Whether you’re working through a tough quarter, rebuilding after a setback, navigating a leadership change or layoff, or simply trying to regain momentum when things feel stalled, this is a story about taking ownership of what you can control, one uncomfortable step at a time.

This isn’t a feel-good story.

It’s about choosing effort when comfort is easier.

At the end of September, I had a cerebellar stroke. Then two more.  By November, my neurosurgeon scrapped our original “observe and monitor” plan and called me late one night: “We need to operate. ASAP.”

A planned 5-hour brain surgery turned into 12.  I woke up in more pain than I thought was possible - and unable to feel or use my hands or feet.

There’s no lesson here yet. Just reality.

As Bardia Shahali, VP of Sales at Fireworks AI, put it in a prior GTMBA Leadership Spotlight: “You are not owed anything. Put your head down and do the work.”

That became my operating system: Do the work - or stay broken.

Everything below flows from that decision.

The hardest part wasn’t the pain, it was the mental spiral.

Hospitals are excellent at keeping you alive and terrible at keeping you optimistic. Add sleep deprivation, opioids, the sudden loss of autonomy, and you get a perfect storm for self-pity.

To anyone wallowing in self-pity: Feeling bad about your situation does absolutely nothing to improve it .

I didn’t set stretch goals that first week. I was too deep in it. But the turning point came when my wife delivered some tough love and called out my negative self-talk for what it was: unproductive.

Momentum doesn’t appear. You manufacture it - often in absurdly small ways.

My first real stretch goal was dismissed by doctors: Eat Thanksgiving dinner at home with my family.

At the start of that week, I was bedridden in a rehab facility. Zero chance of getting dismissed to go home, according to the plan.

So I ignored the plan.

During occupational therapy, I challenged my therapist and night nurse to cornhole. If I hit the shot with a half-functional hand, they owed me multiple assisted walks around the facility. I won. And I collected.

Every day became a negotiation with pain:

None of this was heroic. It was stubborn.

Thanksgiving dinner at home wasn’t a miracle.  It was the compounded result of refusing to accept “today’s limitations” as permanent.

Here’s where most people quit.

Once things improve a little - the pain eases, you land a few sales meetings - manufactured momentum starts to feel optional and the urgency disappears. This is where average outcomes get locked in.

Instead, I kept raising the bar:

Doctors and therapists optimize for medians, but I’m not interested in the median.

That doesn’t mean reckless behavior.  It means calculated risk, relentless effort, and refusing to coast once progress begins.

1. Pacing Is Not Quitting

Relentless doesn’t mean stupid.

I learned to take 5-, 10-, or 30-minute resets when I was depleted. Not days. Not weeks. Short resets to enable another push.

Elite performance is about managing energy, not pretending you have infinite reserves (unless you’re Elon or Jensen).

2. Gratitude Fuels Endurance

Willpower alone didn’t get me here.

My wife. My family. My neurosurgeon. Incredible therapists, nurses, and friends and supportive employer - they made this possible. Gratitude isn’t softness; it’s fuel. It reminds you why the work matters when it hurts.

I’ve made what people are calling a “miraculous” recovery, months faster than expected. But nothing was magic - it was a deliberate decision to treat recovery like any other high-performance challenge.

The first priority post-surgery was physical recovery. Now the focus is on cognitive recovery - endurance, clarity, output, return to work, and great GTMBA content. Same rules apply:

Whether it’s recovery, leading through change, closing deals, or finding a new job - the principle doesn’t change.

Effort compounds quietly.  Do the work. 

Stay tuned for next week’s article - we have a special guest sharing how he’s breaking all the norms in AI distribution.

Much love,

Julian