How I Felt When My Startup Ran Out of Money
From raising over $1M and reaching 3M+ users to running out of runway—what it feels like to lose it all
Let's start with how I am feeling. I am not sure. If you ask me in person, I might tell you I feel exhausted, beat, and numb. I am not 100% sure that's how I am actually feeling. Maybe it's more than those feelings but a big bowl mixed with all of those and more. I feel angry at times. I feel bitter at times. I feel stressed and anxious financially. I feel the feelings you have when you lose a tennis match you should have won, when you know you could have done better, when you are the last man standing in a dodgeball game. I feel unsupported, paralysed, and I feel, well, defeated.
Things feel heavy. Complex. Overwhelming.
...
I am just tired though. Tired and helpless. Taking it all on on my own is a lot.
This was my journal entry from November 15th, 2024. We were two weeks from running out of runway at my gaming startup. My team had already started finding other jobs to pay their bills. The writing was on the wall. It was the end.
The highs and lows.
This startup has been a rollercoaster. We raised over $1M from some of the biggest names in the industry, grew to 3M+ players, and got featured on major platforms. For a while, it felt like everything was coming together.
But the lows were crushing:
Growth metrics added relentless pressure and stress, forcing us to chase numbers at all costs.
Deals fell apart at the last moment.
Trusting the wrong partners set us back.
Key team members left when we needed stability most.
The weight of this stress—and everything else—started to bleed into my family life, creating cracks where there used to be calm.
Nothing prepares you for that final moment—when you know the ride is over.
Heavy is the word I keep coming back to.
As our runway shrank, the weight grew unbearable. I spent days scrambling for bridge loans and pitching new directions. I had to keep pushing, but deep down, I felt numb. Years of grinding under relentless pressure had burned us all out. Talking about the product became painful. Thinking about the company felt even worse.
I started snapping at my kids, my frustration spilling over into my home.
I resented every moment that had led us here—the wasted time, the missed opportunities.
I couldn’t escape the feeling that I—as CEO—had failed.
I kept replaying the decisions and events that brought us here. The deals I should have pushed harder for. The product directions I didn’t fight to pivot sooner. The people I trusted who weren’t aligned with our mission. Each one added weight to the feeling that I had let my team—and myself—down. It was an endless loop of what-ifs that I couldn’t silence.
No matter how hard I worked, I couldn’t outrun that truth. The responsibility was mine.
The toughest day?
When my co-founder told me he had accepted a full-time job. I didn’t reply until the next day, trying to process the emotions. All I could muster was:
I’ve been sitting with your message for a bit because I wanted to respond thoughtfully. I don't think I got there after going through all the emotions and trying to figure things out.
...
... it’s left me feeling exhausted and completely alone in this.
I wanted to write a useful, constructive message, but this is all I've got right now. I am paralysed and I am drawing a blank. I wasn't sure how transparent I should be with you about my feelings, but I think you deserve to know.
It took me days to accept it. Weeks to start processing the aftermath.
I was lucky.
I have a wife who understands what it’s like to build something of your own. Her support pulled me through, but I know many founders aren’t so fortunate. Many face this alone—with no one to confide in, no outlet for the emotions that pile up when things fall apart.
That’s why I started writing. I needed a way to process the chaos, to make sense of the weight I was carrying. Writing became a bridge—a way to take these heavy feelings and turn them into something useful, something that might resonate with others walking a similar path.
Not to dwell on failure, but to share the stories behind the headlines. The real stories—the exhaustion, the doubt, the small wins, and the big losses that shape us.
This isn’t another place for polished success stories. It’s for the honest truths about what it takes to build something meaningful—and how to keep going when it doesn’t work out.
Business lessons.
Life lessons.
And everything in between.
I hope this can be a space where other founders feel seen, heard, and supported. Where we can share the behind-the-scenes struggles and build a community that understands the weight we carry—and how to lighten it for one another.
Welcome to The Whole Founder.