The Pressure That Reveals Who You Really Are
I don’t know about you, but I seem to face my biggest demons head-on in the midst of a long run on the back farm roads of my little town in Tennessee. There is this constant push and pull throughout my six-plus miles on a Sunday morning where, in one thought, I’m praising myself, feeling like my feet are light and I’ve got this. Then, in the very next breath, it switches to, “I suck.” Or, “I failed at that terribly, and I need to hurry up and figure it out.” It is odd how strong the pull back and forth is.
But don’t we all feel that? I think leadership feels exactly the same way. Why do I feel so much pressure all the time? It’s a question I don’t think enough leaders ask out loud. Instead, we disguise it.
We call it ambition. We call it responsibility. We call it growth. We convince ourselves it’s simply part of leadership. But if we’re honest, many of us are carrying a level of pressure that has very little to do with the work sitting on our desks.
When the shadow disappears
I’ve learned something about myself over the years. I run without headphones on purpose. People ask me why all the time. The answer is simple. Music gives me somewhere else to go.
Silence forces me to stay. Headphones give us something else to focus on. They allow us to outrun the conversations we don’t want to have. But leadership doesn’t work that way. Eventually, every leader has to sit alone with their own thoughts, and I’ve found there is no better training ground than six miles with nothing but my breathing, my footsteps and whatever I’m trying to avoid.
Last Sunday, something happened that I didn’t fully appreciate until I got home. For the first half of my run, the morning sun was in front of me. My shadow stretched out forty-five degrees ahead of me, almost like it was leading the way. I felt light. My pace felt easy.
My heart rate stayed lower than the threshold; grateful for that, so my watch didn’t beep at me. Ironically, my thoughts followed. “You’re getting stronger.” “You’ve got this.”
“Keep going.” Then I turned. The road didn’t change. My fitness didn’t change. My pace barely changed.
The only thing that changed was the direction I was running. Now the sun was behind me. My shadow disappeared from my sight. And almost immediately, the conversation in my head changed too. “You’re behind.”
“You should have handled that better.” “Figure it out already.” I didn’t even realize it was happening. Looking back, I couldn’t help but wonder if seeing my shadow in front of me had subconsciously given me something to chase. When it disappeared behind me, all that was left were my thoughts.
Changing the internal dialogue
Leadership feels like that. Sometimes nothing in our circumstances has actually changed, yet our internal dialogue changes everything. Then, about two-thirds of the way through my run, I passed a farm with nearly a dozen horses gathered along the fence. Immediately, the productive side of my brain kicked in.
“Keep running. Don’t stop your watch. Finish the workout. Get home.” But another voice interrupted.
“Go pet the horses.” It felt almost irresponsible. I was on a schedule. I had miles left.
But I paused my watch anyway. For two minutes, I stood there petting them and taking in the simple joy of the moment. When I started running again, I wasn’t physically different. But mentally, everything had changed.
It made me realize something. Pressure isn’t always asking us to work harder. Sometimes it’s inviting us to pay attention to what we’re missing.
Michelle Berman-Mikel is the CEO & Founder of Berman Media PD.
This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of HousingWire’s editorial department and its owners. To contact the editor responsible for this piece: zeb@hwmedia.com.
For veteran entrepreneurs, the same dynamics that surface on a long road can surface in the startup world. The pressure to perform, plan, and protect can become a constant hum that drowns out the quieter, more human signals of opportunity and resilience. The veteran mindset—trained for endurance, perseverance, and adaptability—can turn pressure into a signal rather than a wound. When you feel pushed to the edge, you don’t simply work harder; you recalibrate, reframe, and lean into aspects of your mission you might have overlooked.
In business terms, the shadow you chase isn’t a threat to be outrun; it’s a mirror showing you what matters most: sustainable pace, disciplined reflection, and intentional leadership dialogue. For veteran founders, this means creating space for truth-telling within teams, building routines that tolerate honest self-assessment, and designing metrics that honor both speed and steadiness. It also means recognizing that some pressures come not from the market, but from within—old scripts of scarcity, imposter syndrome, or the pressure to prove yourself. Rewriting those internal narratives can unlock a stronger, more authentic leadership style capable of guiding teams through uncertainty.
In practical terms, veteran entrepreneurs can translate the run’s paradox into action: use periods of quiet to inventory what truly sustains you and your venture; acknowledge mistakes as data points rather than verdicts; cultivate mentors and peers who will call out blind spots with care; and design ventures with buffers—time, capital, and people—that prevent burnout while preserving velocity. The pressure that reveals who you really are can become the pressure that reveals who you can become: a leader who blends grit with grace, fortitude with reflection, and urgency with humanity.
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