Lessons from the Line
What I’ve Learned (and What I’m Still Learning) as a Woman Executive Chef and Mom of Three
Lessons from the Line: What I’ve Learned
(and What I’m Still Learning) as a Woman Executive Chef and Mom of Three
I never set out to be a woman who ran a kitchen while raising three kids. I just wanted to cook. But somewhere between my first line cook job at 19 and becoming an executive chef at 36, life layered on the aprons: three cities, a handful of restaurants, hotels and country clubs, and three children—now 12, 10, and 8 months. I never imagined I would be blessed with this life. The restaurant demands at least 60 hours a week. The children demand everything else. There is no “balance” in the way Instagram likes to promise. There is only the daily decision to keep showing up—for both.
I’ve learned that precision is a love language. In the kitchen, a 30-second window decides whether a filet mignon is tempered, cooked, and rested to a perfect temperature. At home, the same is true. I’ve learned to treat grocery shopping, school drop-offs, and the kids’ athletic games with the same timing, intent, and sense of urgency that I give to a 400-degree oven.
My oldest once told me, “Mom, it’s okay—just slow down.” That wasn’t necessarily a proud coaching moment for me, but it was appreciated. It made me realize she could see the rest I needed, and that the pace at which I was spinning had to change.
The kitchen taught me that people feel safe when you deliver exactly what you promise, on time. My kids have taught me that the moments in between the events matter most. Being fully dialed into one area of my life just isn’t always an option anymore, and neither is that expectation. As the lines of my family and my career deepen, I am learning to be more flexible, transparent with my team, and open to compromise and growth at home.
Motherhood made me a better leader. Kitchens are still loud, hot, chaotic, and historically male—and mine is no different. For years, I thought I had to be twice as tough to be taken seriously. Then I had my first baby. Suddenly, I understood what it felt like to be utterly exhausted and still responsible for other human beings. I stopped yelling and started listening. I learned to read the room the way I read my kids’ faces after a long day—figuring out who needs a break, who needs a challenge, and who just needs to know they’re not alone.
Empathy is not soft; it is efficient. A team that feels seen moves faster and stays longer. Being a mother has not taken anything away from my ability to be a good leader; it has added layers of nurturing, understanding, and patience.
You can’t do it all—and that’s the point. I used to believe asking for help was weakness. Mentors along the way saved me from that thinking, even if the lesson still hits hard. Delegation isn’t failure; it’s strategy. I am learning how to be a teammate in my own home. We should all carry a piece of the weight and contribute.
Kitchens are no different. Every employee deserves to feel a sense of pride and ownership in their contribution—not only to the creativity, but also to the preservation, upkeep, and care of their kitchen. I now schedule short days and time off when I see the opportunity. If a board meeting runs long, the kids know Mom’s “meeting” is non-negotiable too.
Guilt is a liar. The voice that whispers you’re failing your kids when you’re at work, and failing your team when you’re at home, is the same voice that once told me I’d never run a kitchen because I’m a woman. I’ve learned to answer it the same way: with evidence.
My kids can cook themselves breakfast, know how to taste seasoning, and understand that hard work and love can live in the same sentence. They also know their mom shows up for the big stuff—recitals, games, the 10 p.m. emotional breakdowns—because the little stuff is covered by a village I finally stopped being too proud to build.
What I’m Still Learning
I’m still figuring out how to protect my own energy without feeling selfish. The restaurant never sleeps; neither do the worries about my kids’ futures. Some nights I wake with anxiety, but these days, “good enough” is sometimes the most loving choice—for the menu special, for the laundry pile, for myself.
I’m learning to say no without the explanatory paragraph. I’m learning that my children don’t need a perfect mother; they need a present one who loves what she does. And I’m learning, slowly, to let them see me rest.
The kitchen and motherhood keep teaching me the same truth on repeat: everything worth doing is done in community, with discipline, and with grace for the days it doesn’t go perfectly.
I used to think success looked like a pristine dining room, a spotless and quiet kitchen, and straight-A report cards. Now I measure it in the quiet moments—my oldest daughter asking to help make Sunday family dinner, the others debating whether Mom’s pastitsio or Dad’s carnitas is the favorite.
If you’re a woman trying to hold both a big career and a full heart, hear this: you are not behind. You are building something most people will never understand. Keep seasoning as you go. The dish will be worth it.
— Sheena Nicholls
