The Entrepreneur's Dilemma: Identity vs. Success

I always say that being an entrepreneur is like playing a frantic game. Imagine a machine with several holes from which, at different rhythms and without warning, moles start popping out. Sometimes one comes out, sometimes five at once. Those moles are your startup’s problems: a critical bug, an angry client, a key employee resigning. Your mission is to hit them with a mallet, solving them as quickly and efficiently as possible, without letting them pile up and eventually devour your company.

This game is my daily reality. I remember with brutal clarity the day Tim Brady, our partner at Y Combinator, called to tell us that Glitzi had been accepted. It was one of the greatest moments of euphoria in my professional life. That very same day, before I even had time to share the news with the team, our growth lead resigned. In just a matter of hours, I went from being on top of the world to absolute panic. Getting into YC was going to require a solid team, and I had just lost a key player. I had prepaid vacation plans to celebrate, but I had to cancel them to put out the fire.

While you’re endlessly playing this game, something stealthy and dangerous happens: you start to believe that you are the game. Your self-worth gets tangled with the score.

Before becoming an entrepreneur, my success was measured by my individual achievements: promotions, raises, recognition from my bosses. It was simple. Now, my worth seems tied to a dashboard. Inevitably, I measure my success by how close or far we are from target metrics. It’s an unhealthy mental trap because, while as CEO I am ultimately responsible, a company is a social construct that depends on a team, on the market, on a thousand factors beyond my control.

Curiously, the pressure I feel doesn’t come from the outside. My previous experience as an investor inoculated me against the vanity of the ecosystem. I saw too many “shiny” startups collapse for forgetting the only thing that matters: making something people want. My greatest pressure doesn’t come from LinkedIn, but from the trust of my investors and, above all, from the brutal expectations I place on myself.

And this fusion between identity and company isn’t abstract, it leaves real scars. I know because I’ve seen and felt them in my own life. My husband knows it too. When I come home in a bad mood, his first question is: “What happened at Glitzi this time?” And he’s right. My mood dangerously depends on whether we hit a goal, had a bug, or got a client complaint. I’ve checked Slack during family dinners and taken constructive criticism about the business as a personal attack.

But the highest cost has been physical and personal. With Glitzi, I gained several kilos that I haven’t managed to lose. And more painfully, I completely abandoned my artistic side. I’ve always been a creative person; singing, playing piano, and playing guitar were essential parts of who I was. But in my mind, that artistic Ana clashed with the image of the successful businesswoman I wanted to become. I sacrificed a part of my soul at the altar of the startup.

There comes a point when you realize that the fire you’re trying to put out isn’t in the company, it’s inside you. That’s when I understood that for Glitzi to exist, I had to exist first. And that meant actively fighting to reclaim my identity, to shatter that mirror.

My first weapon was my body. Exercise became my anchor, the only time my brain stops playing whack-a-mole. Sometimes, in the middle of chaos, I simply stop and take 10 deep breaths. I learned to use travel and long walks to gain perspective and remind myself that the world is much bigger than my company.

My second weapon was vulnerability. I built my own “personal board of directors:” my husband, who keeps me grounded; my fellow founders, who remind me I’m not alone on this path of fears and anxieties; and my coach, who offers objective guidance.

And finally, I started diversifying my sources of dopamine. I returned to my passions: guitar, piano, and singing. These are my quick wins — achievements whose success depends on no KPI. To protect this, I had to learn to set boundaries. After years without weekends or vacations, I now defend at least one day of the weekend as if my life depends on it. Because, in a way, it does.

These aren’t magical solutions, they’re disciplines. They’re how, day by day, I fight to remember the most important lesson of all, one I would tell the Ana who was just starting out: You are not “Ana from Glitzi.” You are Ana, the CEO of Glitzi.

The distinction is fundamental. Believing that pouring every second of your time and energy increases your chances of success is a fallacy. What you need, more than hours, is perspective. As leaders of the ecosystem in Mexico, we have a responsibility to be real. If we paint entrepreneurship as a linear success story, we shut the door on the next generation, who will think they’re not cut out for this at the first stumble.

Building a company is a marathon. And the only way to reach the finish line is by making sure the runner doesn’t disintegrate along the way.