Member since August 2025
Kathy Durfee is a national speaker, author, and CEO and founder of TechHouse. She began on a full-ride PhD path in organic chemistry, shifted to poetry, and then into programming through a consulting firm that trained scientists like her. When her first child was born with health challenges and her employer wouldn't allow remote work, she chose to leave and build something better. That's how TechHouse began. Today, her team works with over 300 businesses across the U.S., offering strategy, security, AI and apps tech consulting, and support—always tailored to how each business works and what each one needs to succeed.
Support and Strengthen Small Businesses
I’m passionate about helping small businesses succeed on their own terms. I’d love to share practical insights and real-world experiences that listeners can apply, especially those working to stay strong, grow smart, or navigate change.
Connect with Like-Minded Entrepreneurs
I’m hoping to connect with business owners who value thoughtful strategy, clear communication, and the right-fit use of technology. These are the kinds of people we enjoy working with at TechHouse.
Call to Action
If listeners connect with what I share, I’d like them to schedule a quick call. It’s a simple way to explore whether working together makes sense for where they are and where they’re headed.
Twenty years ago, while our kids were getting ready for school, I told my husband I had decided to shut down my business. "I'm so overwhelmed," I said. "What am I even doing?"
Balancing motherhood and business ownership felt uniquely challenging. Someone once told me I was greedy for trying to "have it all." At the time, it felt like they were right.
Our first child was born with health issues, and my employer wouldn't allow me to work from home or bring her to the office. I quit my job to care for her and, with my sister's encouragement, started TechHouse from home. Building a business from scratch was daunting, but I was determined to create a situation that worked for our family.
I devoured books and business guides, learning everything I could. Eventually, I grew TechHouse to $1 million in annual revenue—but balancing my roles remained a struggle.
One morning, I was driving my kids to school, dressed in a silk suit for an important meeting. My daughter said, "Mommy, I don't feel well." I pulled into a parking lot, and as I held her, she vomited all over my suit. We managed to clean up and get the kids to school, and I made it to the meeting, albeit smelling a bit. I didn't win the account, but I was proud that I showed up.
Showing up, adapting, and pivoting became constants. I created a rule of my top three priorities to guide my decisions. Even when I felt confident in my choices, some people closest to me struggled to accept them.
I joined CEO peer groups to learn how others managed their businesses. We shared insights on finances and leadership, but my most difficult challenges weren't represented. I knew I was intelligent, capable, and hardworking—but I began to wonder if success was even possible for someone trying to do what I was doing.
So, on that morning twenty years ago, I told my spouse I was shutting down the business. I had reached my breaking point. I didn't believe it was possible for someone like me to run and grow a million-dollar business.
While the kids were getting ready, I gathered my notes for a meeting. I had prepared a plan to provide severance to my team, shut down the business, and transition to a traditional job. My world would stop spinning. It would be okay. I could do something more normal—something I knew was possible because I saw it around me.
Notably, we were a two-income household. My spouse and other family members worked at the company. My decision would impact our family and those we care about.
He said, "Kath, we already agreed to lunch today. Let's talk about it then." I refused. The kids ran past me into the kitchen. I grabbed my bag from the table. "I've got to do this. I'm just not a businessperson."
"Wait," he said. "Wait until after lunch." He had asked me to go to lunch a while back. I frowned.
"Look," he said. "Our lunch today is the 40 Under 40 Business Awards. I was supposed to keep it a secret. But you should accept the award before you shut down the business."
40 Under 40? I won an award in business! Maybe, I thought, I am a businessperson. That realization helped me persevere.
Since the beginning, I've set milestones that felt monumental. Achieving $100,000 in revenue felt like a stretch goal. Then $250,000. Then half a million. Eventually, I realized the bar could be much higher.
As I set higher goals, I developed tools to help me balance my roles. I blocked off a two-hour window on my calendar each weekday. Sometimes I caught up on sleep, meditated, went to the gym, or worked on a project that needed quiet focus. I learned that while I had to be flexible with my hours and often worked far more than 40 hours a week, I also had to enforce structure to remain adaptable.
Today, I continue to set new goals and surround myself with people who challenge me to think beyond what I thought was possible. The journey hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it.
Twenty years ago, while our kids were getting ready for school, I told my husband I had decided to shut down my business. "I'm so overwhelmed," I said. "What am I even doing?"
Balancing motherhood and business ownership felt uniquely challenging. Someone once told me I was greedy for trying to "have it all." At the time, it felt like they were right.
Our first child was born with health issues, and my employer wouldn't allow me to work from home or bring her to the office. I quit my job to care for her and, with my sister's encouragement, started TechHouse from home. Building a business from scratch was daunting, but I was determined to create a situation that worked for our family.
I devoured books and business guides, learning everything I could. Eventually, I grew TechHouse to $1 million in annual revenue—but balancing my roles remained a struggle.
One morning, I was driving my kids to school, dressed in a silk suit for an important meeting. My daughter said, "Mommy, I don't feel well." I pulled into a parking lot, and as I held her, she vomited all over my suit. We managed to clean up and get the kids to school, and I made it to the meeting, albeit smelling a bit. I didn't win the account, but I was proud that I showed up.
Showing up, adapting, and pivoting became constants. I created a rule of my top three priorities to guide my decisions. Even when I felt confident in my choices, some people closest to me struggled to accept them.
I joined CEO peer groups to learn how others managed their businesses. We shared insights on finances and leadership, but my most difficult challenges weren't represented. I knew I was intelligent, capable, and hardworking—but I began to wonder if success was even possible for someone trying to do what I was doing.
So, on that morning twenty years ago, I told my spouse I was shutting down the business. I had reached my breaking point. I didn't believe it was possible for someone like me to run and grow a million-dollar business.
While the kids were getting ready, I gathered my notes for a meeting. I had prepared a plan to provide severance to my team, shut down the business, and transition to a traditional job. My world would stop spinning. It would be okay. I could do something more normal—something I knew was possible because I saw it around me.
Notably, we were a two-income household. My spouse and other family members worked at the company. My decision would impact our family and those we care about.
He said, "Kath, we already agreed to lunch today. Let's talk about it then." I refused. The kids ran past me into the kitchen. I grabbed my bag from the table. "I've got to do this. I'm just not a businessperson."
"Wait," he said. "Wait until after lunch." He had asked me to go to lunch a while back. I frowned.
"Look," he said. "Our lunch today is the 40 Under 40 Business Awards. I was supposed to keep it a secret. But you should accept the award before you shut down the business."
40 Under 40? I won an award in business! Maybe, I thought, I am a businessperson. That realization helped me persevere.
Since the beginning, I've set milestones that felt monumental. Achieving $100,000 in revenue felt like a stretch goal. Then $250,000. Then half a million. Eventually, I realized the bar could be much higher.
As I set higher goals, I developed tools to help me balance my roles. I blocked off a two-hour window on my calendar each weekday. Sometimes I caught up on sleep, meditated, went to the gym, or worked on a project that needed quiet focus. I learned that while I had to be flexible with my hours and often worked far more than 40 hours a week, I also had to enforce structure to remain adaptable.
Today, I continue to set new goals and surround myself with people who challenge me to think beyond what I thought was possible. The journey hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it.