Five Years of Integral: Built on Grit, Fueled by Prosecco

They tell you about the independence.
They tell you about the control.
They tell you about being your own boss, making your own hours, popping a bottle of prosecco on a random Tuesday afternoon because you decide when it’s time to celebrate.

But here’s the thing…

They don’t tell you about the weight.
The weight of mortgages and payrolls and invoices that are waiting on someone else’s approval.
The weight of knowing that one wrong move could mean a ripple effect that touches not just you, but your family, your team, your future.

They don’t tell you about the lawsuits you “win” that never really feel like victories.
They don’t tell you about the months of abundance followed by the months of drought, staring at your bank account, trying to do the math, trying to hold back the panic.
They don’t tell you about what it feels like to be at the top of your game one minute and drowning in self-doubt the next.

They don’t tell you that entrepreneurship isn’t just about building a business.
It’s about breaking yourself open.
It’s about facing every insecurity, every fear, every buried belief that says, “You can’t do this.”

And they definitely don’t tell you about the tears.
The ones that slip out in the five minutes of solitude after dropping off the kids at school.
The ones that catch you in your throat in the two stolen minutes in your closet, while you stare at your reflection, trying to choose an outfit strong enough to mask the fear, the pain, the self-doubt.
The ones that fall in the shower, mixing with the water as you wash away another day’s battle scars—another day of holding it all together when, in truth, you don’t always know how much longer you can.

And yet, Yeliza, here you are.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
Still proving them wrong.

Five years ago, Integral was an idea. A hope. A risk.
Five years ago, I walked away from a job that paid well but took more from me than it gave.
Five years ago, I sat in the driver’s seat of my life and finally decided to go all in.

I have never missed a birthday.
I have never missed an anniversary.
I have never missed a school event, a field trip, a client deadline.

But I have missed myself.
I have run on empty. I have poured from a cup that I never took the time to fill.
I have carried the guilt, the exhaustion, the questions that no one else could answer.

And yet, I have also carried the dreams of my daughters.
The belief of a husband who sees in me what I sometimes cannot see in myself.
The quiet strength of a woman who once walked into a boardroom five minutes late and was reduced to “a pair of ovaries.” They meant it as a dig. I made it a legacy. A reminder that I am built for this. That I have always been built for this.

This is what they don’t tell you.
That entrepreneurship is not about money or titles or LinkedIn headlines.
It’s about resilience.
It’s about showing up, even when the doubt is louder than the faith.
It’s about betting on yourself when the rest of the world is waiting to see if you will fold.

So if you are in the trenches right now, if you are staring at an uncertain future and wondering, “How the hell do I keep going?”

This is how.

You keep going because you didn’t come this far just to come this far.
You keep going because the version of you who started this journey deserves to see how it ends.
You keep going because the people who believe in you—who truly see you—deserve to see you rise.
And most of all, you keep going because you are the thing you’ve been building all along.

So, here’s to five years.
Here’s to every sacrifice, every late night, every risk that led me here.
Here’s to the next five.

With everything I have.

Cheers to the next five years—preferably with a glass of prosecco in hand.