What therapists know about failure that founders don't
I went to therapy for the first time about four years ago, after a particularly bad professional year. I went in with the founder’s frame for failure: failure is an obstacle. Obstacles are to be overcome. The right response to an obstacle is to identify what went wrong, fix the underlying issue, and move on.
My therapist had a different frame, and the gap between her frame and mine has stayed with me longer than anything else from that period.
The founder frame: failure is a bug
In the founder frame, failure is a malfunction. Something didn’t work the way it was supposed to. The job is to debug:
- What was the root cause?
- What’s the fix?
- How do we make sure this doesn’t happen again?
- Where do we go from here?
This is a useful frame for product bugs and broken servers. Applied to a person, it has a problem: it treats the person who failed as a system to be patched. There’s an underlying assumption that the failure was a deviation from how things were supposed to go, and the goal is to get back on track.
When I sat down in that office and started in this voice — “okay, here’s what happened, here’s what I think went wrong, what do I do” — my therapist let me finish and then said something like: “What if there’s nothing to fix?”
I didn’t understand the question.
The therapist frame: failure is information
What she meant, and what took me about a year to actually internalize, was this: failure isn’t a deviation from how things were supposed to go. It’s data about how things actually are.
In the founder frame, the question is “why did this go wrong?” In the therapist frame, the question is “what is this telling you about the gap between the life you were trying to live and the life you actually have?”
Those are very different questions. The first one assumes the trajectory was correct and you fell off it. The second one assumes the trajectory was a hypothesis and the failure is the experiment’s result.
If the trajectory was a hypothesis, “fixing” the failure isn’t the right move. The right move is to update the hypothesis.
What this changes in practice
A founder, when their startup fails, asks: “what do I do differently next time?” They’re back at it within a month, sometimes a week, with a refined version of the same approach.
A therapist would ask: “what does it mean about you that you spent four years on this?” Not as a put-down. As real curiosity. What were you running toward? What were you running away from? What did this thing let you avoid? What did it let you become?
These questions are uncomfortable. They are also more honest. Most failures aren’t isolated technical mistakes; they’re the visible part of a longer pattern about what we’re optimizing our lives for. The patch-and-redeploy approach skips that conversation.
The cost of the founder frame
When you treat every failure as a debug exercise, you accumulate a lot of fixes and very little self-knowledge. You get better at not repeating that specific mistake, while continuing to make the same shape of mistake in different costumes. The next startup fails differently but it fails for related reasons. You can patch the symptoms forever without addressing the thing underneath.
I’ve watched founders do this. They write the postmortem, identify the technical lessons, raise money for the next thing, and re-enter the same trap with a new logo.
The therapist frame doesn’t promise to make you fail less. It promises to make you fail in increasingly specific and informative ways, until eventually you understand what you’ve been doing.
When the founder frame is right
I don’t think the founder frame is wrong, exactly. It’s right when:
- The failure is genuinely technical and not personal (the database fell over, the build broke, the algorithm was slow).
- You’re early enough in your career that you don’t have a pattern yet — your first failure isn’t a sign of anything; you just haven’t done this before.
- The failure is small and self-contained and the cost of moving on quickly is low.
It’s the wrong frame when:
- You’ve failed at versions of this thing before.
- The failure cost something more than money — relationships, health, identity.
- You feel a strong urge to immediately start the “next” thing without sitting with this one.
- The failure has shaken something at a level deeper than your strategy.
What this has to do with Surbias
Most failure writing on the internet is in the founder frame. “Here’s what went wrong, here’s what I learned, here’s the next move.” It’s clean, it’s energetic, it’s optimistic. It also doesn’t help you if the thing you’re trying to do is sit with what happened long enough to actually understand it.
A lot of what gets posted on Surbias is in the therapist frame, even though most of the people writing have never been to therapy. They’re not asking “what do I do next?” They’re asking “what does this mean?” Sometimes they don’t even ask. They just describe.
That kind of writing doesn’t get published in business magazines. It also tends to be the writing that, ten years later, you’re glad someone wrote.
— Juan