community notes,
I found out I sent a bunch of broken links in last week's email. My sincere apologies. My Stan account subscription died and I had no idea lol. I'll get that back up in time for next week's letter
I'm still taking 30-45 minute calls this coming week for anyone looking for some clarity on what their building. If there's an opportunity, we can work together before the year ends. You can access my calendar here
I'm doing a 90 day challenge on both my tiktok and ig. come join in on the fun (no seriously. really. I'd love the support of my day ones).
let's get into today's letter. It's a nuke lol
everyone told me to "lean on friends" and take my time to make posts when I wanted to start creating.
and just like anyone would, I listened.
But it only made me feel smaller.
i was sitting there with my first instagram carousel, finger hovering over "share."
i'd written something i actually cared about, but i kept picturing her face—my crush at the time—and her best friend rolling their eyes.
"who does he think he is?"
so i did something that felt wrong but worked: i blocked them both from seeing my posts.
it still took me a while to hit publish on that first try, but knowing she wasn't going to see it was the switch i needed. suddenly, the post felt possible again.
a few months later, i wanted to start posting videos on my instagram stories. real stuff. me talking, being myself. but i knew my pastor would be upset about it. so i blocked him too.
the relief was instant. i could finally feel free to be myself without negotiating with his expectations.
i let him back in later, after i'd found my rhythm. now people tell me all the time that they connect with me because i'm "real."
but here's what they don't know. being real isn't a brand. it's work. and when you let certain people back in, they can kill the vibe all over again so easily.
the truth is, i wasn't scared of strangers judging my content. i was scared of familiar eyes. the people who knew the "old" me.
privacy first, courage second.
it's easier to be yourself when the room is clean.
the second i stopped performing for the hometown row, everything shifted.
why privacy builds courage
here's what i noticed when i paid attention to my hesitation.
we edit ourselves for familiar faces. it's not weakness—it's wiring.
we automatically adjust our tone, our edge, our pace when we know certain people are watching.
it's like singing in the shower versus singing in the living room while your cousin is on the couch. same voice, totally different energy.
when you clear the room of the wrong witnesses, three things change fast:
you post before you overthink it.
that 3-hour editing session becomes a 20-minute write-and-ship.
your edge shows up without asking permission.
the jokes you used to cut stay in. your words get shorter and stronger. no more 400-word hedges around a simple point. before: 8 drafts, 0 posts. after: 1 draft, 1 post.
real-world feedback beats imaginary approval every time. you learn by shipping, not by rehearsing scenarios in your head.
"Never hitting publish leads to something dangerous.
It's called progress invisibility.
In other words, you don't have real world feedback and don't give yourself a chance to have some form of responsibility to stick with it.
In other other words, you aren't actually learning anything. It's like you're going to college, applying for a job, and going to college again.
You never actually start the job… which is where you actually learn how to do the job. Most of your degree knowledge is thrown out the window."
(Dan Koe, 7 Bad Habits Preventing You From the Life You Want)
what changed when i muted people i love
the first thing i did was make a list of people who made me tighten up when i pictured them seeing my posts. it wasn't random—these were specific types:
the crush and her best friend.
people whose opinion felt high-stakes, whose judgment could ruin my week.
my pastor. authority figures who moralize your choices and make you feel guilty for wanting to express yourself differently.
friends who roast by default. the ones who turn everything into a joke, especially when you're trying to be serious about something.
old coworkers who still see your last job, not your current self. family members who comment on everything with unsolicited advice.
anyone i secretly performed for instead of just being myself around.
don't judge me man. I know we all have people like this in our lives.
the first week after blocking them was wild.
that carousel i mentioned? i only shipped it because they couldn't see it.
there was a line in there about taking risks that i would've definitely deleted if i thought they were watching. people loved that line. it got shared. it felt like the first time my actual voice made it through.
my posting speed changed completely. what used to take hours started taking under an hour. not because i cared less, but because i wasn't second-guessing every sentence through five different lenses.
the surprise was that strangers got it immediately. they started responding to the parts of my content that felt most like how i actually talk. people began saying "you're real" and "this feels authentic."
but here's the hard truth nobody talks about: being real is exhausting sometimes.
when you let people back in too early or too fast, they can kill your momentum instantly (this happened to me this year).
sometimes you have to close the door again for a bit. that's not cruel—it's protective.
if you want to try this without drama, here's the simple way i did it.
the play book (no complicated systems, just steps)
step 1: make a short list
write down 10-30 people who make you hesitate when you imagine them seeing your posts. if you picture their face while editing and it makes you softer, vaguer, or more apologetic, they go on the list.
be honest about this. it's not about whether they're good people. it's about whether their presence in your audience helps or hurts your voice.
step 2: mute or restrict, no big speech
use whatever tools your platform gives you—"mute," "restrict," "hide story," "close friends only." every platform has ways to control who sees what.
don't send messages explaining what you're doing. don't make announcements. you're just making room to grow. this isn't about cutting people off forever—it's about giving your voice clean air.
step 3: do 20 posts with the room clean
aim for 20 posts while these people can't see your content. keep the posts simple and honest. one pass of edits, then ship.
don't let drafts sit longer than 72 hours. if it's been aging that long, either post it or trash it.
the magic number is 20 because that's enough reps to notice patterns in how your voice changes when you're not performing.
step 4: notice small signals
you'll start hitting publish faster. your tone will feel more like how you actually talk (even if you swear sometimes). people will respond to the parts you used to cut out of fear.
your content gets shorter but stronger. you stop hedging every opinion with disclaimers.
step 5: let a few people back in (after 20)
after your 20th post, add back a small handful—maybe 10-20% of the original list.
watch yourself carefully. if your vibe dies and you start tightening up again, close the door for another round of 20. this isn't failure—it's data.
some people might need to stay muted longer. some might be fine to add back. some might need to stay off the list permanently, and that's okay too.
this isn't about cutting people off. it's about giving your voice clean air to develop.
that's it
simple, not easy. but worth it.
you don't need more confidence. you need fewer witnesses for a while.
the people who matter will connect with the real you. the people who don't were probably slowing you down anyway.
i still block people sometimes when i need to work something out in my content. i still let people back in when the timing feels right. it's not a one-time thing—it's a tool you can use whenever your voice needs space to grow.
make the list. mute for 20 posts. see what shows up.
reply and tell me (no names) the "types" you muted and what changed by post five. i'm curious what patterns you notice in your own voice when the room gets cleaner.
temporary invisibility builds a permanent voice.
Good read? Coffee donations appreciated :)
I appreciate all the support!
See you on social
Love, Mike.