What’s So Scary About the Truth?
"I used to think “the dark side” was reserved for the big sins..."
The other day, I did something I’ve spent decades telling people never to do.
I broke one of my own rules. One of the important ones—the kind you create so your life doesn’t end up wrapped around a telephone pole or dragged through a courtroom.
I didn’t tell anyone at first. Not out of shame. Out of caution. I needed to sit with it. Feel it. Let the lesson burn a little before I decided what it meant.
Then Joe and I recorded an episode of Man in the Middle called “Facing the Dark Side.” All about the shadow self. The parts we hide, repress, excuse, or try to outrun with hustle and charm. I told myself I wasn’t going to mention it.
And then I did.
And it felt good. Like finally unclenching your jaw after pretending you’re fine all day.
I didn’t go into full confession mode, but I said enough. Enough to be honest. Enough to make my point. Enough to remind myself—and maybe you—how close we all live to the edge.
I made a dangerous, out-of-character decision. Nothing happened. No damage done. But the shame hit hard. I spent two full days dragging myself across emotional concrete—on purpose. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted the lesson to land.
Because the real gut-punch wasn’t what I did.
It was how easily the old me stepped up and said, “Don’t worry, I got this.”
He didn’t. And he never did. That’s why he’s not in charge anymore.
I used to think “the dark side” was reserved for the big sins—addiction, betrayal, cruelty, violence. But sometimes, it’s subtler. More polite. More insidious.
Sometimes the dark side is:
Letting people take advantage of you because you don’t want to seem “difficult.”
Staying in the wrong relationship because you feel obligated to keep the peace.
Laughing off pain because your father taught you boys don’t cry.
Ignoring your own needs because it’s easier to be the helper than the helped.
In my case, it was a moment of false confidence. I stepped outside my own values, and I knew it. No one caught me. No one had to. I caught myself. That’s enough.
Joe told a story in that same episode that wrecked me in the best way. His son had just finished performing in a school musical—four months of work, countless hours of rehearsals, the whole thing. When the final curtain fell, his son broke down. Tears, hugs, that full-body emotional come-apart that most boys are taught to stuff down and bury.
Joe watched it unfold. Watched other kids squirm. Watched grown adults shift in their seats. One even said, “You need to put that kid in a room with my mom for 30 minutes. She’ll tell him to buck up and wipe those tears away.”
Joe didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t shut his kid down for the comfort of the room. He just stood there and let his son feel what he needed to feel.
That’s how you break the cycle. That’s how the work becomes real.
Because here's the thing: this isn't about wallowing in guilt or shame. It's about owning your shit before it owns you.
We’re all just one or two bad decisions away from wrecking something that matters. The goal isn’t to become perfect—it’s to become aware.
And once you see the shadow, you don’t unsee it. You either confront it or keep pretending it’s not there, while it quietly steers your life from the backseat.
If you’ve been in that spot recently—saying one thing, doing another—this is your cue to pause. To check in. To ask, without flinching:
What part of myself have I been avoiding because I’m afraid it’ll change how I see myself?
You don’t need to make it public. You don’t need to confess. But you do need to face it. That’s how we grow. That’s how we stay honest. That’s how we start trusting ourselves again.
Thanks for being here.
If this hit something in you, pass it on to someone else doing the work. Or just sit with it a while. That’s what I did. And I’m better for it.
—Kevin