and it was done. Outside my window, I watched my four children and my husband of 13 years jump on the tramp. Their blonde hair stood on end, static electricity playing its reliable tricks. I hugged my knees and watched them bounce, bounce, bounce, crash. Cry. Then bounce, bounce, bounce, collide. Cry. My husband pulled them off one another like, wild puppies. Spring lingered in the air, deep in the ground. You could feel it. …

We said goodbye to the babysitter, pulled the door shut, and walked to the car together. The air felt light, the October sun warm. Downtown, we ordered a plate of corn tacos. We plopped Pico on steaming plates, poured water, took off our masks, fumbling into this rare moment. Just the two of us. Eating tacos. Downtown. I think we’re on a date. A pandemic date. I say. A date is a date even if it’s signing your life on a dotted line.

We stepped into the gleaming elevator and I leaned into him as we rode to the seventh floor. He’ll be right out, the receptionist tells us. He has a mullet, I smile to myself as I walk towards the windows facing the Capitol. There are people without homes camped down below, outside a Presbyterian church. We can hear sirens nearby as the city prepares for the vice presidential debate.

We do the awkward elbow bump with the lawyer and then sit around an oversized conference table. Do they really ever need this many seats for a meeting? Not these…

The Milstein Family Hall of Ocean Life, Natural History Museum, NYC

Nursing Near Meteorites

We’ve been here for only a minute. I glance down at my red-faced infant. The desperation on his face echoes the ache in my breasts. If we don’t find a place to nurse in t minus 15 seconds, we’ll both explode.

We breeze through life size bears and loin-clothed gatherers, skim Southeast Asia’s history detailed through colorful pots, and cast a glance at man’s first apparition, neanderthal, hardly impressed. Could he lactate? No? Then we’re not stopping. The jungle lures us, but only for a minute. Every kind of insect is pinned to the wall, encased in…

Some call them the Hot Dads of Disneyland. But they’re more than that.

After three days of Disneyland indoctrination, a high on $5 spicy corn dogs, obscene amounts of churro, and Radiator Springs racing, there is something I must say:

I have gone and witnessed something I didn’t know existed and it would be unfair for me not to share: there is a man breed I was heretofore unacquainted with but am now wholly invested in observing and sharing with the world. I call them: Disneyland Dads.


Of course the happiest place on earth is bursting with parents with the best intentions, all there to share an idyllic vacation with the kiddos and…

Everything is perfect except I wish I had socks, Me, this evening at dinner by myself. Pork belly, miso, and toasty bok choy steamed in front of me, a trusty middle-aged stranger contentedly slurping next to me at the bar, my phone on Do Not Disturb. But my feet were cold.

I slurped, struggled with the wooden chopsticks but pretended not to, and jotted notes down on my notebook as I sat alone. Maybe for the first time in a week? Two weeks? I can’t remember when. Strip mall ramen never tasted so good.

Why am I looking in this…

I wonder if there is one woman out there who has never felt frustrated with her motherhood, in any way. If there is, I do not want to meet her.*

This is not the motherhood I signed up for. I want tidy drawers and pitter patter sounds. Sweetly sung lullabies and snugly babies that smell like baby powder and peaches. Cooing and quiet playing. Warm oatmeal cookies and piles of picture books. Kisses, and I love You so much you’re the best mom in the world thank you for your sacrifices and you’re so beautiful. That kind of motherhood. Instead…

Koseli Cummings

Pronounced like ‘closely’. Writing about creativity in general, culture at large, and life abroad in Korea.

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