The Hardest Part Is Staying

The Emotional Cycle of Change

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the emotional cycle of change.

The first time I heard it explained in 'The 12 Week Year,' it was like someone finally described the invisible storm I had been walking through for most of my life.

That arc where you start something with fire in your belly, then crash into the wall of "this is harder than I thought," and then want to quit right before the real rewards kick in.

Starting is easy.

But a lot of my "this is harder than I thought" seemed to last months, sometimes years.

Sticking is where it breaks you—or makes you.

I've been going through it again over the last few months.

Not in a dramatic way, such as "everything is falling apart" or "this isn't working."

More like standing in a quiet field, realising the noise is gone, and all that's left is you, your work, and the long road ahead.

And somewhere in that quiet, you meet something unexpected: grief.

• Grief for the faster paths you thought you'd find.
• Grief for the versions of yourself that hoped it would be easier.
• Grief for the dreams that looked shiny from a distance but would have cost you the real story you were meant to live.

(We talked about this grief before—that invisible ache of letting go—back when we explored how stability and small rituals matter more than chasing the next big thing.)

You don't talk about that grief at networking events.

You don't put it on a "success mindset" poster.

But it's there.

It's part of the real work.

The Four-Year Rule

The author and creator talks about this stuff beautifully.

I recently heard him say something pretty obvious if you look at what you’re doing:

If you're serious about building anything real, you have to be willing to commit to it for four years.

Not four weeks.

Not four months.

Four years!

Most people never even give it one.

They try something for a few weeks, don't see any results, and try something new.

And they chase another thing when that doesn't explode in applause either.

And another.

(We've touched on this too—how easy it is to feel behind, to think you're failing when, in reality, you're simply in the invisible middle where all the compounding happens.)

Every time you jump ship early, you trade the real reward—the compounding of effort, skill, trust, and momentum—for the short-lived high of being a beginner again.

New feels exciting.

Focus feels boring.

But focus is where the magic happens.

Focus is where all the good things you want—growth, mastery, reputation, and real community—come from.

And focus feels boring because you're finally doing it right.

$35 Million From One Blog Post?

In my career, the conversation I’ve had the most is:

”We sent three emails/made three blog posts/posted three podcasts and nothing happened! - let’s try LinkedIn/Facebook/Google adverts?”

Meanwhile, I've been telling the ‘Riverpools Story’ from Marcus Sheridan for years.

Around 2012/14, I gave a talk at conferences entitled ‘How one man made $4.4 million from one blog post’ - it was about how Marcus wrote a post at his kitchen table in May 2009.

That post was How Much Is My Fibreglass Pool Really Going to Cost?

Over the years, they have tracked revenue back to that post using HubSpot, and I check in every few years.

In 2021, I was podcasting with Marcus, and it had clocked up $17 million in sales.

Last week I asked Conor, from Impact, and it’s now up to $35 million!

How much do you think it made in the first few weeks?

Maybe enough to cover the HubSpot subscription?

Most people would have given up after three weeks.

Marcus stayed through the quiet years—and that's why his work compounded when no one was looking.

Meanwhile, so many builders—especially in coworking—chase someone else's noise instead of compounding their own story.

Mimicking Big Brands vs. Building Real Communities

I see this everywhere around me, especially in coworking and community building, where I spend most of my time.

Small, independent coworking spaces spend endless energy watching bigger brands.

Scrolling through noise.

Trying to mimic surface-level success.

It's like owning a restaurant you started because you love food and constantly talking about Miller & Carter or Leon and what they’re doing, or even more insane, Burger King.

Instead of planting deeper roots where they are.

Instead of owning their lane, magic, messy, real, beautiful communities.

They chase—and lose.

Because the real work doesn't reward the mimic.

It rewards the builder who sticks.

The builder who chooses depth over dazzle.

The builder willing to be misunderstood for a while in exchange for building something that matters.

(We've been circling this idea for a while—that the slow, infinite game of building trust and showing up matters more than flashy growth spurts.)

Choosing the Harder Path

What I'm learning—over and over, at every stage—is this:

Saying yes to your real work means saying no to almost everything else.

It means giving up the applause of early novelty.

It means sitting quietly while everyone else is chasing the next shiny thing.

It means trusting that your work is having an impact on you, even when you can't see the full bloom yet.

(And just like we explored when we talked about resetting expectations—it's not about doing more; it's about seeing how far you've come.)

You won't feel ready.

You won't get permission.

You won't get a gold star every week.

You have to choose anyway.

You have to bet on the compounding you can't see yet.

You have to stay.

The Real Rewards Are Coming

Wherever you are in your journey—building a coworking community, a business, a creative practice, or just trying to figure out which way is forward—

I hope you know this:

The boredom is a sign you're on the right path.

The grief is a sign you're letting go of who you needed to stop being.

The patience is not optional—it's the whole game.

And if you stay, the real rewards are coming.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But they're coming.

And when they do, you'll know you earned them.

Not by chasing everything.

Not by being everywhere.

By choosing to stay with your one real thing long enough for it to become extraordinary.

Stay with it.

You're closer than you think.

Thank you for your time and attention today

Bernie 💚