I gave everything to get funding - the universe had other plans

Pitching your startup to investors is tough. Now, add in the fact that you’re a female founder in a male-dominated tech world, and the stakes feel even higher. It’s not just about proving your idea—it’s about navigating rooms full of seasoned investors, many of whom don’t understand your industry or, worse, don’t see your type of leadership as “serious” because it’s rooted in vision, creativity, and long-term thinking instead of spreadsheets and speed.

And yes, I’ve been called “fluffy.”But I’ve also been the one who saw things coming long before others caught up.

This was one of the biggest challenges I faced.

I was in fashion tech—building a product ahead of its time, pitching to rooms of middle-aged men (yes, this is changing, slowly) who didn’t shop online and didn’t grasp the nuances of my space. Early on, I was a self-funded solo founder trying to do it all. A few years in, I took on a co-founder who, at the time, was stronger on the pitching front and helped lead governance. Together, we secured angel funding—a rare feat, especially during COVID, when fewer than 2% of female founders were receiving it.

We were proud of that win. But the money barely covered our backend database build—no marketing, no wages, no team. And at a time when fashion brands were barely surviving, many were hesitant to risk integrating new tech into their only viable sales stream: online shopping.

The startup funding wall

We later secured a government grant and funding from family and friends, which we were grateful for. But I learned the hard way that to truly move the needle, you need serious backing - not just a short runway. You need enough to hire the right people, build proper infrastructure, and have breathing room to grow. Without that, and without immediate hockey-stick sales growth, getting further investor support was almost impossible.

Eventually, my co-founder stepped away, and the company returned to me. Solo founder again. But by then, I could feel the energy shift. Investors weren’t inspired by the vision anymore. They wanted sales, traction, results - without offering any more investment. And as one person, with no cash flow to pay myself, staff or bills, that expectation became untenable.

Still, I kept going. I believed in the product. I still do. That belief - some would call it delusion or blind optimism - kept me afloat. I decided to try crowdfunding next. I’d built a lot of brand relationships and hoped they’d help fuel the raise. After months of prep and legal work, I launched.

Then the world shifted again.

Interest rates rose. Talks of recession. Brand attention vanished overnight. I came close to hitting my minimum raise, but fell short.

Then, just before the campaign ended, a VC approached with interest in buying out our shareholders. The buzz came back. For over a year, I worked with tirelessly with the VC, through meetings, diligence, future planning...

And in the end? Nothing.

The hardest part: letting go

The truth is, I gave everything I had to this business for over 10 years. I pivoted. I persisted. I did everything I could to honour the belief others had placed in me. But in 2024, everything changed - all in the same week. The VC deal I’d been working on for over a year collapsed, and my father passed away suddenly in a deeply flawed hospital system.

It was like the universe stepped in and said, Enough, Belinda. Enough.

As painful as it was, I honestly believe it was trying to get my attention - to pull me out of something that was no longer aligned, and push me toward the work I was truly meant to do.

That moment cracked something open in me. I could no longer unsee what was broken - not just in tech, but in care, in how we live, in how we age, and in how we support those who give everything (like nurses) yet receive so little in return.

And because of who I am - someone who sees problems and can’t help but dream up better ways - that loss marked the beginning of a whole new chapter.

What I once thought would be my defining success story became, instead, my greatest classroom. A decade of grit. Endless learnings. Grief. And more growth than I could have imagined. It wasn’t a waste - it was my university degree.

I tried to find a graceful exit for my shareholders, and I’m still grateful to those who believed in me. But the truth is, I was running on empty. I was putting my wellbeing last, pouring everything into trying to make things right for others, and slowly suffocating in the process.

You know that image of the miner digging for gold - the one who gives up just before striking it rich? I never wanted to be that person. But what no one talks about is: what if the miner collapses from exhaustion before they get there? What if the gold isn’t the point anymore?

I didn’t give up because I lost belief.I walked away because I saw a bigger problem that needed solving - and because I finally realised I had to put my oxygen mask on first.

The founder’s dilemma: knowing when to keep digging, and when the real gold lies somewhere else.

What came next

I didn’t stop being a founder. I just stopped trying to fit into a system that no longer made sense.

Since then, I’ve begun building something new - quietly, consciously, and with a different kind of fire. A vision rooted in legacy, wellness, beauty, and systemic change. I’m not rushing this one. I’m listening more. Testing. Reimagining. Letting things unfold.

And I still - 1000% - believe in everything that brought me here.

Because even if the startup didn’t end the way I hoped, I still hold my head high. I led with heart. I showed up. I tried. And in the end, I’ve walked away with clarity, freedom, and the fuel to create what’s truly next.

B x

Just a note: What I’ve shared here comes from my own lived experience as a founder – the wins, the failures, and everything in between. It’s simply my perspective, shared in the hope it sparks reflection, conversation, and maybe even a little courage for anyone on their own path.