My Messy, Beautiful Journey of Running a Home Daycare

Author’s Note: This is a long read, but it’s my full story—the messy, beautiful, exhausting, and rewarding journey of my time as a home daycare provider. From how it began to how it ended, and everything in between, my hope is that you’ll find pieces of yourself in my story and know you’re not alone.

Today, I want to offer you something a little different. No SEO tricks, no “top 5,” no links, no products.
Will anyone read this? Maybe not.

But maybe there’s a young mom out there—just like I was—carrying the weight of the world. Juggling financial fears and endless responsibilities, while pouring her heart into those beautiful little beings she created. Just wanting them to feel safe, loved, and secure.

I want to tell you my story. I want to share why I ended up starting a home daycare, and the journey it took me on. There were highs and lows—times when existing felt like a cruel punishment, and times when I felt like I was on top of the world. Looking back now, I can see how beautiful that journey was, even though it didn’t always feel that way. And although my daycare journey was short, it shaped my path. It became my story of resilience, growth, facing fear, and finding myself.

Meet Me and My Family

I’m Carissa. I’m a 35-year-old mom of two. I have a 15-year-old daughter, Harlow, and an 11-year-old son, Charlie. I’ve been with my husband, Kyle, since I was 15. It still feels funny to tell people I’ve been with my husband for 20 years when I’m still getting ID’d at the casino going to play bingo with my mom.

I had Harlow when I was 20 years old. In fact, I went into labor on my 20th birthday, but in true Harlow fashion, she wanted her own day and arrived just an hour after midnight.

Even though I spent most of my 19th year pregnant, I never felt like a teen mom. I’ve always been mature for my age. Kyle and I were already living together and functioning as a team before I got pregnant, so Harlow’s welcome into our life felt natural. It felt exciting, and it felt right—like the pieces of our story were falling into place.

Our little family in those early years—tired but so full of love.

But we were young. Neither of us had more than a high school diploma. We both had decent jobs, and, luckily, living in Canada, I was able to take a full year off work—paid—to be with my new baby. From the very beginning, I knew I wasn’t going back once that year was over. My new job, my new purpose in life, was Harlow.

I’ll also let you in on something personal: I carried childhood trauma that made trusting others very difficult. The idea of leaving my baby in someone else’s care felt impossible. I needed to be the one with her.

But after Harlow turned one, my maternity pay ended and money got tight. I decided that since I wasn’t sending my baby to daycare, I could babysit other kids instead. Almost as quickly as that thought came, the first few families arrived—and Carissa’s Creative Kids was born (though it didn’t get its name until much later).

My First Few Families

It started off as just regular babysitting to me, but on a schedule. I loved it. It was very part-time. I had four families and only watched kids three to four days a week.

I remember my Saturday kid so clearly. He was in grade one, and his mom was a young single mom—a hairdresser trying to make ends meet. I didn’t know them before she responded to my babysitting ad. She paid me $50 each Saturday to watch him from 9 a.m. until 8 p.m. or sometimes even later.

Every Saturday, she’d leave me his booster seat, and we’d go do something fun—swimming, the zoo, the community kids’ Christmas party, you name it. Looking back, there were many Saturdays when I probably didn’t make much, but it didn’t matter. It got Harlow and I out of the house, and I became a safe space for him and his mom. That felt good to me.

Eventually, they moved across the country to be closer to family. Another family had a new baby and no longer needed care, and another child grew up and started school. Around that same time, Kyle was in school getting his journeyman ticket, and money no longer felt tight.

In fact, we bought our house, got married, and even went to Disney World (twice) between 2012 and 2013. Shortly after, I got pregnant with my son. The families I had been working for slowly faded away, and I was so busy with life that it didn’t even cross my mind to look for new ones.

Disney magic, a proposal, and a toddler on my hip—purely us.

Instead, I poured my energy into volunteering with an organization for girls. It brought me so much joy to plan activities, camps, crafts, and lessons for them. Leading my troop was a full-time job in itself, but I was happy to do it. It made me feel good.

