I recently pulled the plug on all my social media accounts. I convinced myself that social media was just a distraction — a noisy space filled with political division, anger, and fear, amplifying the separation already tearing the world apart.
My ego whispered, “You’re above social media. You’re better than that.” But beneath the surface, I found the truth: Fear. Fear of being seen. Fear of standing out. Fear of sharing my authentic voice — not because I craved followers or validation, but because I knew my experiences held wisdom that could heal and transform. And that terrified me.
The Fear of Being Seen
I’ve always felt uncomfortable in the spotlight. When the chance came to share my voice, I felt paralyzed. Adrenaline surged, my heart raced, and vulnerability wrapped itself around me like a heavy cloak. The fear of being seen felt like stepping onto a stage, fully exposed.
I am a thinker. An over-thinker, really. I analyze everything before speaking. In a world that rewards extroversion, the introvert in me often chose silence. I convinced myself that my quietness meant something was wrong with me.
I excel at one-on-one conversations and intimate groups, but larger settings would leave me observing from the sidelines, overwhelmed by the noise. When I read “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking” by Susan Cain, I felt relief. I wasn’t broken; I had misunderstood superpowers: empathy, deep listening, self-reflection, intuition, and feeling deeply.
Yet, my greatest strengths became my greatest shadows. I dimmed my light. I played small. I was ashamed to take up space.
Safer to Stay Small
Growing up, I received mixed messages that still echo in my mind. Love was conditional — earned through perfection. But if I shined too brightly, I was cut down. The unspoken rule was to be perfect, but not too perfect. It was safer to stay small, to hide in the background.
Despite my muscular physique — my armor to hide behind — I was a little boy struggling with self-worth and shame. My muscles were a cover-up for feeling weak and vulnerable.
During a speech academy seminar, I received feedback that cut me to the core: “Your content is excellent, but you lack confidence. You make yourself look small.” It echoed the voice buried deep in my subconscious: “I am not enough.”
After years of deep healing and inner work, I see how my conditioning impacted my ability to trust my authentic voice. I’ve listened to the voice of self-doubt for far too long. And I’m over it. I’m done.
The Journey is About Believing in my Self through self-discovery
This journey isn’t about social media. It’s about finally believing in my Self — capital S. It's about the journey of Self-discovery.
I reactivated my YouTube account. I resurrected it from the death zone of deactivation. I had one follower — me. And then, seven more subscribed.
The ego says the purpose of social media is to gain followers and build a brand. For me, it’s about breaking through self-doubt, finding my voice, and giving others permission to do the same.
We heal through shared stories. It makes us relatable. I am an everyday man on this journey of healing, awakening spiritually, and living authentically. Part of that healing is knowing that my voice matters. Your voice matters. Every voice matters.
Living Boldly and Authentically
I am done playing small. I get to take up space. I get to be seen. I get to play big. I no longer have to dim my light. I’m here to help men do the same — to live boldly, authentically, and without ego leading the way.
My vision is to use social media as a platform to help men live true to their souls without apology. It all starts with me, trusting that those open to this message will find their way, whether that’s one man or millions.
I believe men are searching for deeper meaning and purpose but don’t know how to find it. Inner Power Collective and Men of Courageous Souls offer a space to explore who we already are — no more hiding.
Are you ready to find your voice?
Troy Ismir
Soul-Centered Coach
Founder and Creator of Inner Power Collective
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