The Tether, the Break, and What Grew in Its Place

There was a mentor once, someone I trusted deeply.
What I didn’t realize at the time was how much of my inner scaffolding had formed around their presence.

The tether wasn’t just professional. It was psychological.
And when it broke, something primitive in me ruptured too.

Here’s what I’ve started to understand, piece by piece:

💔 1. The Projection Was Parental

Looking back, it’s clear: some part of me had cast them in a parental role.
Not consciously, but in the ways I:

• Looked to them for safety when things felt uncertain

• Interpreted their silence or criticism as personal rejection

• Shared too much, hoping to feel seen

• Needed their presence like I needed air

It couldn’t be flattened to “immaturity.”
It was old attachment wiring — inherited, unexamined — now activated under extreme pressure.

The higher the stakes became, the more those unconscious patterns surfaced.
The startup wasn’t just a company.

It became a stage where unfinished emotional loops replayed themselves louder each time, until they couldn't be ignored.

🕳 2. The Withdrawal Felt Like Abandonment

When the relationship collapsed — abruptly, unexpectedly, and absent of closure — the impact went deeper than expected.

It stirred questions I didn’t know were still waiting beneath the surface:

• Who am I if they no longer see value in me?

• Did I ask for too much? Was I a burden?

• What do I have to prove to be held again?

It wasn’t just a professional loss.
It felt like a kind of emotional eviction, one that echoed earlier ruptures I thought I’d outgrown.

🔥 3. The Vacuum Demanded Growth

With the tether gone, there was no one left to perform for.

And eventually something strange began to happen:
I stopped orienting around how I might be perceived.
I started making decisions from necessity, not choreography.

• The work got quieter.

• The motivation turned inward.

• I stopped needing to be “chosen”.

This wasn’t confidence exactly.

More like survival instincts, the kind that only begin to take root when there’s full acceptance:

They’re gone.
It’s entirely up to me now.

🧠 4. Integration (Still Ongoing)

I’m not sure I’ve “made it through.”
But I can say this:

It doesn’t mean they were right.
It doesn’t mean I was wrong.

It just means the break served a purpose:
It forced a separation I never would’ve initiated on my own.

And somewhere in that loss, something sturdier began to take shape.

Why It’s So Hard to Name

Almost every founder I’ve crossed paths with shows a version of this tether:
the sudden heat in their voice when Mentor X is mentioned,
the practiced lightness masking disappointment with Investor Y,
the looping anecdotes that circle the same unmet need.

The intensity shifts from whisper to siren, but the pattern is there.
And yet not once have I heard a founder stop mid-story, claim it outright, and give the wound a name while I was in the room.

Maybe the words stay buried because:

• It feels too tender for business

• Naming it would expose the real power imbalance we quietly live inside

• Our language for grief hovers at two poles: grand romance or scorched earth rage, nothing in between

The hush doesn’t make it rare.
Just unspoken.

And each time I manage to name it, even under my breath, something inside reorganizes; the tether loosens. My sovereignty takes the wheel.

Kaeya