The Recession and My Phoenix Moment

Then came 2018. The economy shifted, and things got scary. My husband’s once-secure job in oil and gas was no longer certain, and for months we lived in fear of him being laid off. It was happening all around us—I remember reading posts in my local mom’s group from women whose husbands had lost work, searching for insight into which companies were hiring, not just for their husbands but for themselves, too. The world felt shaky. Especially in Alberta, where trades are a way of life, entire families were suddenly without income.

That summer, Kyle was laid off, along with so many others. Oil prices had tanked, projects were cancelled, and in a month he had sent out hundreds of resumes without a single call back. These are the moments that make or break you.

One thing I’ve learned about myself through the trials of my life is that when everything burns down, I rise. Like a phoenix, I can dig deep when things go bad and find a way through. It’s as if something inside me awakens in those hard moments. With no way to pay our bills, our security hanging by a thread, and two young children depending on me, I knew I had to act.

I remember sitting on my couch with a friend one night, stressed beyond belief, telling her how I didn’t know how we were going to make our mortgage payment or even put food in the fridge. Out of nowhere, the thought came: I could start a home daycare.

It wasn’t a random idea. I had done it before in small ways, and I knew two things: I could make money watching kids, and I was really good at creating activities and crafts for them. It felt obvious. I knew what I needed to do.

And when I decide to do something, I don’t do it halfway. Call it being “extra” or a bit of a perfectionist—but in this case, it was exactly what I needed. I threw myself into it, heart and soul.

We had a full basement suite sitting empty, and it became my canvas. I painted, hung shelves, posted on Facebook for old toys. I even built a giant paper mâché tree in the middle of that green-carpeted living room—chicken wire, spray foam, layers of paper, the whole deal.

Inspiration was flowing through my veins. The idea of this business I was about to create excited me to my core. And you know what? It was amazing.

The Hard Truth After the High

By May I was already interviewing families, and by July I was completely FULL. I had never felt more proud of myself than I did in those first few months. Going from the very real fear of being homeless because we didn’t have an income to bringing in as much as my husband had previously made…it was mind-blowing. Truly. There are no other words.

But if I were trying to sell you a dream, I’d stop there.

The following year was one of the hardest of my life. I had to learn quickly—lessons I don’t think many people talk about. Nothing really prepares you for going from the freedom of being a stay-at-home mom, able to come and go as you please, to being tied to the same four walls day after day.

No one tells you what it’s like to have others constantly in your space, demanding your presence. And to be clear, I’m not just talking about the kids you’re caring for. Without knowing how to set boundaries, you can easily become a punching bag for parents who lack emotional intelligence and boundaries themselves.

No one prepares you for your first call to CPS when a child arrives with bruises. That was one of my hardest lessons in year one. There were other brutal lessons, too: parents not paying, being taken advantage of, and trying to manage seven kids’ big emotions on my own. Balancing all of that wore me down in ways I hadn’t expected.

There’s so much to learn in that first year—and every year after. New families bring new dynamics and new opinions. There will always be new situations, new favorite toys, new big emotions, new injuries…the list could go on. The business is constantly changing, and you are constantly learning and adapting.

I tried to look up hard data on first-year closures, but statistics specifically about that are scarce. Long-term studies do show a significant percentage of home daycares fail over time—and many of those failures trace back to being overwhelmed, underpaid, and overworked in the beginning. I felt all of that in year one. I wanted to give up more than once. The ugly truth is, I couldn’t.

Holding It All Together — and Disney 2019

The recession dragged on, and by 2019 jobs were still scarce. Kyle was searching endlessly, but no one was hiring industrial journeyman electricians. It wasn’t for lack of trying—he sent out hundreds of resumes without a single call back.

