Growth that kills you
Or minute of building something that eats you alive
I never set out to become a founder.
All I wanted was to provide for my young family.
I jumped between jobs, searching for a place where I felt valued.
Everywhere I went, it was the same: poor pay, shallow leadership, no shared purpose.
Then I found a small agency. They paid little, but there was warmth.
You felt it the moment you walked in. The team was united, the mission clear, and the founder was always there.
No titles, no ego, just presence.
It felt alive. It felt like home.
When success distorts the soul
But then, success arrived. Big clients. Bigger budgets.
And the founder changed. He became distant. Obsessed with chasing more and more money.
Our shared mission turned into slogans on a slide deck.
The warmth disappeared.
I left, but I carried that lesson with me.
I promised myself: I will never become that guy.
Rebuilding warmth and losing it again
When I started my own agency, I swore to protect that warmth.
We celebrated birthdays and weddings, congratulated families, supported each other beyond tasks.
I did all my best to stay available, close, human.
We grew. New offices. New cities. Dozens of people.
On paper, it looked like success. But inside, something felt off.
The more we scaled, the more distant I felt.
Names turned into roles. Rituals turned into checklists. Culture turned into a bullet point in an investor deck.
I started avoiding calls.
I dreaded Monday mornings.
I looked for any distraction, side projects, hobbies, new ideas, anything to escape the machine I had built.
The invisible drift
At some point, I understood, I was quietly rejecting my own business.
All those “strategic” side projects weren’t about diversification. They were subconscious exits, escape routes I didn’t dare to name.
I kept telling myself, "This is normal. Growth requires sacrifice."
But the sacrifice wasn't just weekends or late nights. It was me — my values, my warmth, my sense of meaning.
I thought stepping away to reflect was for "lifestyle entrepreneurs."
Now I understand: it’s essential for survival.
Without space to disconnect, you don’t see how far you’ve drifted.
You keep moving forward, proudly announcing growth metrics, while your spirit quietly dies behind the scenes.
I was running a business that looked impressive to the outside world but felt hollow inside.
I had become exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t be.
The worst betrayal
It wasn’t losing deals. It wasn’t clients leaving. It wasn’t market downturns.
The real betrayal was waking up one morning with a thought:
I had built something that no longer felt like mine.
A machine that consumed my energy, my identity, and my relationships, just to keep moving.
What I wish I had done sooner
Not another strategy session.
Not another OKR spreadsheet.
Not another "team alignment" offsite.
But real, uninterrupted space to ask hard questions:
Who am I becoming as I build this?
If money wasn’t the point, what would I keep?
What does "enough" actually look like for me?
Does this business reflect who I want to be or who I’m trying to impress?
I never paused to answer these. I was too busy "winning."
And by the time I finally looked up, I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
When you don't design your business to protect your energy, your values, and your sense of meaning, it will eventually consume them.
Alignment isn’t about vague "work-life balance" slogans.
It’s about creating a business that supports the life you actually want, not just the numbers on a dashboard.
The real measure of success
Revenue can be rebuilt. Teams can be rebuilt.
But rebuilding your sense of self is the hardest project you’ll ever take on.
Don't wait until you’re forced to rediscover who you are, in the rubble of what once felt like your dream.
The founder you become is more important than the business you build.
Disclaimer.
Every business has its nuances, and every founder has their unique context and resources. Whether or not my advice applies depends on your situation, experience, and needs. But one thing is universal—use your brain.
Think about how to apply the advice in your context before acting.
Your way.
How to recognize misalignment before it destroys you
If you’re feeling that quiet resistance — listen.
Here’s what I wish I had done much earlier.
1. Schedule true disconnection
A day, a weekend, a week.
Away from screens, chats, strategy docs.
Not to “work on the business,” but to work on yourself.
Ask:
Do I feel proud of what I’m building?
Would I work here if I weren’t the owner?
If money wasn’t the goal, would I still do this?
2. Use the “Five Whys” technique, but on yourself
When you feel unease, don’t dismiss it.
Ask “Why?” five times in a row. Force the real reason out.
Example:
Why do I feel stressed?
Because I don’t want to attend team calls.
Why not?
Because they feel heavy and soulless.
Why?
Because I don’t know most of the people.
Why?
Because we grew too fast.
Why?
Because I thought scale was the only way to win.
At the end, the real truth appears.
3. Map alignment, not just goals
Founders obsess over revenue and scale.
But map this:
What type of daily work energizes me?
What kind of relationships do I want with my team?
What personal growth do I want this business to support?
If your business goals betray your personal values, it will eat you alive.
4. Design for “enough”
Many founders chase “more” without defining “enough.”
Enough profit. Enough impact. Enough freedom.
When “more” becomes the goal, you lose yourself in the chase.
5. Build a system that protects your values
Alignment isn’t a feeling, it’s a system.
Create structures that reinforce who you want to be:
Small, strong teams
Clear boundaries for your availability
Processes that don’t require you to betray your time or ethics
If you feel stuck, misaligned, or exhausted, it’s not a sign you’re weak.
It’s a sign you’re ignoring your own signals.
Don’t wait until you hate your own creation. Because rebuilding is harder than building right from the start.
When you’re ready to design a business that aligns with your life (not just your revenue chart), I can help.
That’s all for today. See you next week.
- Eugene
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