I used to think relentless optimism was my secret weapon. For years, I believed that looking on the bright side was the key to unlocking every dream. Positivity became my mantra, my shield, the fuel I poured into my early days as an entrepreneur.
I’d sit in a tiny apartment with peeling walls, eyes shut tight, visualizing success: new clients, surging revenue, a future where my startup soared beyond all limits.
I chanted affirmations in the dark—“Prosperity flows to me effortlessly”—and plastered my space with vision boards. Every small win felt like the universe giving me a nod.
But a startup doesn’t run on vibes alone. Once the honeymoon faded, the grind took over. Investor talks dragged on, a crucial deal slipped away, and bugs derailed our product at the worst times.
I forced a smile, whispering, “It’s temporary. Something bigger’s coming.” I kept stuffing frustration behind forced positivity, hoping my bright outlook would outshine the issues.
The reality, though, was cracks kept spreading. My chest was tight from stress, and each morning brought fresh fires that needed putting out. Still, I chanted, clinging to the idea that my unwavering optimism could bend reality.
The breaking point arrived when a pivotal investor—someone who could rescue us from a constant scramble—passed on our pitch.
I’d polished my presentation for days, rehearsed it in my head a thousand times, and convinced myself the deal was all but sealed. When the final call came—“We’re passing, market’s not right”—my entire belief system shook. I told myself it was a redirection, that the universe had a plan. But the optimism rang hollow in that lonely moment.
A friend saw me unraveling and suggested I talk to Rudá Iandê, a Brazilian shaman with a deep understanding of the human spirit.
I expected a pep talk with mystical flair, a new trick to keep my positivity alive. Instead, Rudá dropped a bomb: “Positive thinking’s a drug,” he said. “It hooks you on a high and leaves you blind.” His words made me flinch. I’d built my life around the idea that positivity was everything, that doubt was an enemy. Now, he was telling me I’d been numbing myself with my own happy talk.
I resisted at first. Positivity had carried me through countless all-nighters and near burnouts. Yet Rudá insisted that trying to erase doubt, anger, or fear is the real trap. He explained that these emotions are signals, pointing to things that need my attention.
Calling them “negative” and shutting them down can breed internal conflict and depression, because half of my experience gets buried. I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but my approach clearly wasn’t working anymore. I was burned out, half-present, living behind a smile while the walls caved in.
So I tested his advice. I started letting myself actually feel my frustration with a stalled project. Instead of glossing it over, I admitted to the team that things were broken. We scrapped our process and rebuilt it from the ground up. That raw honesty led to a better product. My anxiety over cash flow became a guide to tighten our finances and hunt for more stable revenue.
I even leaned into fear when I sensed a key member of the team growing disengaged; we confronted the issue instead of ignoring it. Every time I let emotions exist, I discovered a clue that pushed me toward real solutions.
Positivity didn’t vanish—it just stopped being the only story I told myself. I still held onto the broader vision but stayed grounded in tough truths.
The result was a startup that felt more resilient. Yes, we still had rocky moments: botched launches, slow sales cycles, dashed expectations. But we rallied in ways we couldn’t before, because we were confronting the problems head-on instead of plastering them over with quotes. The team adapted to my new style too.
I stopped forcing rah-rah speeches and asked real questions about what was broken and how we could fix it. Morale improved, not because I was everyone’s cheerleader, but because they could trust what I said.
I found backing for these ideas in surprising places. Slavoj Žižek’s book The Sublime Object of Ideology warns that ideologies promising pure harmony mask reality’s mess.
My positivity was that ideology. By clinging to a bright outlook, I was lying to myself about how unstable things actually were. Friedrich Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra talks about chaos being necessary to create a dancing star. I’d spent years choking out my chaos, the very force that might spark new solutions.
Embracing this full emotional range seeped into my personal life, too. I’d been the guy who always found a silver lining in arguments or heartbreak, trying to turn every problem into a cute lesson. But real depth came when I stopped slapping on a grin and let the discomfort hang in the air.
With friends and family, I owned up to fears and regrets, and in return, they opened up, too. My relationships got messier, but also more authentic. Instead of rushing to fix or spin, we were actually communicating.
I also shifted how I think about success. I used to see it as a straight path, powered by unwavering positivity. But the entrepreneurial journey is messy.