Meanwhile, we had already booked a trip to Disney World for Charlie’s 5th birthday, right before Kyle got laid off. This wasn’t just any trip—it was Charlie’s trip. We’d promised it to him for over a year. We’d taken Harlow to Disney World for her 5th birthday a few years earlier, and it was pure magic. The idea of canceling this milestone for Charlie broke my heart. We talked about it with him every single day, watched YouTube videos together, and built Pinterest boards full of Disney secrets and snacks we wanted to try. He was counting down, and I couldn’t let him down.

So I did what any mama would do—I dug even deeper. I started offering after-hours care, overnight care, and I even raised my fees. That part terrified me at first, but I had proven my worth, and to my relief, I didn’t lose a single client.

Kyle kept looking for work, but often he was my right hand in the daycare. In some ways, I couldn’t even imagine him going back to his old job because he was such a big help. Still, the pressure was heavy. Sixty days before the trip, our final payment was due—and you know what? I made that payment.

The pride I felt in that moment is hard to describe. I was proud of myself. Proud of the business I had built. Proud that I was able to carry us through. But more than anything, the relief of not disappointing my son was worth everything.

After the trip was paid off, I scaled back to my normal daycare hours, Monday to Friday, 7 to 5. The extra hustle those few months had been a straight road to burnout, but it was worth it. In April 2019, we boarded that flight to Florida, and my baby got to spend his 5th birthday in the most magical place on earth. It was the happiest two weeks we had had in a long time.

And the best news? While we were in Florida, Kyle got a job offer. Finally, things started to fall back into place.

Charlie’s 5th birthday dream come true— Our Disney magical moment

Juggling Daycare and Family Needs

When Kyle finally went back to work, the weight of running the daycare fell fully on me. I was proud of what I had built, but I quickly realized how different it felt to carry it alone.

Charlie was being tested for a few things around that time, and later that year he would finally be diagnosed with severe ADHD, ODD, and Tourette’s. Every step of that process felt like an uphill battle. His kindergarten classroom just wasn’t the right fit, and the school called almost daily asking me to come pick him up. But I couldn’t just walk out on six daycare kids to run across town. Thankfully, my parents often stepped in to help, but the constant phone calls wore on me.

At home, Charlie often thrived with the daycare kids—he loved having built-in playmates. But on harder days, he struggled to share his mom with so many others. Harlow had her own challenges, too. Her bedroom became the nap room while she was at school, and once a week when she came home early, she’d feel like her space was being invaded. It wasn’t easy on her, but she also loved the perks of having a working mom.

With two incomes, finances were no longer a constant stress. The kids got to enjoy trips, extracurricular activities, new clothes, new toys—anything they could dream of was pretty much theirs.

It was a strange balance—carrying the emotional weight of daycare while also navigating the needs of my own family. Some days I felt like I was barely holding it together. Other days I looked around and realized how far we had come.

When the World Stopped — 2020

Then came March 16th, 2020…wow, was that a day to remember. That morning, only one family showed up—two little boys—along with my own kids at home. That day the world stopped and went into isolation due to Covid-19. As we crafted our leprechaun traps that morning, little did I know it would be almost six months before I opened my doors to children again.

Schools and daycares closed down. Businesses across the country were forced to shut their doors. We sat, paralyzed in fear, as the entire world went quiet around us. We didn’t see family or friends for months.

Kyle was laid off again. I was forced to close the daycare. The world felt dark, quiet, and more than a little bit scary. We stayed home, we wore masks, we complied. We watched the fatality numbers rise each day, terrified that one of us—or someone we loved—would catch it.

That spring felt impossibly heavy. I’d already been carrying burnout before the lockdown, but now I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to go back to running my daycare once this was all over. Calling CPS on a family before the shutdown had left me with heavy feelings, and though that story ended with the mom and kids getting away from an abuser, the toll it took on me was still there.

That summer, I worked in a greenhouse. Plants have always been healing for me, and spending time with them gave me space to breathe and reflect. I started to wonder if maybe daycare wasn’t my path anymore.

Rebuilding More Than a Space

By August, something inside me shifted. I hadn’t stepped foot in my daycare space since March, and when I finally went downstairs, it felt like walking into a time capsule—St. Patrick’s Day decorations still taped to the walls, frozen in time from the day everything shut down.

