In startups, something often seems more urgent than backups: a new release, user growth, the next round of funding. When resources are scarce, the team focuses on building the product, not the infrastructure. And every day, shipping wins. Backups keep getting postponed. Not just because there’s no time, but because thinking about them means admitting how fragile everything is, and how much rests on the people behind it. In the early stages, it’s often just a single backup. No automation, no established processes. Beneath it lies a quiet belief that disasters happen to others — until the first failure shatters that illusion within seconds, and you discover there are no copies, access is lost, and nothing can be recovered.
You don’t learn how resilient your system is until it breaks. Even the most reliable systems are not immune to rare, unpredictable events. Sometimes a single accident is enough to put everything at risk. A fire, a flood, or a lightning strike can destroy both originals and backups if they’re stored in the same place.
The loss of code, documents, and databases erases not only a project’s memory but the time that went into it. It feels like everything is gone — until you manage to recover at least part of the data. What comes after is relief, and a realization of how close everything came to being lost. Sometimes recovery never comes, leaving only emptiness.
After something like this, you never think about your systems the same way. It’s the point where a founder starts caring not just about growth, but about what’s already running. Making a backup means accepting that the system is vulnerable. But at least you’ve done something about it. It brings back a sense of control that’s easy to lose when you’re focused on shipping.
Catastrophes don’t start in code; they start in the decisions around it — running the wrong command, deleting the wrong file, acting in moments of haste or fatigue. One mistake can erase years of work. Sometimes it’s human error; sometimes it’s a system we trusted too much. Technology creates the illusion of safety: when everything is stored in the cloud or syncs automatically, it instills confidence that nothing will go wrong. As long as it works, we think we’re in control. But any protection weakens the moment it stops being tested. Panic doesn’t come from the loss itself, but from the realization that there was no plan. Security isn’t about feeling in control. It’s about having a plan for when you’re not.
Data loss isn’t just a technical failure. It’s a breach of trust. Even if the data can be recovered, restoring reputation is much harder. A single failure can erase years of credibility in the eyes of investors or users.
Security is a habit of taking care of what you’ve built. It doesn’t demand perfection, only attention. Imperfect protection is better than none. And a tested backup is better than the illusion of stability. Sometimes all it takes is one evening — make a backup, test restoring it, and finally sleep soundly.
Technology evolves. Complacency endures.
Building something means taking responsibility for its survival.
It’s respect for time that can never be regained.
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