People turn.

Not because they’re cruel or careless, but because they’re human. In moments of doubt, uncertainty, or discomfort, most of us will return to what we know – even if it’s less exciting, less visionary, or even less rewarding in the long run. It’s not a flaw. It’s a survival instinct.

When you build something new – whether it’s a project, a company, a movement, or a way of thinking – you learn this early. People will cheer you on, some will start the journey with you, a few will become early champions. But enthusiasm is not the same as endurance. It’s easy to show up at the beginning. It’s much harder to stay in when things get murky, when results aren’t immediate, or when you’re on the edge of real change. Ironically, some will leave just before the outcome reveals itself. And that’s one of the hardest things to prepare for – not just as a strategist or a leader, but as a person.

There’s a discomfort in watching people retreat. Especially when they were excited. Especially when you believed they believed. But here’s the honest truth: people don’t usually leave because you did something wrong. They leave because the road ahead no longer feels familiar. And when stakes rise, most default to safety, even if the safe option is mediocre or uninspiring. That’s not a judgment. It’s an insight.

In venture capital, there’s a concept known as adverse selection: the idea that the more risk-averse people are, the more likely they are to pull back just when boldness is needed. The same applies in human dynamics. You can sell the vision. You can show the plan. You can build trust and excitement. But if you don’t plan for drop-offs – if your models are only built on the people who stay – you’ll find yourself rebuilding when you least expect to.

It’s a strange paradox.

We talk often about resilience and vision, about staying the course and weathering storms. But we talk less about the emotional weight of watching others fall away. And we rarely acknowledge that some people will exit halfway – not because they didn’t care, but because they did … and caring scared them. There’s a quiet grief in watching someone back away not because you’re failing, but because you’re succeeding and success demands more than they’re willing or ready to give.

So, how do you lead with this in mind? First, you stop expecting certainty from people who haven’t built the muscle for it. This isn’t about cynicism; it’s about being realistic in your optimism. Your best strategy isn’t one that hopes everyone stays – it’s one that functions even if some don’t. Resilience isn’t just about pushing forward; it’s about designing systems and expectations that can absorb departures without collapsing. In other words: hope generously, but plan structurally.

Second, understand the difference between presence and commitment. People will show up, but presence is not promise. Some will stay only as long as the waters are calm. Others might disappear without notice the moment the forecast looks stormy. And a few, the rare few, will stay – ankle-deep in the mud, sleeves rolled up, even when things fall apart. Those are your people. The rest are just passing through. And that’s okay.

And finally, accept that exits are part of the story. Even necessary, at times. Sometimes people leave because their role was meant to be temporary. Sometimes they were there to get you to a certain point, not to the end. Sometimes their departure creates space for someone more aligned with what’s ahead. There’s wisdom in not clinging too tightly.

What this all calls for is a more layered view of momentum. Not every step forward is linear. Not every success is shared equally. Not every partnership was meant to last. And not every deviation is failure. The art is in building something strong enough to carry through volatility – both of the market and of the human spirit.

So yes, people turn. Often quickly. They’ll stop investing in the new and settle for the known. They’ll exit halfway, sometimes even three-quarters of the way. They’ll vanish near the finish line, not out of malice, but out of misalignment. Your work, your role, your growth – is not in preventing the turn. It’s in staying the course anyway.

Because the truth is, the closer you get to the edge of change, the more likely it is that people will retreat. That is not the sign to stop. It’s the sign you’re nearly there.