Before attempting to answer the question posed by the title, I’d like to share the metaphor I often used to describe what it’s like having a startup—that is, before I lost mine.

When asked by people who’ve never felt passionate about their jobs, I would often say that working for a startup isn’t just like having a regular job you happen to enjoy more and with longer hours. I’d tell them it’s more akin to having a child—it completely takes over your life both with time and dedication.

Some friends would push back on this metaphor, visibly dissatisfied, pointing out that “you just can’t compare the two,” especially considering I don’t yet have kids.

Admittedly, the analogy isn’t perfect, but I simply couldn’t find a better one. For most people, work is something you do during the day before returning home to handle mundane chores. The only devotion that approaches the level of obsession and commitment felt by startup founders, I argued, is what parents feel for their children.

Just like parenting, running a startup takes over your life entirely—dare I say, perhaps even more so. Every minute of every day, you think about it. Not because you’re obligated to, but because you simply can’t help it. The purpose-driven mission in your mind, however imaginary or intangible to others, feels incredibly real to you. It’s like a direct injection of adrenaline into your bloodstream.

However, there’s one aspect I failed to consider when I used this metaphor: what does it mean when the startup dies? Honestly, I never thought about this aspect before. Although I don’t yet have children, I can imagine the profound loss felt when losing one. You lose something irreplaceable—a unique personality, ideas, dreams, and potential.

When my startup failed, I went through grief, anger, sadness, and frustration. But unlike losing a child, what you lose when your startup dies isn’t its “personality.” Instead, what you lose as a founder is your purpose. This loss hurts deeply, too. Meals don’t taste the same, getting out of bed becomes difficult, and each day feels empty, as though stripped of meaning.

Yet, there’s one critical difference that finally makes me reconsider using the child analogy. Humans have the remarkable capacity to find another purpose, something else to inspire and motivate us. If one is lucky, with time, new passions and goals emerge, restoring our sense of meaning.

Unfortunately for parents who lost their children, it doesn’t work the same way.