I’m in Dubai, scrolling through my brother’s Instagram.
He’s been posting for weeks. Travel, gym, stuff he’s building. My younger sister’s account is even more active. She’s been at it for months.
I feel it in my chest. That hollow, left-behind feeling. FOMO, if I’m being honest.
I ask myself the question I’ve been avoiding for eight years: Why am I the only one not doing this?
And something inside me answers back.
Not the usual voice. The one that lists all the reasons why I can’t. This is different. Deeper. Angrier.
“Watch me.”
Watch me put myself out there. Watch me grow an account from scratch. Watch me battle my introversion.
Let me back up. Because this didn’t start in Dubai.
This started eight years ago when I began teaching myself everything. Tech, coding, design, marketing, e-commerce, trading. Even how to think differently.
Eight years of learning. Eight years of building skills.
And when someone asks me to show my work?
I have nothing to show them.
Not because the work doesn’t exist. It does. But because I’ve kept it all locked inside. Hidden. Safe.
I’m an introvert, sure. But that’s not the whole truth.
The whole truth is I’m terrified of failing where people can see it.
Every time I think about creating content, the questions flood in:
- What if I fail miserably?
- What if they judge me?
- What if someone steals my idea?
- What if they don’t like me?
- What if I become vulnerable?
I’m so worried about stumbling that I never take the first step.
And here’s the ridiculous part. The part that makes me angry when I think about it now.
I’m waiting for validation, even from that distant relative I see once every couple of years. Maybe less. Someone whose opinion shouldn’t matter at all but somehow controls everything I do.
My overthinking spins in circles. This and that. What if and why not.
It bugs me that my decisions are in someone else’s hands. Yes, even that distant relative’s.
I start reading Mark Manson. “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck” and “Everything is F*cked.”
I’m trying to learn how to stop caring so much.
Those books lay a foundation. They shift something, but I don’t realize it yet.
I keep thinking that putting myself out there will be overwhelming. Because I’m trying to be the perfect guy all the time. No flaws. No mistakes. No evidence that I’m human.
Over the next few years, confidence creeps in. Slowly.
I start challenging myself to do things. Small things at first. I tell myself, “I can’t possibly do all that.”
Then I go and prove myself wrong.
It takes me a while to notice I’m doing this. The pattern’s been running subconsciously, quietly building proof that I’m stronger than I think.
When 2025 starts, I make plans. Big plans.
They don’t stick. Or maybe I don’t stick to them. Either way, by the time I blink twice, it’s already August.
That’s when I find “Show Your Work” by Austin Kleon.
My mind changes completely.
I’d read “Steal Like an Artist” a few months before and loved it. But this one hits different. This one shows me what happens if I keep hiding. What I’ll miss. Who I’ll never become.
I can see the future pretty clearly now. The fairly miserable situation I’m going to wind up in if I stay the same way.
So I pack my bags and leave for Dubai.
Which brings me back to that moment. Scrolling through my siblings’ content. Feeling left behind.
I ask the question: Why am I the only one not doing this?
And the answer roars back: “Watch me.”
It’s like Bruce Banner with the gun in his mouth. He pulls the trigger and the Hulk spits it out. That survival instinct that won’t let you quit even when you want to.
I’ve created an alter ego without realizing it. One guy whines and worries and overthinks. The other guy gets stuff done. He comes out internally and starts smashing through obstacles until the first guy’s survival instinct kicks in and says, “Stop, I’ll do whatever you want.”
That’s the kind of shift I’m on right now.
I’m not going to pretend I’ve got it all figured out.
There are still bits and pieces scattered on the floor. Especially when it comes to confidence. I’m picking them up slowly. One at a time.
But here’s what I know now that I didn’t know before:
I was wrong about vulnerability.
I thought vulnerability meant showing weakness publicly. Admitting failures where everyone could see. But real vulnerability?
It’s when:
- you let others make your decisions for you.
- people laugh at you for doing something beneficial and you stop doing it entirely.
- you don’t start what you want to start because someone else might judge you.
That’s vulnerability. And I’d been living in it for most of my life.
So I’m done.
Done taking in opinions that weren’t meant for me. Done waiting for permission from people who don’t matter. Done letting fear make my choices.
I told myself, “I can’t possibly be creating content, of all the things I could do.”
And just like clockwork, the voice inside me said, “Watch me.”
So here I am. One step at a time. Putting myself out there. Creating content.
Not because I’ve conquered the fear. But because I’m done letting it win.
Here’s to turning your vulnerability into something powerful.
Here’s to using it for the better.
Cheers.