The Lie We Tell Ourselves

By Coach Curtis – Mindset U

I am not here to preach or pretend I have it all figured out.
I am learning. I am paying attention.
And I am sharing because I see and feel the change happening in me, and I know I am not the only one.

For a long time, I thought darkness was my friend.
The chaos, the noise, the mess of it all. I found beauty there.
The late nights, the empty bottles, the numbness after the burn.
The Hank Moody and Bukowski version of life. Romanticizing self-destruction.
Drinking to think deeper. Drinking to feel like the pain meant something.

I liked the way it felt to be broken but productive.
That wounded artist mentality.
Work out of the hurt. Turn pain into fuel.
If I could just suffer enough, it meant I cared. It meant I was real.

My reward system was built around movies like Moneyball and Friday Night Lights.
Not the highlight reels or the celebrations.
The scenes where they lost.
The heartbreak. The long walks home. The quiet moments after giving everything and still coming up short.

Those stories hit me in a way that felt too real.
They ended in failure after people had given their lives and hearts to something that didn’t work out.
That sadness made sense to me.
The struggle, the fight, the music, the pain.
That was my language.
It was relatable. It was me.

I wore pain like a badge of honour.
I worked out of discomfort and called it purpose.
The darker it got, the more it felt like truth.

And I still see that now on social media.
Men talking about pain. Women talking about overwhelm.
Everyone trying to survive and calling it strength.
The music. The quotes. The stories.
We share them because they feel familiar.
We share them because they make us feel seen.

But what if we are not just relating?
What if we are reinforcing?
What if the validation we seek is actually the thing keeping us stuck?
 

The Reward System We Built

This is not just philosophy. It is science.
The brain seeks what is familiar, not what is healthy.
That is the Reticular Activating System at work, the part of your brain that filters reality.
If your identity is tied to pain, your RAS will make sure you keep seeing messages about pain.
You will scroll right past peace because it does not match your programming.

Then there are mirror neurons.
They make you feel what you see.
When you watch someone grind, sacrifice, or hurt publicly, your brain lights up the same way.
You do not just relate. You imitate.

And then comes dopamine, the pursuit chemical.
Not the chemical of happiness, but the chemical of reward.
It gives you that rush every time you chase something.
Every time you push through pain.
Every time someone praises your grind or your sacrifice.
That little hit becomes addictive.
Your brain learns that pain equals purpose, and struggle equals safety.

That is the loop.
And I lived in it for years.

When I drank, it was the same pattern.
Different source, same reward.
Drink to escape, regret, grind harder, repeat.
It was not about alcohol. It was about identity.
My brain only knew how to function in extremes.

That’s how many of us live.
Not because we are broken, but because our nervous system learned that struggle is familiar.
And familiarity feels like safety.
 

What It Costs

I think about my kids now.
And I ask myself: do I want them to learn this pattern?
Do I want them to think that love, success, or belonging come through pain?

No.
I want them to be strong, but I also want them to be happy.
I want them to face challenges, but I do not want them to crave struggle.
I want them to know effort, but not tie their worth to exhaustion.

This has nothing to do with my upbringing.
My parents are the best people I know.
This was not about them. This was about me.

At 14, I used to run in the rain so people would see me grinding.
I wanted them to think I was tough.
That I was different. That I could handle pain.
That I needed pain.

I used to think pain was proof.
That if it hurt, it mattered.
That if I was tired, I was doing something right.

And in some ways, that mindset helped me.
It made me disciplined, resilient, and focused.
But it also made me cold.
Because I built a reward system that required suffering to feel alive.

When you live that way long enough, you lose the ability to enjoy peace.
Quiet feels like failure.
Stillness feels like something is wrong.
And that’s when you know the wiring has gone too far.
 

The Image of Masculinity

I understand the image we were given.
The protector. The provider. The one who carries the weight and never breaks.

But at what cost?
What happens when strength turns into silence?
When you cannot show love without tension?
When your armour becomes the reason your family cannot reach you?

I do not want my daughters to grow up thinking love looks like pressure.
I do not want them to believe that peace is weakness.
And I do not want my nervous system teaching them that masculinity means pain.

Protection is not just physical.
It is emotional.
It is showing your kids that calm is a kind of strength too.

We have to stop performing toughness and start living truth.
Because the image of strength the world sells us is hollow.
And the cost is connection.
 

The Female Side of the Same Story

Women are living the same pattern in different form.
Overwhelm. Guilt. Carrying everyone’s emotions while ignoring their own.
They are praised for giving, for holding everything together, for never stopping.
But under the surface, they are tired.
Not just physically. Soul tired.

It is the same loop.
The same dopamine, the same survival pattern.
They find validation in being needed, and their brain rewards it.
Even when it hurts.

