This week, stories from inside our workplaces moved through the headlines. I do not know which details are true or noise, and this column will not judge a case it cannot verify. But they circle a question every founder eventually meets in the mirror: can the same drive that builds a company also burn the people inside it?

Let me begin with the confession. I have been called a slave driver. I have also been called the best mentor a person could have had, by people who went on to build their own companies after working beside me. I have been accused of being coldly rational and, in the same breath, of refusing to give up. In some rooms I am the reason a career took off; in others I am remembered as difficult.

All these testimonies describe the same person. They are the double edge, witnessed from different distances.

The danger begins quietly, on the day the furnace I live in becomes the building everyone else must work in.

Call it second-hand fire. The elders knew this arithmetic long before management science: the fire that cooks the homestead’s meal is the same fire that can take the homestead. Fire warms the one who lit it. The people standing nearby mostly breathe the smoke.

When the founder’s self-inflicted intensity becomes everyone’s unspoken minimum, something has been transferred that was never agreed. Demanding my energy without sharing my ownership is not culture. It is extraction wearing culture’s clothes.

And here sits the asymmetry we rarely say aloud. Your employees may support you completely and still not be willing to die with you.

Some will stand at your deathbed. Others will walk away, and that is not betrayal. It is proportion. You own the upside and the name on the door. They own a job, perhaps a mission. Rarely the same stakes.

Burnout is where the asymmetry turns clinical. The founder and employee burn differently. A founder’s fuel is ownership: meaning, upside, identity. An employee’s fuel is effort exchanged for salary, growth, and belonging. Drive both tanks as if they were one, and the employee empties first, quietly performing energy for your benefit, and by the time burnout is visible it is old.

Ego compounds the danger because success removes the people who can tell a founder he is wrong, while ambition supplies its own theology: the mission justifies the heat. Somebody once called it flying too close to the sun. Icarus at least flew alone. The modern founder flies with a payroll strapped to his wings.

Fatherhood is teaching me what the boardroom could not. My children are becoming teenagers, and I am their father; I cannot be their CEO. Employees are at different stages. Some are still learning; others are ready to carry real weight. The founder who applies one temperature to all is not leading; he is broadcasting. Wisdom is reading the stage before applying the fire.

Mentorship is teaching pacing, recovery, and the difference between intensity and endurance.

There are seasons too. I started building at twenty-five. I am fifty-one now, and the difference is stark. At twenty-five the venture needed a creator: raw fire, speed, refusal. Institutions at maturity need stabilisers, structure, and calmer temperaments.

I am a creator and a builder, and the energy of creation is not the energy of stabilisation. The same temperament that is strength in one season turns destructive in another. Knowing which season you are in, and which self to bring to it, may be the most underrated founder skill of all.

Regulate your own furnace in public. If you never rest, rest becomes career risk for everyone below you. The team watches your calendar.

The real test of a driven founder is the alumni. If those who left speak of formation, you ran a forge. If they speak of survival, you ran a furnace with a payroll.

Then carry the question home. The furnace does not switch off at the gate. The same ambition that makes a founder a hero on a stage can make him a stranger at his own dinner table. Spouses absorb the moods of a company they never joined. You can be celebrated in every room except the ones that matter longest.

And beneath it all runs the founder’s own mind. Many of us have fused ambition with identity so completely that a missed milestone feels like a lost self. That is the quiet engine of much founder destructiveness: frustration leaking downward as pressure, shame recycled as demands. Mental health is not a side conversation to this column. It is the column.

The two truths do not resolve. In ambition or frustration, every founder is capable of becoming destructive. Yet that same energy is what holds everything together when the season turns brutal, because nobody else will hold it for you. The company cannot outsource the founder’s fire, and the people cannot survive it ungoverned.

So the deepest discipline is sustainability: guarding the mental strength that keeps the furnace burning without letting it consume the house. This philosophy governs mature corporations, institutions, even nations: the leader’s fire, the people’s stages, the seasons. The judgment call never retires.

It moves, decision by decision, between the mission that demands more and the human in front of you who has already given what they honestly have. Ambition lights the furnace. Leadership decides how close each person must stand.

Michael Anthony Macharia is a serial entrepreneur, founder of Seven Seas Technologies and Ponea Health