The energy in that space felt heavy, carrying all the burnout and hard moments I’d left behind months earlier. But instead of turning away, I decided to reset.

We tore out the old green carpet and laid fresh vinyl plank flooring. I deep-cleaned every corner until it felt new again. Then I went to work creating an apple orchard in the dramatic play area, planning crafts, activities, and meals for September.

As the space transformed, so did I. The heaviness lifted. My spark came back, stronger than ever. And when the kids returned that fall, it wasn’t just the daycare reopening—it was me, too.

For the next year, it felt like I was living a dream. Each month had a new theme, and I poured myself into creating magical spaces for the kids to play in. My soul was on fire, shining brighter than it ever had before.

That creativity spilled into other areas of my life. I started designing my own daycare resources, launched an Etsy shop, built a YouTube channel, and even created my first website.

I was busy, but in the best way. The care I was giving felt intentional and meaningful. And in many ways, it was healing me too—mending pieces of my own inner child while I nurtured theirs.

When the Water Rose

But what goes up must come down. Life has its ebbs and flows, and one March afternoon I walked downstairs to find water ankle-deep in my daycare. Ironically, I happened to be filming a “day in the life” video for my YouTube channel that very day—what are the chances?

A tree root had grown through our sewer pipes, backing up the plumbing into our basement. Walls were ripped out, floors pulled up, the kitchen and bathroom gutted. Thankfully, insurance covered the $60,000 restoration bill, but no one prepares you for how long it actually takes to get your life back after something like that. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.

In the meantime, I was running my daycare out of our small upstairs living room—a space the daycare kids had never even been allowed into before. With my oversized couch taking up most of the room, space was tight. We spent as much time as possible outside in our big backyard and the greenbelt beyond, but the chaos of contractors coming and going never really stopped.

To make matters harder, one of the moms I’d recently taken on began overstaying her welcome at drop-off and pick-up. Some mornings she’d sit in the yard with me for hours, unloading about her marriage, job, and life. I felt stuck—how do you ask a client to leave? Meanwhile, other parents were voicing frustrations, and one child’s needs were becoming more than I could manage on my own.

By the time the basement was finally rebuilt—eight long months later—I was exhausted. My creative space had been taken from me, I was drowning in other people’s problems, and I could feel my mental health slipping. That December, I finally reached my breaking point and made the painful decision to let that family go. Saying goodbye to those little girls hurt deeply, but I knew I couldn’t keep carrying the weight of it all.

A Door Closing, A Door Opening

The next year was fine on the surface, but underneath I was running on burnout. I knew I couldn’t keep going like that forever.

Then, in the summer of 2022, my husband and I were presented with an opportunity of a lifetime. My parents’ rental house on their farm had come available. We had dreamed of moving out to the country for years—it always felt like an impossible reach. But here it was, being handed to us.

It was a hard decision in some ways, but in other ways it was the easiest one we’d ever made. My Etsy shop was on the rise, so losing my daycare income didn’t feel as terrifying as it might have before. And the chance to raise our kids closer to family and closer to nature felt like a gift we couldn’t pass up.

So, that October, I closed my doors and we moved to the cottage of my dreams, tucked away on my family farm.

After we moved, I didn’t reopen my home daycare. I thought I might, but with my kids going to school in the city and me driving them back and forth each day, life took a different path.

Instead, I poured myself into my Etsy shop, creating resources for daycare providers around the world. I began consulting local moms who wanted to start their own home daycares, helping them create income for their families. And more recently, that path has led me here—to writing this blog.

There are days I miss working with the kids directly, and one day I’d love to open a local daycare facility. But for now, my heart is here—encouraging, inspiring, and creating resources that make the work of other providers just a little bit easier.

I may no longer open my doors to children each morning, but I carry those years with me always. They remind me that even in the hardest seasons, we can rise, rebuild, and find new ways to make a difference.