The Complain Train
Every complaint hides a responsibility you haven’t claimed yet.
Let's be honest…
At most companies, there's a secret ritual that nobody talks about. But everybody does it.
The CEO is frustrated with the leadership team.
The leadership team is frustrated with the rest of the company.
And everyone's just... complaining.
Quietly. Privately. Sometimes loudly, but always behind closed doors.
The CEO thinks:
"Why can't they just take more initiative?"
"Why do I still have to make every big decision?"
"Why do they need me to step in every time something breaks?"
Meanwhile, the team thinks:
"The CEO is too controlling."
"I don't feel trusted to lead."
"I want to do more, but I don't want to screw it up."
And around and around it goes.
The Complain Train. (Should be a real phrase. Is now.)
All Aboard the Misery Express
Picture this: it's Tuesday afternoon. You're sitting in your office after a disappointing leadership meeting that ran an hour over because—once again—nobody came prepared to decide anything.
Your COO pops in. The door closes. "Can I vent for a second? Our marketing team is driving me insane..."
Thirty minutes later, your head of sales arrives. "Got a minute? I need to talk about what happened in that meeting..."
By 5 PM, you've collected enough complaints to fill a very sad diary. You go home, pour a glass of something strong, and sigh to your partner: "I just wish people would step up."
Meanwhile, across town, your team is having nearly identical conversations.
This isn't just happening at your company. It's everywhere.
Let's be honest—we all have our own Complain Trains. That group text where you and your friends dissect what's wrong with another friend who's not in the chat. The family holiday where siblings quietly commiserate about Mom's controlling behavior (while Mom vents to Aunt Susan about her ungrateful children). The client call that ends with you rolling your eyes and telling your colleague, "Our clients are so dumb."
The human brain is a complaint-generating machine. But in business, it's costing you millions.
The Complain Train's Toxic Tickets
Here's how it feels:
Every conversation becomes a behind-the-scenes vent session. One leader gripes about another's flakiness. Someone else fumes about the CEO's reactivity. Another laments their team's refusal to take ownership.
Psychologists call this the "Fundamental Attribution Error" - our hardwired tendency to blame others' shortcomings on their character ("they're just lazy") while excusing our own as situational ("I'm just overwhelmed"). It's not a character flaw; it's human nature.
Everyone is privately disappointed. Everyone's quietly annoyed. And everyone thinks they're the exception.
It's easier to point out someone else's ceiling than face your own.
Because facing your own means pressure. Discomfort. Change.
And it's just so much easier to vent than to evolve.
The result? A cycle of resentment that becomes normal. A culture of disappointment with no accountability. A loop that no one admits to, but everyone participates in.
It's not just draining. It's dysfunctional.
And it's become the baseline in far too many companies.
The Mythical A-Player Fantasy
Most CEOs eventually reach the same conclusion:
"I just need to hire better people."
Ah yes, the mythical A-players. The unicorns. The superstars who will magically own growth without hand-holding. The people who "just get it."
You know, the kind of people who cost $250,000+ a year. Each.
Here's the lie:
That you can't afford to hire those people.
And here's the irony:
Those people are already inside your company.
Seriously.
No, not all of them. But most of them.
You're stuck in a hiring catch-22: You think you need superstars to grow... but can't grow enough to afford them. So you do it all yourself. Waiting for a mythical "someday" when you'll finally be able to hire the team you wish you had.
But here's what no one tells you:
That "someday" team is already here.
They don't need fixing. They need unlimiting.
The Invisible Ceiling No One Talks About
Here's the blunt truth:
Every frustrating behavior you see in your team—the fear of ownership, the overthinking, the indecision, the defensiveness—isn't a personality flaw.
It's a belief system.
A limiting one.
It says:
"If I take a risk, I'll get it wrong."
"If I lead, I'll be exposed."
"If I speak up, I'll be shut down."
They didn't make that belief up to annoy you. They learned it. Over a lifetime. From parents, teachers, previous bosses, and yes—sometimes from you.
And the more you push them to "step up," the more they feel the pressure... and the deeper they retreat into the belief that they're not enough.
Meanwhile, you go home exhausted. And they go home complaining.
Everyone loses.
The Real Reason Business Feels Heavy
This is the real reason growth feels so heavy.
Not because you have the wrong strategy. Not because you can't afford top talent. Not because you don't care enough.
But because you're carrying 90% of the vision, effort, and emotional weight of building a business.
And deep down, you don't believe your current team can ever match that drive.
What if they can? What if they already want to? What if they just don't yet believe they're allowed to?
The fix isn't softer language or one more culture workshop. It's not another book club or leadership training that gets quietly ignored between catered lunches.
It's helping your people see and smash the belief that's capping their performance.
It doesn't motivate. It removes what's blocking motivation.
It doesn't coach performance. It dismantles the mental walls that performance keeps crashing into.
You want a team that builds the business with you? That owns the vision as if it were theirs? That actually gets better over time—without needing constant hand-holding?
Stop waiting to hire your dream team. Start unlimiting the one you already have.
Because the real problem isn't their personality. It's the belief system they have stuck inside.
And the real solution isn't a bigger budget. It's finally getting off the Complain Train.
Let's fix this. Because limits (and complaints) are a choice.