I fired a guy today. Here's why.

(I'm writing this at the end of the day, a harder day than usual)

This morning, I fired someone on behalf of the company I work with. We'd given them the opportunity, support, and clear feedback to improve. When nothing changed, we made the call.

It's not a part of the role I enjoy but sometimes it's necessary.

But here's what struck me sitting with that decision: the real issue wasn't them. It was about standards. About what we're willing to accept and what we're not.

Most business owners don't realise this, but your standards don't stay fixed. They erode so gradually you don't notice it happening. (or - as it happens, they get higher. But I'll save that for another day.)

It starts small. A deadline slips, but they were close. Work comes back mediocre, but it's usable. Someone shows up late, but they make up for it elsewhere. You tell yourself you're being flexible, reasonable, human. And you are. Once.

But here's the trap: the second time is easier. You've already normalised the exception, so it doesn't feel like an exception anymore. It's just how things are. The third time, you don't even blink.

Months pass. You've lowered your tolerance so gradually that you've stopped noticing the descent. What used to be unacceptable is now just Tuesday. Your standard has become invisible to you.

Then something breaks. Revenue drops. Quality tanks. A good person leaves because they're tired of carrying people who aren't pulling their weight. And you sit there wondering how it got this bad.

It got this bad because you accepted it incrementally.

The person I fired this morning? They weren't a sudden problem. They were the symptom of a standard that had already slipped so far it took months of formal process to correct what should have been addressed in conversation weeks earlier. By the time we fired them, the damage was done. The team had already adjusted to mediocrity. The bar was already lowered.

Here's what most owners won't admit: that's not about the employee. That's about you.

Because standards don't slip in a vacuum. They slip because someone tolerates them slipping. And the person setting the standard for your entire business is you.

Your team takes its cues from what you accept. Not what you say you accept. What you actually allow. If you tolerate half-finished work, your team learns that half-finished is fine. If you avoid uncomfortable conversations, they learn that accountability is optional. If you normalise underperformance, they start treating it as normal too.

I learned this years ago from one of the best bosses I ever had. On my first day, he spent 45 minutes showing me how to sweep the floor. Forty-five minutes. He was the owner. He showed me where the debris collected, how to angle the broom, how to check corners, what "done" actually looked like.

At the time, I thought it was strange. The lesson was lost on me. But subconsciously, I started to understand something: if this guy was that deliberate and careful about sweeping a floor, imagine how he ran everything else. There was no mystery to his success. It was visible in the details he refused to compromise on.

That's what standards look like in practice. Not motivational speeches. Not mission statements. It's an owner willing to spend 45 minutes on how you sweep because the standard matters more than the efficiency.

His business thrived because every single person in it knew exactly what acceptable looked like. Not because they were afraid. Because it was obvious.

The question isn't whether your standards matter. They do. The question is: have yours drifted without you noticing?

So sit with these two questions. Really sit with them.

How many of your current team would you enthusiastically rehire? Not tolerate. Not manage around. Genuinely want working beside you again. If the number is lower than you'd like, ask yourself why. Because your team is a direct reflection of the standards you've been enforcing.

What have you recently tolerated or not addressed that you know you probably should have? The conversation you've avoided. The deadline you let slip. The work you accepted knowing it was below standard. The person who's been coasting. The process that's broken but you haven't fixed.

That thing sitting in your head right now? That's the one. That's where your standard has slipped.

Go ahead, answer honestly.

Here's what I know: most owners know exactly where they've lowered the bar. They can name it instantly. They've just been hoping it would fix itself or go away. It won't.

Honesty can be uncomfortable. But it's also refreshing. Because the moment you stop lying to yourself about what you're accepting, the next step gets clear. Not easy. Clear.

And that's where change, and therefore growth,

actually starts.