Hey {{first_name}} ,
I spent Monday in bed.
Not working. Not creating content. Not answering messages.
Just lying there, feeling the weight of every person in my community waiting for me.
My mind painted the picture clearly:
Disappointed members wondering where I'd gone.
Urgent messages piling up.
Momentum dying.
Everything I'd built crumbling because I couldn't get vertical.
The story got bigger with each hour I stayed horizontal.
"I'm behind in my business."
"I'm letting everyone down."
"I've lost all my momentum."
By evening, I'd transformed one missed Monday into complete business failure.
Tuesday morning, I finally dragged myself to my computer to survey the damage.
Here's what I found:
Three messages.
Not desperate pleas for help. Not "where are you?" Not complaints.
Just "Hey, making progress on my LinkedIn strategy" and "Got my first client from that post approach you taught."
They weren't waiting for me.
They were getting on with their stuff.
The 47 disasters I'd imagined existed only in my head.
The urgent fires that needed fighting weren't there.
The momentum I thought I'd lost was being carried forward by my community without me.
I'd spent eight hours paralysed by imaginary expectations while the real people in my world were... fine.
Actually, better than fine. They were implementing.
This is what depression does to business owners.
It whispers that one disruption equals disaster.
That missing a day means losing everything.
That your worth is measured in perfect availability.
I moved house last week. International tax registrations are melting my brain. I stopped drinking to get clearer but feel foggier.
Real life is happening while I'm trying to run a business.
And my brain translated "I need a day" into "everything is falling apart."
Your community doesn't need the perfect version of you.
They need the real version who shows up more often than not.
Who shares what works even when struggling.
Who admits that sometimes Monday wins.
I made three videos Tuesday. Answered those messages. Rescheduled one meeting.
Total time to fix my imaginary disaster: 47 minutes.
Total time spent catastrophizing about it: 8 hours.
The math is stupid when you see it clearly.
But that's the thing about running your own business. You're both the CEO and the employee who calls in sick. The visionary and the person who can't get out of bed. The mentor and the student still figuring it out.
Some days you're building empires.
Some days you're building the courage to check your messages.
Both are part of the journey. Neither defines your worth.
Your business can handle your humanity.
Your community can handle your absence.
You can handle the messy middle between moving house and moving forward.
The disaster is optional.
The shower is non-negotiable.
The reason I can share this with you? Because I've learned that authenticity doesn't kill authority - pretending to be perfect does.
When you unmask the real struggles while building your business, something counterintuitive happens: clients trust you more, not less.
They want to work with someone who gets it. Who's been horizontal on a Monday and vertical by Tuesday. Who builds real businesses through real life.
This is exactly what we do inside Authentic Navigators - my Skool community where we learn to unmask AND get clients at the same time.
Every week on our calls, we practice turning your real struggles into real connection. Your actual journey into actual clients. Your Monday disasters into Tuesday victories.
Right now it's $97/month including weekly group calls where we work through this stuff together.
Fair warning: When Skool introduces tiers next month (October), the call version jumps to $297/month. If you join now, you lock in the current rate.
Because here's what I know: The coaches who win aren't the ones who never fall apart. They're the ones who fall apart in public and turn it into connection.
Chat tomorrow,
Jack.
P.S. If you're lying in bed right now catastrophizing about what you're behind on, here's permission to check your messages. I bet the actual situation is 10% of what your mind is telling you. The world is remarkably good at continuing to spin without us.
