He looked across the conference room table at me and said, almost in a whisper, “I hate to be the bad guy.” We were talking about a product that was months late, burning through cash, and sitting right on the edge of a do or die moment for his company. Engineers were behind. Vendors were checked out and still sending full bills. The roadmap had turned into a wish list and opportunity was burning faster than jet fuel as Starship one catapults into space.

But, for some reason, in his head, asking people to meet deadlines and respect the budget felt like the moral equivalent of setting kittens on fire.

That is how twisted the word “accountability” has become in a lot of leadership circles. Expecting people to deliver the work they agreed to do is now framed as “being the bad guy,” while letting the company drift toward the rocks passes as being compassionate.

At some point you have to decide what you are protecting.
Feelings, or the business.

This is not about being cruel. It is about being honest. When you are the person in the big chair, you either carry the weight of hard decisions or you hand that weight to the market. And the market does not negotiate.

How “being the bad guy” became a leadership myth

Somewhere along the way, leadership got confused with being liked.

Founders started telling themselves that a good culture means nobody gets upset, nobody receives hard feedback, and everyone feels safe all the time. Not safe to speak up. Safe from discomfort. That is a very different thing.

Layer on top of that:

  • Startup teams that act more like friend groups than companies
  • Slack channels where everything has a light tone, even when the building is on fire
  • Endless posts about “servant leadership” stripped of any context about standards

You end up with CEOs who think that pushing for a launch date or cutting a bloated scope turns them into some cartoon villain.

So they pull back. They soften the language. They move dates “a little.” They absorb excuses. They absorb more scope. They take the stress on themselves instead of putting clear expectations on the team.

The result is simple. The fear of being disliked becomes stronger than the fear of failure.

The problem is that the market does not care how “nice” you were while you missed your window. Investors do not care how many times you protected everyone from hard conversations. Customers do not care that your engineers “tried their best.”

They care whether the product works and whether it exists.

What soft leadership does to a real company

Let’s stay with this CEO for a moment.

The product is months late.
The budget is a mess.
Runway is shrinking.
Competitors are shipping.

He knows the engineering leader is not holding the team to any real standard. Stories slip from sprint to sprint. Dependencies show up at the last minute. No one is willing to say “stop” to new feature ideas while the core build is still unstable.

He sees all of this and keeps telling himself:

“I do not want to be that guy.”

So he lets it ride.

This is what soft leadership really costs:

  • Delayed launches that kill momentum and trust
  • Runaway spend with nothing concrete to show the board
  • High performers who burn out because they carry the slack for underperformers
  • A quiet culture where no one believes deadlines mean anything

The financial damage is obvious. Lost revenue, missed opportunities, and a higher chance that the round you thought would be easy now comes with a much harder conversation.

The human damage is slower and more corrosive. Your best people want clear standards. They want to know that if they push, others are pushing too. When they see underperformers protected in the name of “kindness,” it feels less like compassion and more like neglect.

If you wait long enough, the choice stops being “Do I push my team and risk bad feelings?” and becomes “Do I shut this company down or hand it to someone who will do what I was not willing to do?”

At that point, the “nice guy” routine does not feel so kind.

Accountability is not cruelty

The entire story flips when you drop the idea that accountability is about punishment.

Good accountability is simple:

  • Clear expectations
  • Real ownership
  • Predictable consequences

None of that requires you to raise your voice or strip people of their dignity. It requires you to say, in plain language, what matters and what happens when it is not delivered.

Being firm does not mean you become a dictator. It does not mean you stop caring about your team. It means you care enough to be honest about reality.

You can say:
“We agreed to this scope and this timeline. We are behind. This is what has to change this week. Here is where I need you to step up.”

That is not cruelty. That is leadership.

People do not grow in a fog. They grow inside constraints. When they know the bar, they can decide if they want to reach it. When you refuse to set the bar because you want to be liked, you are not protecting them. You are setting them up to fail in slow motion.

You do not need to go full Darth Vader on your team. You just need to keep your promises to investors, customers, and employees, and require your leaders to keep theirs.

Why so many founders avoid being the “bad guy”

Most of the time, this is not laziness. It is fear.

