Just a second before...

There is a very specific phase in an agency’s life that almost no one warns you about.

You’re no longer at the beginning. You’ve clearly proven demand.

Clients are coming. The team is growing. Revenue looks real.

From the outside, it looks like momentum.

From the inside, it feels like you’re fighting windmills.

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Every day brings a new question that only you can answer.

Every decision somehow lands back on your desk.

Every attempt to “finally stabilize things” creates two new problems instead.

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And yet — there’s hope. A quiet, persistent belief that you’re close.

That just a little more effort, a little more pressure, and things will lock into place.

That belief is what makes this phase so dangerous.

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The climber’s moment

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I often think of this stage like climbing a mountain. You’ve been moving upward for years — slowly, deliberately, painfully.

Now the summit feels close enough to touch. You can almost imagine the relief.

The moment where you stand still, breathe out, and say: we made it.

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But experienced climbers know something beginners don’t.

Most fatal mistakes don’t happen at the bottom. They happen right before the top.

When fatigue is highest. When focus slips. When you rush instead of steady yourself.

Business growth works the same way.

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When growth starts to distort reality

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After we mapped our first processes and clarified ownership, our agency started growing fast. We hired aggressively.

The entire IT market was overheated. Companies were hunting talent, overpaying, offering every perk imaginable.

I was proud of our culture. And I still am. We had one of the lowest churn rates I’ve ever seen — without paying top-of-market salaries.

People stayed because they were heard. Trusted. Involved.

And yet… they still left. Some relocated. Some wanted different projects. Some simply outgrew a company that was still around 30 people.

That’s normal.

What wasn’t normal was how fragile everything became when they did.

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The quiet breaking point

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Our processes started to crack. Not because they were bad — but because they were built around people, not around functions.

Too much lived in personal memory. Too much wasn’t written down. Too much knowledge wasn’t part of the system.

When people left, they didn’t just leave empty chairs behind.

They took context. They took decisions. They took invisible agreements with them.

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Every departure meant weeks of adaptation. Learning. Re-learning. Correcting.

Developers usually recovered faster. Managers didn’t. When a manager left, the pain multiplied.

Others slowed down to teach. Quality dipped. I got pulled back into the weeds.

Again.

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The illusion of “just pushing through”

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At that stage, the instinctive reaction is to push harder. More control. More involvement. More personal attention everywhere.

But that’s exactly when pushing becomes the problem. Because explosive growth doesn’t forgive architectural weakness.

It magnifies it.

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And suddenly you realize something uncomfortable:

You’re not lacking effort.

You’re lacking structure that can absorb growth.

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Thinking in functions, not people

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That’s when I went back to something I’d seen years earlier at a conference and never fully internalized.

A business is not a set of departments. It’s a set of functions.

Functions exist regardless of who performs them.

People come and go. Functions must remain.

So we rebuilt from there.

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We identified core functions first. Then defined processes for each. Then assigned responsibility — not to names, but to roles accountable for keeping those processes alive and current.

The impact was profound. Knowledge stopped leaking. Hiring stopped feeling like a catastrophe. We could take on more projects with the same team.

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And here’s the irony:

Only after that did A-players truly shine.

Because now they entered a system that supported them — instead of a system that depended on them.

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The most dangerous moment of growth

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Rapid growth can bury a business seconds before it feels successful.

This is not the moment to relax. And not the moment to panic. It’s the moment that demands the clearest thinking you’re capable of.

Because at this stage, your role as a founder changes.

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You are no longer the engine.

You are the architect.

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Before you push forward, pause for a moment and ask yourself:

What would break first if I stepped back?

That question tells you exactly where order is missing.