It was getting late, the kind of late where the beach was almost entirely empty, just a few lights flickering in the distance and the occasional couple strolling along the shore. The sound of the waves crashing against the sand was rhythmic, like a heartbeat, but tonight it did nothing to calm me. My mind was racing, spinning through everything that had happened, and the frustration I'd been trying to push down kept rising back up.
I walked along the shore, kicking at the sand with every step. It felt pointless, like I was stuck in some kind of loop. The team. Always the fking team.
I kicked at the sand harder, sending a spray of it scattering in front of me. The team had been in my way from the start. No matter how much I tried to contribute, how much I tried to get involved, they always had a way of making me feel like a kid at the grown-ups' table—like I needed to be handled.
I cursed under my breath, digging my hands into my pockets as I kept walking. Why the hell couldn't they just let me take the lead? It was my company, my vision. But every time I came up with an idea, they shot it down, always in that polite, placating way. Like I wasn't even really there, like they were humoring me.
I stopped walking for a second, staring out at the water, trying to shake the anger. Fuck them. I wanted to blame the team. I really did. But deep down, I knew that wasn't entirely fair. They were good at what they did, really good. Vanessa had sent me the best, and that was part of the problem. They were too good, too efficient, too experienced. They knew exactly what they were doing, and they didn't need me getting in their way.
I let out a frustrated sigh, kicking the sand again. I felt trapped. I wanted to be the one in charge, but it felt like the team didn't need me. No, scratch that—they didn't want me. They were polite about it, sure, but it was clear. They were driving the ship, and I was just a passenger.
I clenched my fists, feeling the tension in my chest build. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be my company, my success, but now I felt like I was being babysat. Like they were just tolerating me until I stepped out of the way.
But then, just as quickly as the anger flared, I stopped myself. What the hell am I doing?
I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. This wasn't Vanessa's fault. She had done everything for me—more than I deserved. She had given me the best team she could find because she believed in me. Because she wanted to help me succeed. How could I be so fucking ungrateful?
I closed my eyes, the frustration giving way to guilt. I was being an ungrateful bastard. Vanessa had put her faith in me, and here I was, pissed off at the very people she'd sent to help. What the hell was wrong with me?
But no matter how much I tried to convince myself to be grateful, to appreciate what I had, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. No matter how much I told myself that the team was here to help, the nagging thought kept coming back. They weren't just helping. They were controlling everything.
I ran a hand through my hair, letting out another frustrated sigh. I'm being babysat. That's what this was. No matter how much they framed it as guidance, as collaboration, it felt like I was being handled. They were polite, sure, but they never took my ideas seriously. They never really let me take charge.
The more I thought about it, the more the anger started creeping back in. I wasn't a fking child. I didn't need to be managed or handled or whatever the hell they thought they were doing. This was my company. It should've been my decision. But somehow, I had lost control. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn't shake that feeling.
I started pacing again, kicking at the sand with each step. I felt torn—caught between the guilt of feeling ungrateful for what Vanessa had done and the frustration of being sidelined in my own company. I wanted to blame the team, but part of me knew it wasn't entirely their fault. They were doing what they were trained to do, what they were good at. But still...
Why did it feel like they were pushing me out?
I kicked at the sand again, harder this time. I could hear the waves crashing, the wind picking up, but it did nothing to calm the storm in my head.
"I'm not a fking child," I muttered to myself, my voice low and bitter. "I don't need to be handled."
But even as I said it, I knew that's exactly how they saw me. No matter what I said or did, they were always one step ahead, always making the decisions before I even had a chance to weigh in. I was just the founder, the guy who started it all, but I wasn't the one in control anymore.
And maybe that was the worst part—the fact that I had let it happen. The fact that, somewhere along the way, I had lost my grip on the company and let them take over. I could blame the team all I wanted, but deep down, I knew that part of the blame was on me.
I stopped pacing, staring out at the water again, my hands still clenched into fists. What the hell was I supposed to do now? The launch was a week away, and here I was, standing on the beach, having an existential crisis.
I tried to take a deep breath, but it felt shallow, like I couldn't quite catch it. I was angry, frustrated, guilty—all at once. And no matter how much I tried to talk myself down, no matter how much I told myself to be grateful for the help, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.
Maybe I was an ungrateful bastard. Maybe I should have been thankful that Vanessa believed in me enough to give me the best team she could find. But no matter how hard I tried to focus on that, all I could feel was the resentment building inside me.
Because at the end of the day, no matter how much help I had, I wasn't the one in charge anymore.
And that thought—that truth—was what hurt the most.
Q: Have you ever been in the a similar situation as Tristan before?