Finding Investors Is Hard. Believing in Yourself Is Harder.

Finding investors in a foreign country has been one of the hardest things I've ever done.

Before starting my own company, I watched founders pitch investors every day. I saw the meetings, the smiles, the follow-up emails, and the occasional celebrations. I worked at several startups during fundraising rounds and witnessed both the excitement and the struggles that came with them. But if I'm being honest, I never truly understood what those founders were carrying on their shoulders.

Now I do.

Every investor meeting isn't just another meeting. It's another chance to buy yourself a little more time. Another chance to keep your team employed. Another chance to prove that the dream you've dedicated your life to deserves to exist.

When I worked in HR, the hardest days were always the layoff days. They were messy. Emotional. Heartbreaking. I remember sitting in those rooms wishing the day would just end because there was nothing anyone could say that could make the situation better. At the time, I saw the pain through the eyes of the employees.

Today, I understand the pain through the eyes of the founders too.

They're carrying the weight of every employee, every customer, every investor, every payroll, every decision, and every "what if." They're expected to remain optimistic while privately wondering how they're going to keep the company alive for just a few more months.

No one really prepares you for that.

Building a company has also taught me something I never expected.

Community isn't a luxury.

It's survival.

I've learned that surrounding yourself with strong women and wise men who genuinely believe in you can completely change the trajectory of a difficult week. Sometimes all it takes is one conversation, one coffee, one founder saying, "I've been there," to give you enough energy to keep going.

It's a little like Tinker Bell.

She only survived because people believed in her.

As founders, we like to pretend we're invincible. We tell ourselves we don't need validation. We convince ourselves that grit alone will get us through.

It won't.

When you're building a company with a team of fewer than five people, your emotional fuel tank drains much faster than you expect. You spend your days making decisions that affect people's lives while simultaneously questioning every decision you've ever made.

You need people around you.

You need founder groups.

You need friends who understand.

You need people who celebrate your tiny wins as though they're million-dollar milestones.

Because sometimes they are.

There were days when the voice in my head never stopped.

What are you doing?

Are you failing?

Why did you leave a stable job?

Who did you think you were starting a company?

Those thoughts don't politely visit once a week.

They're relentless.

They show up while you're working.

While you're trying to sleep.

While you're driving.

While you're pretending everything is fine.

People often say, "Just ignore the noise. Keep going."

Maybe that works for some people.

It didn't work for me.

I couldn't simply overpower those feelings by telling myself to be tougher.

I also carried another kind of guilt.

Whenever I attended networking events, founder meetups, or simply met friends for dinner, I felt like I should have been working instead.

But when I was working nonstop, I could feel myself burning out. Running on fumes. Feeling guilty for not giving 200%, even though I had nothing left to give.

It became a vicious cycle.

The more I worked, the lonelier I felt.

The lonelier I felt, the harder I worked.

Some days I felt incredibly small.

Like the world was enormous and could crush me with its pinky finger.

Eventually, I realized something.

There isn't really such a thing as work-life balance when you're building a startup.

At least not in the romanticized way people like to talk about it.

There are seasons where the company needs everything you have.

But there also comes a moment when you need to come up for air.

I've stopped chasing "balance."

Instead, I've learned to recognize when I'm running out of oxygen.

I work as hard as I can until I feel myself reaching that point.

Then I intentionally step away.

I spend time with people who refill my cup.

I laugh.

I exercise.

I have dinner with friends.

I remind myself that my worth isn't measured by the number of hours I worked that day.

And then...

I dive back in.

Not because someone told me to.

Because I can breathe again.

If you're building something right now and wondering whether you're the only one who feels this way, you're not.

The self-doubt is real.

The fear is real.

The loneliness is real.

But so is the community waiting to support you if you're willing to let them.

The strongest founders I've met aren't the ones who never struggle.

They're the ones who know when to come up for air.

And then, with a full breath and a little more hope...

They dive right back in.