The most dangerous pressure is the kind you've stopped noticing.

The most dangerous pressure is the kind you've stopped noticing.

It doesn't feel like pressure anymore. It feels like Tuesday.

I see this constantly with the leaders I work with.

They're not collapsing. They're functioning. Performing. Delivering.

Until something cracks.

A health scare that came out of nowhere. A relationship that quietly fell apart. A small comment that triggered an outsized reaction.

One founder I worked with snapped at his daughter over breakfast. Something minor. A spilled glass. He watched her face change and realised he couldn't remember the last time he'd been patient with anyone at home.

That was his signal. Not because of the glass. Because he saw what pressure had quietly taken from him.

And suddenly they're asking: "When did it get this bad?"

The answer is almost always the same. A long time ago.

Pressure doesn't stay visible. It normalises.

What once felt heavy becomes baseline. What once felt urgent becomes constant. What once felt unsustainable becomes "just how it is."

That's when it's most dangerous.

Because you stop measuring it. You stop questioning it. You stop noticing the drift.

Until something external forces you to look.

A doctor. A partner. A moment you can't take back.

The leaders who avoid this aren't the ones who push harder. They're the ones who pause long enough to ask:

What have I stopped noticing?

That question is uncomfortable. But it costs nothing compared to the alternative.

What have you stopped noticing that's already costing you?

Stay deep. Lead clear.