Before you hire, ask yourself this: am I ready for a new team member?
A lot of founders are in pain. Overwhelmed. Buried in tasks. Stretched too thin and running on fumes.
So they do what feels logical: they hire someone. Maybe a VA, maybe an operations manager, someone to finally take things off their plate.
And here’s what I’ve seen again and again: if the foundation isn’t ready, the hire won’t save you. Most people don’t come in and build systems for you. They execute what’s already there.
So before you hire, ask yourself:
• Are your workflows documented?
• Do you know what success looks like in this role?
• Is there one central place for tasks and communication?
• Are you available to onboard and give context for the first two to four weeks?
If the answer is no, even the best hire will feel lost—and so will you.
Hiring doesn’t fix chaos. It amplifies it.
And yet, this happens all the time: founders hiring to feel productive instead of getting prepared, adding people instead of fixing systems, confusing motion for progress.
Hiring isn’t about making you feel less lonely in your business. It’s about making it run better. And that only works when there’s clarity.
So the next time you’re tempted to post that job listing, pause and ask yourself: are my systems ready?
The right hire can be transformational, but only when the business is ready to receive them.
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Grand Design
The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question.
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Short Page Title Example
The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question.
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Entrepreneurship Isn’t Rowing Harder: It’s Knowing When to Hand Over the Oars
Lake Bled looked effortless. But I bled sweat and tears.
This week in Slovakia, I visited Lake Bled with a friend. People were gliding across the water, smiling, and rowing with one hand like they were born for it. I told my friend, “Let’s rent a boat. I’ll row, I’ve got this.” The fact was, I’d never used a rowboat before—but how hard could it be?
Turns out, very hard. The oars were stiff, the boat barely moved, and I kept zigzagging across the water like a drunk duck. Halfway to the island, my arms were already aching. After what felt like an eternity—but really was only twenty minutes—we landed on the island. I was ready for a break.
But the break didn’t last long, because we had to return the boat. My friend offered to row, and I heard myself say, “No thanks, I’ve got this.” Somewhere, deep in my brain, I believed that accepting help made me weak.
I grew up with a strong mother who carried her own suitcases and fixed things in the house herself rather than asking for help. That mindset shaped me. So I rowed. And rowed. And rowed. A sweaty mess, water running down my back, trying to prove something no one was asking me to prove.
That’s when I realized: this is how I used to lead Gorilla Stationers in the beginning. Doing it all. First in, last out. Trying to earn respect by powering through everything alone. Believing that, as the boss, I had to look strong and prove it was my business.
It took me a decade to understand: entrepreneurship isn’t rowing harder—it’s knowing when to hand over the oars while still owning the journey.
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