They do not post to boast. They post to breathe.
They share their exhaustion to feel seen.
And that is human. But it also feeds the cycle.
The subconscious doesn’t care if it hurts. It only cares that it is familiar.

We are all fighting the same battle.
We just have different language for it.
 

The Science of Rewiring

The good news is that the brain can change.
Neuroplasticity allows us to reprogram what we believe and how we respond.
But it does not happen through effort alone. It starts with safety.

You cannot rewire a brain that thinks it is still in danger.
You cannot heal a nervous system that is stuck in survival mode.

When you slow your breathing, when you ground your attention, when you practice gratitude, you activate the vagus nerve.
That single act signals safety to your brain.
And once the body feels safe, the mind becomes flexible.

That is when new patterns can form.
That is when dopamine starts attaching to peace instead of pain.
That is when you learn that calm can be productive too.

Neuroplasticity and spirituality say the same thing in different languages:
You can always rewire.
You can always come home to yourself.
 

The Work That Changes Everything

Stillness is the starting point.
You have to learn to be safe in silence.

I know you may not want to be alone with your thoughts.
They might be dark or heavy or hurt to sit with.
But this is how it changes.
This is where it begins.

At first, it feels wrong.
Stillness feels like guilt. Like boredom. Like something is missing.
That is your old wiring trying to pull you back.

But keep going.
Keep breathing.
Keep grounding.

Over time, your body starts to trust peace.
You stop chasing the next high or the next struggle.
You start finding satisfaction in presence, not performance.

That is when everything shifts.
That is when you stop performing life and start living it.
 

For the Man Who Is Always Grinding

You have been told your entire life that your value comes from how much you can carry.
That your worth is measured by how hard you push, how much you produce, and how little you complain.
And somewhere along the way, that story became your truth.

You wake up and chase something before you even know why.
You call it purpose, but deep down, it feels more like pressure.
The silence between the noise is uncomfortable, so you fill it with movement.
Emails, training, goals, lists, noise. Anything to keep from sitting in the stillness.

But here is the truth.
You do not need to kill your ambition.
You do not need to stop building or leading or dreaming.
You just need to stop confusing exhaustion with worth.

You can still chase excellence without bleeding for it.
You can still be powerful without being angry.
You can still be a protector without being on guard all the time.

Stillness will not make you soft.
It will make you dangerous in the best way.
Because when a man learns how to be calm, he becomes precise.
When he learns how to pause, he becomes intentional.
When he learns how to rest, he becomes unstoppable.

Power without peace burns out.
But peace with power becomes purpose.

You do not lose your edge by learning to slow down.
You sharpen it.
You stop reacting and start responding.
You stop running from yourself and start leading from within.
That is the evolution of a man.
Not harder. Wiser.
Not louder. Clearer.
Not more. Just better.
 

For the Woman Who Is Always Overwhelmed

You have spent so much of your life giving.
You hold the world together quietly, doing a thousand small things no one notices.
And the few times you stop, you feel guilty for it.
Because somewhere along the way, you were taught that rest means weakness, and that stillness means you are falling behind.

But you are not weak.
You are human.
And you have been carrying far too much for far too long.

You show up for everyone else without even being asked.
You anticipate, protect, plan, and manage.
And because you are strong, people assume you are fine.
But strong women get tired too.
They just hide it well.

You do not need to do less because you are weak.
You need to rest because you are human.
You are allowed to pause without apologizing.
You are allowed to breathe before breaking.
You are allowed to let the world spin without you for a moment.

You deserve peace without needing to earn it.
You deserve love that does not require you to sacrifice your own wellbeing to keep it.
And you deserve to be seen, not just for what you do, but for who you are underneath all of it.

Rest is not the opposite of strength.
It is what makes your strength sustainable.
And when you finally learn to give yourself the same care you give everyone else, you will realize that peace does not make you smaller.
It brings you home.

The Truth

The lie says you are supposed to struggle.
The truth says you are supposed to grow.

Growth will always come with resistance, but it should not destroy you.
You can love deeply and still protect your peace.
You can be strong and still be gentle.
You can care without collapsing.

We are not here to prove our worth.
We are here to live it.
To heal.
To show the next generation that peace is not the opposite of power.
It is the foundation of it.
 

If This Hit Something In You

If any part of this feels familiar, if you have been living in that constant push, chasing peace but not finding it, I get it.
I have lived it.
And now, this is what I help people change.

My work is built around rewiring what is underneath.
The patterns, the beliefs, and the stories that keep you stuck.
It is not therapy. It is not motivational talk.
It is performance, mindset, and nervous system work. The kind that helps you find real peace, not just moments of relief.

If you are ready to talk about how this could look for you, reach out.
We will start with a conversation, not a program.
No pressure. Just a real talk about where you are, what is holding you there, and what it would take to move forward with clarity and calm.

You do not have to figure this out alone.
That is where I come in.

Let’s start the conversation.