You stumble, sometimes painfully, and those moments force you to adapt. Lows generate insight and innovation. When I tried to ignore them, I missed out on solutions that come only from tension.
None of this was easy. I had to push through the urge to bury my doubts and grin my way through adversity. I had to let go of the fear that acknowledging negativity would doom my business.
Once I embraced the realities and let them guide me, I discovered that real freedom means being able to say “this is hard” or “I’m scared” without feeling like I’ve failed.
Rudá’s teachings, especially in his Out of the Box course, cut through the standard self-help fluff. They focus on harnessing raw emotions as tools rather than dismissing them as toxic.
The course walks you through peeling away these layers of false positivity until you’re left with something more genuine and lasting. It’s not about wallowing in despair. It’s about transforming negativity into a compass.
The deeper I went, the more I realized how warped my perspective on “positivity” had become. I once believed negative emotions were errors in my system, vulnerabilities that might unravel my dreams.
In reality, they were warnings from my deeper intelligence, telling me where to pivot, what to fix, and which risks to watch. They were the impetus for growth.
I still enjoy genuine optimism. I still light up when a deal goes through or the team hits a milestone. But I no longer see dark emotions as the enemy. Instead of using positive thinking to bulldoze over conflict, I see negativity as part of a dynamic balance.
If I feel anxiety during a negotiation, I explore what’s triggering it—maybe I’m overlooking a clause or ignoring a red flag. If I feel anger, I ask whether someone crossed a boundary. That inquiry leads to better communication and stronger boundaries.
Stepping away from a “constant positivity” mindset has also made me a more grounded leader. My team appreciates the realism. When things go wrong, we address it without shame.
We also celebrate truly positive moments with a sense of pride, because we know how much work went into getting there. There’s no forced hype. It’s genuine excitement fueled by hard-earned wins.
On a personal level, acknowledging pain has been liberating. I used to bury loneliness or frustration, convincing myself I just needed more gratitude. Now, if I’m down, I let myself feel it.
It often leads to a new realization—like needing to rest more or talk openly about what’s upsetting me. Instead of ignoring the signals, I act on them. That action is far more effective than any “I am unstoppable” mantra ever was.
The dark side of positive thinking is that it can blind you to the parts of life that don’t sparkle. It keeps you from facing the reality of financial strain, product failures, or toxic relationships.
In the business world, that can mean ignoring crucial data or missing shifts in the market because you’re too busy reciting affirmations. In your personal life, it can block deeper intimacy by insisting everything’s fine.
It’s not about abandoning hope. It’s about recognizing that hope burns brighter when you clear out the fog of denial. When you allow every emotion to exist, you become more adaptable, more creative, and less shocked by setbacks.
Life stops being an endless pursuit of an ideal mood and starts being a richer journey. You develop resilience from absorbing life’s punches, not from pretending they don’t land.
If the positivity mantra has stopped working for you, or if you sense you’re suppressing real issues, consider stepping into the approach Rudá teaches in his Out of the Box course. It’s not gentle.
It will challenge you to confront the very feelings you’ve been pushing away. But that challenge can spark the transformation you’ve been craving.
Look at your frustration, your anger, your fear. Ask what messages they carry. You might find they’re pointing to the key insights you need to finally break through.
I used to think being “real” about negativity would make me lose my edge. Now, I know it’s the opposite. Facing reality head-on has saved my startup more than once, strengthened my relationships, and given me a sense of freedom I never had while plastering on a grin.
Real positivity—grounded in truth—feels more powerful than forced optimism ever could. It’s not a drug high that crashes; it’s a steady, sustainable force.
Stepping off the endless positivity treadmill was jarring at first, but it let me breathe again. The stress and anxiety that once lurked under my plastic smile turned into sharp tools for growth.
If you’re tired of the pressure to always appear upbeat, embrace the full spectrum of emotions. Let them teach you. Take the practical steps that real, messy honesty demands. That’s where genuine breakthroughs happen.
I’m no longer a positivity addict. I’m someone who uses every shade of emotion to navigate challenges. The mistakes, the failures, and the tough conversations guide me just as much as the triumphs. The tension between light and dark fuels a more authentic, creative approach to life.
If you let it, it can do the same for you. And that’s the real magic: not a fairy tale of nonstop good vibes, but the surprising power in every emotion we’re brave enough to feel.
