Why founders lie (even to themselves)

I've never been into politics. I actively avoid it. Not because it doesn't matter — it does, whether you care or not. Taxes, regulations, restrictions — politics finds you eventually.

But I noticed something strange recently. Politicians who leave office and move into teaching or consulting suddenly start saying things you'd never hear from them while they were in power. Things that make you think: wait, you knew this the whole time? Apparently, you need to leave the position before you can tell the truth.

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Founders do the same thing.

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Everyone posts their wins. Their milestones. Their perfectly systematized operations. They praise their team, their AI agents, their automated workflows.

I've owned an agency for over 20 years, and I can tell you: almost none of them are telling you what's actually happening in the kitchen.

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Because who wants to look like a failure in public? What if clients see it? Or future employees? Who would work with someone who admits things are messy?

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So they post carefully curated success. And only talk about the crisis after it's over — framed as a lesson learned, of course.

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A few weeks ago, I talked with two founders of a printing business. They spent twenty minutes telling me how well their processes work, how smoothly their sales department runs.

Then I asked two simple questions:

"Who's responsible for keeping your SOPs up to date?"

Pause.

"We are."

"And how often do you review them?"

Longer pause.

"Well... we don't really have a schedule for that. Not sure when we last updated anything, honestly."

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Then I asked about hiring.

"Oh yes, we have a VA who handles that."

"What does the VA do?"

"Collects resumes and brings them to us."

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Right. So you still interview everyone. You still make every hiring decision. You're still the bottleneck.

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The beautiful facade cracked in about five minutes.

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I talk to founders constantly. And I see this everywhere.

Behind the polished LinkedIn posts: chaos. Human conflicts. Blown deadlines. Last-minute fires. Micromanagement hidden as "staying involved." Founder ego disguised as "quality control."

The "AI agency" with a dedicated employee who spends nights checking AI outputs for hallucinations. Or worse — the founder doing it themselves.Nothing has changed. Nothing is changing.

Just the language we use to describe the same old mess.

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Why we lie (and what it costs us)

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I get it now. I understand those politicians. For years, I was terrified of social media. I didn't post anything under my own name. Our marketing team published company wins under the brand — case studies, client success stories, growth milestones.

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And honestly? I felt safer that way.

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Because my name wasn't attached to the carefully curated picture.

The picture that showed the wins but never the weeks where everything depended on me.

Where I couldn't step away without things falling apart. I couldn't get sick without the business bleeding.

But we kept posting about our "systematized operations" and "strong team culture."

It's not that we were constantly screwing up or deliberately deceiving anyone. It's just... the reality was more complicated than the story we told.

Because that's what you're supposed to say. That's what sells.

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Most founders live in that space. And they won't admit it even in private conversation.

"We're doing fine. Just some small things to optimize."

Meanwhile, they're drowning.

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When I exited the agency, something shifted.

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Suddenly, I could say things I'd never felt comfortable saying while I was still in it. I could talk about what actually happened behind the scenes. The mistakes. The patterns. The mess.

Just like those politicians.

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And that's when I started seeing how many other founders are still living in that same silence. Still pretending. Still unable to admit what's actually broken.

Not because they're dishonest. But because they're still in the position. Still tied to the image. Still afraid of what honesty might cost them.

But here's what I've learned: the ones who do break that silence? Who admit "we're a mess and I need help"?

Those are the ones who actually win. Because you can't fix what you won't acknowledge.

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So if you nodded while reading this — if you recognized yourself in that carefully curated facade — here's what I want to ask you:

How long are you willing to keep pretending?

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Here's the uncomfortable truth: postponing is also a decision. Staying quiet is also a choice.

You can keep posting the wins while drowning in private. You can keep telling yourself "it's not that bad" or "I'll fix it when things calm down."

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Or you can hit reply and start an honest conversation.

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I'm not a therapist, but I keep secrets like one. I've been exactly where you are. I know what it looks like behind the curtain.

And more importantly: I know what it takes to actually fix it.

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The distance between where you are now and real clarity isn't some massive transformation project.

It's one reply. One honest conversation.

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What are you pretending is fine that actually isn't?

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Write me back. Tell me the truth you haven't said out loud yet.

That's where the real work begins.

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P.S. And if you're thinking "once I build the right systems, I'll be done" — I hate to disappoint you. This is ongoing work. That's why successful founders eventually hire a COO. And even that's not a guarantee. Google what happened to Starbucks under their last CEO if you want a case study in how to destroy $30 billion in value in 17 months.

There's no exit from operations unless you sell, go public, or hire executives. And even then, you're still involved — transition periods, strategic direction, board consultation.

But you can stop being the person who approves every invoice and answers every question at 11pm. That's the difference that actually matters.