Fear of conflict.
Fear of losing key people.
Fear of exposing how fragile the plan really is.

Founders also carry a unique kind of guilt. They know they recruited people into the vision. They know those people took pay cuts, options, and risk. So when pressure builds, many founders try to carry it alone.

They smooth over issues instead of surfacing them. They accept weak performance from “loyal” early hires. They allow a head of engineering to drift because that person has been there from the start.

They convince themselves that pushing harder would be a betrayal.

The reality is harsher. Refusing to confront performance issues is the real betrayal. You are trading the company’s future, and everyone’s job, for your own discomfort.

There is also a steady stream of content telling leaders to be more empathetic, more gentle, more emotionally intelligent. None of that is wrong. The part that gets lost is that empathy without boundaries is not leadership. It is people pleasing with a title.

Redefining what “firm” looks like

So what does it look like when a CEO decides to be a leader instead of the “nice guy”?

First, the story in the room changes. Instead of “I hate to be the bad guy,” it becomes:

“My job is to protect this company and this team. That means I cannot ignore missed commitments.”

Firm leadership is built from a few simple habits:

  1. Set specific expectations, not vibes
    “Ship the MVP” is vague.
    “These three features must be in production by this date, with these quality thresholds” is clear.
  2. Connect deadlines to reality
    Explain how the launch date ties to cash in the bank, investor expectations, and competitive moves. People work differently when they see the full chain of impact.
  3. Name tradeoffs out loud
    When someone wants to add scope, do not shrug and absorb it. Say, “If we add that, this date moves, and this revenue moves with it. Is that a trade we want to make?”
  4. Enforce consequences consistently
    You do not need to humiliate anyone. You do need to treat missed commitments as real events that have follow up, not as weather.

This is not a theory. Teams that live inside clear constraints ship more and complain less. The anxiety you feel in the short term from a hard conversation is nothing compared to the quiet panic of a drifting company.

Balancing accountability with empathy

You can hold people to a high standard and still care deeply about them. The trick is to separate reasons from excuses.

If someone is blocked, you remove the blocker.
If someone is out of their depth, you give support and a clear plan to improve.
If someone will not do the work or refuses to meet the standard, you stop pretending that is a development opportunity and treat it as a staffing decision.

Empathy is not letting people stay stuck. Empathy is being clear about what success looks like and helping them either reach it or find a place where the fit is better.

When you talk about accountability with your team, frame it as protection, not punishment:

  • Protection for the company’s runway
  • Protection for customers who are betting on you
  • Protection for high performers who are tired of doing two jobs

You can say, “I am not here to police you. I am here to make sure the commitments we make to each other, and to the market, are real.”

That message lands very differently than, “I guess I have to be the bad guy now.”

If you do not lead, the market will

Here is the part many leaders only learn the hard way.

If you avoid tough calls inside the company, the market makes them for you.

  • Miss enough dates and investors lose patience.
  • Burn enough cash without moving the needle and your next round comes with terms you never wanted… or never comes at all.
  • Stay soft on performance and your best people walk themselves out, one at a time, while you are still trying not to upset anyone.

You do not need to enjoy conflict. You do need to respect the cost of avoiding it.

Being a leader does not mean you have to be friends with everyone on the team. It means you keep the ship afloat. It means you protect the mission, even when that requires short term discomfort.

You do not have to love the feeling of being “the bad guy.” You DO have to get comfortable owning the role that only you can play. The person who says, “This is the standard… This is the line… This is what happens if we keep ignoring it…”

Because if you don’t do that, someone else will.

  • A new CEO.
  • A buyer at a discount price.
  • Or a liquidator.

Conclusion: 

Icebergs do not care about your feelings. Neither do deadlines, cash burn, or competitors. You can either be the leader who faces that truth inside the company, or the one who smiles kindly while the water rises around everyone’s ankles. One of those might feel nicer in the moment. Only one keeps the company alive.

About the Author: Jeremy Mays

I’m Jeremy Mays, Founder and CEO of Transmyt Marketing. For 25 years, I’ve helped startups and enterprise leaders cut through noise, scale smart, and win in complex markets. If you’re looking for clarity on your next move, I’m available most weekdays to explore opportunities together.

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