When Fear Talks, It Borrows the Voice of Conviction

We all do it, whether we realize it or not. We speak from fear. Sometimes it is obvious. Your voice trembles, your stomach tightens, and your mouth says “yes” while your whole body is quietly saying “please, no.” Other times, fear wears a better disguise. It shows up dressed as logic, certainty, even as so called strategy. You would be amazed how many arguments, plans, and grand visions are really just fear, cleverly rebranded as conviction.

The most convincing arguments are not always the truest ones

And the tricky part is this. When fear is loud, it rarely announces itself as fear. It does not walk into the room and say, “Hi, I am insecurity, and I would like to take the steering wheel.” It says something far more respectable. It says, “I have thought this through.” It says, “This is just common sense.” It says, “This is the only realistic approach.”

A wild idea, a familiar reaction

Yesterday I was at the home of Pieter, one of my first real bosses. Picture it. I was barely eighteen, he was not even twenty-five, and he had already built one of the most successful computer companies in the Netherlands. An original, an outlier, a man who combines the brain of a mathematician with the restlessness of an artist. We stayed in touch all these years.

Now, decades later, we find ourselves circling a wild idea: founding a political party. You know, just your average midlife project.

Here is the punchline. Elections are three months away. Three. That is not time to build a party. That is barely time to build a garden shed. Still, we were both pulled in by the same frustration: watching a political landscape full of empty rhetoric and broken promises. We had met three times already, trading positions, circling the real disagreements, but not quite touching them. Because the hardest part is not starting a party. The hardest part is agreeing on what you actually stand for.

The call that made my brain turn to static

Two days ago, Pieter calls me and says, “Can you be free in two weeks?” He wants to hold a press conference. No joke.

My head fills with static. We have no party platform, no manifesto, not even a mission statement. I picture a room full of journalists, pens poised, waiting for the big reveal, and us standing there with what exactly? Air and good intentions? For a split second I want to say, “Are you out of your mind?”

But what I actually feel is not irritation. It is fear. Plain, simple fear.

Fear of looking foolish. Fear of being unprepared. Fear of making a mess that is too public to clean up. And the funny thing is, my mind immediately tries to dress that fear up as common sense. “This is not how you do things.” “This is unrealistic.” “Be careful.” It is amazing how quickly fear can learn the language of competence.

Then another fear appears, right behind the first one, like a second wave. What if we are not just ambitious, but actually naive? What if we end up on the evening news as a punchline? I take a breath and say, “Pieter, you are overwhelming me, but let’s do it. Yes is our answer. Let’s see how far we get.”

I hang up half exhilarated, half panicking, and immediately hear that small voice: “What have I just agreed to?” The doubt is still there. I just decide not to hand it the keys.

Certainty is often fear in a better suit

At the next meeting we talk strategy. Pieter says, “We need to position the party conservatively.” He is confident. He has thought it through. I push back. “People are tired of old politics. If we are going to do this, we should be bold.”

And then I do something that does not come naturally. I name my fear.

I say, “I am actually afraid. If we go too conservative, we will disappear. If we do not stand out, all these radical ideas will go unheard.” Then I ask him, “Are you maybe afraid we will get ignored if we go too radical?”

He shakes his head. He is certain. He is solid. He is “really thought it through.”

But here is the rub. Certainty is often just fear in a better suit. The more someone insists, the more likely it is that they are arguing with their own worry, not with you. I watched Pieter stack reasons, one after another, about why his approach was “strategically sound.” None of those reasons touched the heart of it.

And I recognized myself in that, because I have done it a thousand times.

When you cannot name your fear, you end up defending it. You dress it up as expertise, logic, or common sense, and then you start protecting it like it is your identity.

Conviction invites, fear defends

There is a simple way to tell the difference, if you are willing to be honest. Conviction invites. Fear defends.

True conviction has an open energy. It says, “Challenge me. I might learn something.” Fear is brittle. It says, “Do not question me. Do not shake the boat. I need to be right, because if I am wrong, I fall apart.” When you are speaking from real belief, you can admit what you do not know. When you are speaking from fear, you argue yourself into a corner and call it home.

Think about the last heated debate you had. Maybe at work. Maybe with a partner. Maybe at the kitchen table. If you look back, were you really that certain? Or was there a whisper of doubt underneath it, a small kernel of “what if I am wrong,” and the fear that someone might see through your armor?

Most people would rather lose connection than admit, “Actually, I am not sure.” It feels safer to perform expertise than to reveal uncertainty. So we learn how to sound sure. We gather evidence. We memorize arguments. We repeat whatever sounds the most confident. And if anyone challenges us, we double down. In that moment, fear quietly moves from the backseat to the driver’s seat, only now it is wearing a suit and carrying a whiteboard.

Why conversations stall even when the topic is simple

That is why so many meetings, partnerships, and friendships get stuck. It is not the topic. It is the subtext.

Two people are talking, but neither is listening, because both are busy protecting themselves from embarrassment, rejection, loss of control, or change. That is how you get gridlock instead of progress.

In our case, the meeting stalled. We both kept talking. We both kept explaining. We both kept defending. And I could feel my own discomfort rising, the temptation to retreat into clever arguments. Because clever arguments feel safe. They create distance. They allow you to hide behind words.

This time, I tried something different. I put the fear on the table.

I said, “If we go too radical, the media might ignore us. If we are too bold, we might get compared to extremists.” That is not weakness. That is honesty. And suddenly there is something real to work with. Those are actual risks we can discuss. Those are variables we can think through together.

Only when fear is named do solutions become possible, because now you are solving a real problem instead of fighting for a position.

The uncomfortable truth about partnership

Still, not every conversation ends in a breakthrough. Pieter did not budge. He was too locked inside his own logic to admit what was really at stake for him. And the truth is, there was more going on than just this disagreement. There were other mismatches, other friction points, other signs that we were not aligned in how we think, decide, and move.

Sometimes the bravest thing is not speaking your fear. Sometimes the bravest thing is admitting that a partnership will not work.

So before I left, I suggested something different. “Why not make a podcast series together?” We could put our differences on the table, debate them in public, and maybe even help others see both sides of every big idea. Who knows. That might turn out to be more powerful than any manifesto.

I left with relief. Sometimes “no” is the best answer, especially when you realize you are about to fight the wrong battles.

The question that changes everything

Nothing gets solved by pretending you are not scared. Every real solution starts with admitting what is actually at stake.

So here is the question I keep coming back to, in politics, in business, and in ordinary life: What is the fear I am not saying out loud?

If you can ask it, and if you can answer it, you are already doing something radical. You are breaking the cycle. You are making real conversation possible, the kind that changes outcomes, not just opinions.

And yes, some people will cling to certainty no matter what. That is okay. You cannot force someone to show their cards if they are not ready. All you can do is model the honesty yourself and see what happens. If it works, you build a bridge. If it does not, you move on with your integrity intact and your self respect a little deeper.

So next time you find yourself in a heated debate or a slow burn disagreement, pause. Before you reach for your most convincing argument, ask yourself, “What am I actually afraid of here?” And if you are feeling really brave, say it out loud.

Watch what happens.

Even if nothing changes immediately, you will feel lighter, freer, more yourself. Because the conflict is rarely what exhausts us. The pretending is. The weight of certainty when all you want is permission to admit you are scared.

Most of us are just waiting for someone to go first.