As an entrepreneur, you’re told that the hustle never stops. Your startup is your life, your dream, and your oxygen. Every motivational speaker with a fancy backdrop and an expensive suit will tell you that working 90-hour weeks is the only way to build something meaningful. And for a while, I believed them.
But then, one morning, as I was preparing for another grueling day of emails, pitches, and articles from our journalists, I made a fatal but beautiful mistake: I looked at my wife.
She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just sitting at the dining table, reading something interesting on her mobile phone. Yet, something about that moment stopped me in my tracks. There I was, an entrepreneur fueled by ambition, captivated not by a new business idea or a skyrocketing stock chart, but by her sheer presence.
In the world of entrepreneurship, there’s an unspoken rule that your work-life balance is supposed to look like a seesaw stuck permanently on the “work” side. You don’t take breaks; you take risks. You don’t clock out; you scale up.
My company was no exception. From the day I started it, I was its first employee, last employee, janitor, and Founder. I poured every ounce of energy into building it, working nights, weekends, and even holidays. Success came, yes—but at the cost of living in a permanent state of exhaustion.
That morning, however, something shifted. As I stood there, coffee cup in hand, watching my wife completely absorbed in her book, I wondered: What am I really working so hard for?
At first, I dismissed my sudden fascination as a momentary lapse in focus. “It’s just fatigue,” I told myself. But it wasn’t. It was clarity.
I realized I had spent years building something for the future while completely ignoring the present. My wife—my partner in life, my greatest supporter—was right there in front of me, and I had barely noticed.
It was humbling, even embarrassing, to admit that I could rattle off my company’s quarterly growth rates, investigative stories but couldn’t tell you the last book she read or what she loved most about her mornings.
Entrepreneurs aren’t supposed to slow down. If you stop sprinting, the competition overtakes you, or so we’re told. Yet, for the first time in years, I deliberately stepped back.
That day, instead of diving into my endless to-do list, I sat down beside her. She looked at me, slightly confused but smiling, and asked, “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I do,” I said, “but it can wait.”
That simple decision was terrifying. Was I risking the success of my business? Would my competitors seize this moment of weakness and leave me in the dust? But as the minutes turned into hours and we talked about everything and nothing, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: peace.
Of course, my decision didn’t come without consequences. My team noticed I wasn’t as plugged in. I skipped a couple of late-night strategy calls and pushed deadlines back. My Assistant Editor even dared to ask, “Is everything okay? You seem… different.”
Different. What a loaded word. Yes, I was different. I had rediscovered something far more valuable than an investigative story, killer sales pitch or a breakthrough marketing strategy. I had rediscovered my why.
Because let’s face it: entrepreneurs are often so consumed by the grind that we lose sight of why we started in the first place. For me, it wasn’t just about building a successful media company—it was about building a life.
Success, I’ve realized, isn’t just about profit margins and market share. It’s about balance, perspective, and the people who stand by you through every failure and triumph. My wife wasn’t just my partner; she was my anchor, the one who kept me grounded while I chased the stars.
Now, don’t get me wrong—this epiphany didn’t mean I abandoned my media company or started slacking off. But it did mean I stopped glorifying burnout as a badge of honor.
I set boundaries. No more answering emails during dinner. No more back-to-back meetings that drained every ounce of energy. And no more assuming that my worth as an entrepreneur was tied solely to how many hours I worked.
Here’s the irony: since I started prioritizing balance, my company has performed better. Why? Because I’m no longer running on empty. Taking time to pause, reflect, and reconnect has made me sharper, more creative, and, dare I say, happier.
And the best part? My wife noticed. “You’re more present now,” she told me one evening. That simple statement was worth more than any investor’s applause or client’s praise.
If you’re an entrepreneur trapped in the 90-hour workweek cycle, let me offer some unsolicited advice: stop. Just for a moment. Look around you. The world won’t end if you take a break, but your spirit might if you don’t.
Build your business, yes, but not at the expense of your relationships or your sanity. Hustle hard, but don’t forget to live harder.
Because at the end of the day, it’s not the hours you put into your company that will define your life. It’s the moments you invest in the people who matter most.
So, take it from me: sometimes, staring at your wife instead of working 90 hours a week isn’t a mistake—it’s the smartest decision you’ll ever make.
