There are days I don’t do much more than tap buttons, drive to meetings, talk into a phone, send a few emails, and think through problems. And yet somehow, that’s my job. That’s what running a business has become. And it makes me wonder — is this still hard work?

In today’s world, the definition of a hard worker is completely muddied. From one swipe to the next, entrepreneurs are yelling at us about “grindset” and hustle. They film themselves in the car, heading to the next meeting, tapping on a laptop, talking into a mic, staying up an extra hour and calling it war. And for that, they get labeled grinders.

Then you’ve got the people who define hard work by their discipline — early risers, marathon runners, gym junkies — and if you’re not pushing your physical limits, then apparently you’re not pushing at all.

And meanwhile, there are the men out there pouring concrete, hammering nails, working in snow and sun — guys who show up at 7 and leave at 4, sometimes putting in eight honest hours, sometimes only four and then riding it out the rest of the day. Some break their backs. Some pace themselves. Some lead crews without lifting a finger. So even in their world, the definition of hard work isn’t clear.
So where does that leave someone like me?

A business owner. A husband. A dad. Someone who hasn’t clocked in as a W2 employee in over a decade. Someone who carries weight that no one sees. Someone who thinks for a living — who creates, guides, decides, solves, and sometimes just sits in the unknown.

And that’s where the confusion creeps in. Because when the work doesn’t feel physical, it starts to feel fake. When there’s no visible proof — no sweat, no tools, no noise — the mind starts whispering:

“You’re not doing enough.”
“You’re lazy.”
“You’ve gone soft.”

But here’s what I’ve come to realize:

The man who carries invisible weight works twice as hard — because he has to lift it and prove to himself it’s real.
My work is real. My stress is real. My decisions affect people’s paychecks. My energy fuels our livelihood. My creativity generates revenue. My presence matters.

But the world doesn’t always validate that kind of labor. And truthfully, sometimes I don’t either.

So I start questioning myself — especially in the slow seasons. When money’s not flowing, and inspiration is low, and I sleep in a little more, and I avoid a few tasks. It’s not because I don’t care. It’s not because I’ve stopped building.
It’s because carrying things no one sees is exhausting.

But here’s the thing I remind myself — and maybe it’ll help you, too:

You’ve built before. You can build again. You don’t need sweat to be working. You don’t need applause to be valid.

Rest is not weakness.

Waiting is not failure.

Procrastination is not laziness — it’s fear looking for a plan.

So if you’re in that space — that foggy middle — just remember:

You are not lazy. You are shouldering more than most people will ever recognize.

And that… is hard work.