The meeting happened. You said the words. They nodded. You both pretended it was fine. You closed the laptop, took a deep breath, told yourself you’d bounce back in a few days. That was ten days ago. That was ten days ago. That was ten days ago. Since then, you haven’t shipped anything, opened Slack 40 times and posted twice, kept refreshing dashboards like they’re about to send you a hug, and told yourself 60 times you're "back in the zone"—except your zone now has zero oxygen and a growing pile of decisions you’re too fogged out to make. You were told laying people off was hard. What they didn’t say was that the real cost wouldn’t be measured in severance—but in mental RAM. This is Post-Layoff Syndrome (PLS): a full-blown psychological short-circuit induced by the guilt, emotional recoil, and shattered self-trust pursuant to a recent sacking that if left untreated culminates in a spiral of bad decisions. What they didn’t say was that the real cost wouldn’t be measured in severance—but in mental RAM. Post-Layoff Syndrome (PLS) Plenty of articles will teach you how to do a layoff. How to be “empathetic” while gutting someone’s paycheck. How to write the perfect all-hands follow-up. But no one teaches you how to deal with the wreckage in your own head. And someone should. Because founders are human, too—even when we pretend not to be. Because founders are human, too—even when we pretend not to be. Because founders are human, too—even when we pretend not to be. The Symptoms: My Flavor of Brain Rot PLS almost never shows up as a big, cinematic founder meltdown. Nobody wakes up in a ditch clutching a bottle of whiskey. Your brain won’t let the full hit land all at once. Founders are supposed to be steady, strategic, fine. So the self-doubt doesn’t throw a punch — it creeps up as petty, irrational crap that paper cuts you to death. Nobody wakes up in a ditch clutching a bottle of whiskey. I’m putting my symptoms here not because they’re universal — they’re not — but so you can benchmark your own. If you see echoes of yourself in any of these, you’re not “off. You’re just quietly wondering if you can still run the thing you built. Dashboard Doomscrolling Dashboard Doomscrolling Every few hours, I’d be on some dashboard like maybe — maybe — it would be the day a miracle payment or viral metric dropped that made it all go away. No such thing has ever happened. But I liked the ritual. Like a gambler checking a dead slot machine just in case the laws of mechanics broke overnight. Leadership Schizophrenia Leadership Schizophrenia Some days I was in every Slack thread, answering questions nobody asked me — convinced that if I jammed myself into every decision, I could patch the hole I’d just blown in the hull. Other days, I ducked calls and hid behind Gmail like my engineers were debt collectors. A part of me was screaming, “Grab the wheel before we crash,” the other hissing, “Don’t touch anything or you’ll make it worse.” Post-layoff, my brain didn’t know which would save the company, so it did both. Badly. “Grab the wheel before we crash,” “Don’t touch anything or you’ll make it worse.” Obsession With Cost-Cutting Obsession With Cost-Cutting Not “strategic” cuts. Random, rabid ones. If it cost money, it was suspect. I didn’t ask if it was working — I just assumed overspending was how we ended up here, so everything had to go. One minute I was reviewing SaaS bills, the next I was wondering if we really needed chairs, and at some point I caught myself thinking: Do we really need Figma? Couldn’t we just… draw? Do we really need Figma? Couldn’t we just… draw? Classic case of a founder trying to exorcise guilt by amputating healthy limbs. Decision Paralysis Decision Paralysis I should’ve cut a feature. Cancelled that agency contract. Told my cofounder the new growth strategy was a fantasy. But I didn’t: I’d already spent my emotional ammo. One hard call had emptied the chamber — and I couldn’t risk the next shot blowing a hole clean through what was left. Productivity Theatre Productivity Theatre I didn’t work — I staged a Broadway production of “work.” Fixed the text spacing on a sales deck, reorganized Notion, color-coded the roadmap. It looked productive, but it was just corporate cosplay so I didn’t have to stare down the things that actually mattered. work The Cures: Stop PLS From Turning You Into A Zombie The Cures: Stop PLS From Turning You Into A Zombie This isn’t about “healing.” You’re not a monk in a cave. You’re a founder. Your job is to move. Here’s how you do that before the self-doubt metastasizes. Ship Something That Scares You Ship Something That Scares You Not the safe Jira ticket, not the low-hanging fruit. That one thing you’ve been avoiding because you “weren’t ready” — a weird campaign, some experimental feature, the pricing change that might start a customer riot. Then launch it quick, no polishing the edges. Too much tinkering and you’ll stall again. Your brain’s conditioned to freeze after a tough decision. This forces it to fire. Audit The Business Like A Hostile VC Audit The Business Like A Hostile VC Print your P&L and product roadmap. Pretend you’ve never met you. If a line item, feature, or channel can’t be defended in 30 seconds, slash it or justify it in blood. This switches you from self-loathing founder to assassin with clarity — and that’s how you’ll become dangerous again. Get In A Room With Someone Who Doesn’t Care About Your Feelings Get In A Room With Someone Who Doesn’t Care About Your Feelings Cold-blooded investor. Hardass customer. Your most insensitive friend. The one person you know who will laugh in your face if you start playing victim. Ask: “If you were me, what would you do right now?” Then shut up and take notes. Your head is currently an echo chamber of guilt and insecurity, and echo chambers are where founders go to die. Bring Back Momentum With a Win People Can See Bring Back Momentum With a Win People Can See Negotiate a savage vendor discount. Land a PR hit. Close a partnership deal that forces people to stop wondering if you’re struggling to make rent. Won’t be easy, but all the work involved will distract you from your guilt and inner crybaby. Founder morale isn’t fixed with HR healing circles. It’s fixed with public proof you’ve got a lot more fight left. Shuffle The Human Deck Shuffle The Human Deck After a layoff, nobody’s feeling safe. That’s your leverage. It’s the one moment where you can reshuffle the org without a single politics-fueled debate. Put your best operator on the account that’s hanging by a thread. Hand the riskiest build to the one person who actually loves chaos. Move your silent killer into the seat that’s been underperforming for months. Show the survivors the company’s shrinking to sharpen, not to hang on for dear life. And pretty soon you’ll stop obsessing over who’s gone and start unlocking what the people still here can do. Turn loss into an engineered win. Rewire the Company While Everyone’s Still Spooked Rewire the Company While Everyone’s Still Spooked The fear’s still fresh, so you might as well rip out the company’s clogged arteries and install plumbing that actually moves blood while everyone’s holding their breath. Implement the policy changes you’ve been soft-pedaling for months — expense caps, faster sign-offs, decision-making without committee. Collapse five half-baked Notion boards into one doc. Scrap the biweekly “alignment call” that’s been the same three bullet points since 2023. Rebuild the core so the next wave of chaos hits a company that can take a punch — not the same bloated mess you just cut down. Final Thoughts: Fire Your Feelings Final Thoughts: Fire Your Feelings These cures aren’t comprehensive. This isn’t the gold standard. There is no “Founder Recovery” framework. There’s just one rule: you don’t need more empathy for yourself. You need less. A decision was made, and it was probably the right one. Now go amputate the version of you that still wants to apologize for running the company you chose to build. you don’t need more empathy for yourself you don’t need more empathy for yourself Fire your feelings. Fire your feelings. This game doesn’t reward emotions. It rewards outcomes. If you freeze, if you hesitate, if you start running decisions through a “but how does this make me feel” filter, you’re done. The market doesn’t care what this cost you mentally—only that you’re still here to play the next round. The market doesn’t care what this cost you mentally—only that you’re still here to play the next round.

The is an opinion piece based on the author’s POV and does not necessarily reflect the views of HackerNoon.

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