Do you know what nobody puts in the startup playbook? The part where you sit in your car in a parking lot, engine off, staring at nothing — and you don’t even know why?
I do. I’ve been there.
When I co-founded FAVORIOT back in 2017, I had a PhD, decades of corporate experience, a clear market vision, and what I thought was enough battle-hardened resilience to build something from scratch. I had survived corporate politics at CELCOM. I had navigated bureaucracy at MIMOS. I had lectured, researched, and published. I thought I knew what “hard” looked like.
I didn’t know anything.
Nothing — not a single mentor, book, conference, or MBA module — prepared me for what I’ll call the invisible weight of being a founder. It doesn’t show up on your pitch deck. It doesn’t appear in your KPIs. But it is always there, pressing down on your chest in the quiet moments between the meetings, the emails, and the social media posts where you look like you have it all together.
The Loneliness Nobody Talks About
There’s a version of the founder story that gets told over and over: the hustle, the pivot, the funding round, the growth hack, the exit. That story is clean and cinematic.
The real story is messier. It’s the 2 a.m. moment when you’re looking at the cash flow projection and the numbers don’t add up — again. It’s the team member who leaves, not because of money, but because they lost faith. It’s the client who says “we love what you’re doing” and then goes silent for three months.
You can’t really bring these things home. You can’t load that weight onto your spouse, your family, your co-founder. So you carry it. Quietly. And quietly is where exhaustion lives.
I remember a particular phase at FAVORIOT — I won’t say exactly when — where everything on the outside looked fine. We were winning awards. We were speaking at conferences. People were calling us a promising IoT startup. And inside, I was running on empty.
The smiling at events while worrying about payroll. The keynote confidence while privately questioning whether we had made the right product decisions. The LinkedIn updates that said “excited to announce…” when honestly, I was just exhausted.
The Myth of Founder Toughness
We have built a dangerous mythology around founders. We celebrate sleeplessness as dedication. We romanticize stress as passion. We treat emotional struggle as weakness — something to be managed privately, not discussed openly.
I bought into that myth for too long.
I told myself: push harder, think clearer, be stronger. I told myself that feeling depleted was a phase. That the next milestone would reset everything. That once we crossed the next revenue threshold, signed the next partnership, launched the next feature — then I could breathe.
But the thresholds kept moving. They always do.
What I eventually learned — and it took me longer than I’d like to admit — is that emotional exhaustion is not a character flaw. It is a structural reality of building something from nothing. When you are the founder, you are the last line of defense. You absorb uncertainty so your team doesn’t have to. You hold the vision when everything around you is blurring. That is a specific kind of emotional labour that has no off switch.
What Actually Helped Me
I won’t pretend I found a perfect solution. But I found a few things that made it survivable.
Writing helped. Not writing for LinkedIn. Writing for myself. The messy, unfiltered kind that nobody sees — just getting the weight out of my head and onto a page. My blog, over the years, became my pressure valve.
Community helped — but not the kind where everyone performs success. The conversations that helped most were with other founders who were willing to say “me too” without flinching.
And faith. I am a man of faith, and in my darkest operational moments, returning to that — not as escapism, but as grounding — gave me something metrics and milestones never could.
But here’s what I wish someone had said to me at the very start: Mazlan, the emotional cost of this journey is real. Plan for it the way you plan for cash flow. Take it seriously.
We Need to Change the Conversation
We talk endlessly about founder mental health now — hashtags, articles, even conferences on the topic. But most of it stays surface-level. Founders still feel enormous pressure to project strength. Investors still reward founders who seem unshakeable. The ecosystem still subtly punishes vulnerability.
I’m not calling for founders to fall apart in public. I’m calling for something more practical: let’s create space — real space — where founders can say “I’m struggling” without it being read as “this startup is failing.”
Because those are not the same thing.
The startup can be growing. The product can be improving. The team can be performing. And the founder can still be quietly drowning.
Both things can be true at the same time.
I’m sharing this because I know someone reading this right now is sitting in their own parking lot moment. Engine off. Staring at nothing. Wondering if this is normal.
It is. You are not broken. You are just carrying something very heavy, and nobody warned you how heavy it would get.
So let me ask you this: who in your life knows you’re exhausted — not the polished version of you, but the real one?
If the answer is nobody, that might be the most important problem you need to solve today.
