When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark.
I remember one night in particular, waking up to shadows on the wall, cast by a streetlamp outside.
In my half-awake state, the shadow looked exactly like a monster.
Like any brave young warrior, I did the obvious thing: I called for backup.
My mum rushed in, and I pointed at the monster.
She calmly flipped the light switch. The moment the room flooded with light, the monster disappeared.
But I wasn’t convinced. I knew what I saw.
I reasoned that it must have scurried under the bed or hid in the wardrobe. My mum, with the patience of an angel, checked both.
Nothing.
I learned something that night: darkness can’t be trusted.
And years later, when I faced battles of a different kind, I realised the lesson from that night was far from over.
It wasn't just literal darkness, but emotional, mental, internal darkness I needed to be wary of.
The kind we carry as men.
And when life got heavy, when the pressure to conform, succeed, and suppress my truth mounted, I found myself back in that dim room again.
Not a child this time, but a man. Still afraid of the dark. Still unsure if the shadows would betray me.
Only this time, the monster wasn’t under the bed.
It was buried inside me.
You Don’t Become the Outlaw. You Remember Him.
Most men think the “Outlaw” is who they need to become, a future version of themselves who finally breaks free.
But that’s only half the story.
The Outlaw isn’t new.
He’s buried.
He’s the version of you no one sees.
The one who feels too unsafe to express by daylight.
The part of you that never bought into the script you were handed.
The one who cried too loud.
Loved too deeply.
Questioned too much.
He didn’t die. You exiled him.
You learned to make yourself normal to survive.
To trade truth for safety.
To silence your instincts and call it maturity.
To become acceptable, agreeable, approved.
But the voice never fully disappeared.
It whispers still. When the job feels hollow.
When the relationship feels fake.
When you’re alone and can’t outrun the sense that you’re playing a role.
That voice isn’t your enemy.
It’s the Outlaw.
And he’s not some rebellious future.
He’s your original self, before the world conditioned you to hide.
The Shadow Is Pure Gold—If You’re Brave Enough to Dig
Carl Jung once said, “The shadow is 90% pure gold.”
But most men are terrified of what they’ll find in their shadow.
We’re taught to associate it with evil, weakness, or shame.
So we repress the parts of ourselves that don’t fit the mould.
Your anger? Too much.
Your ambition? Selfish.
Your lust? Shameful.
Your grief? Unmanly.
But suppressing the shadow doesn’t make it disappear.
It makes it fester.
It becomes passive-aggression, addiction, emotional numbness, and self-sabotage.
The parts of yourself you buried to be “good” start controlling you in secret.
Because what you repress in the dark rules you unconsciously.
What you integrate into the light becomes your power.
This is why the Outlaw matters.
Because he’s the voice of the shadow calling you home.
Every Outlaw Has a Story of Exile
There’s always a moment.
The day your truth wasn’t welcome.
The first time your authenticity cost you love, approval, or safety.
Maybe you were told to “man up” when you cried.
Maybe your curiosity got labeled defiance.
Maybe your desire for depth was called weakness.
Maybe you learned to perform instead of be.
That was the moment of exile.
When you traded your originality for acceptance.
When the real you was deemed too much or not enough.
You built a mask to survive.
It worked. You learned to function. Blend in. Even succeed.
But deep down, the pain never left.
Because the mask became a prison.
And the Outlaw was locked inside it.
He’s not some edgy character you construct to break the rules.
He’s the part of you that refused to submit in the first place.
He didn’t disappear. He went underground.
And he’s been waiting for you to come back for him.
Liberation Isn’t Rebellion. It’s Reintegration.
Most self-development advice tells you to kill the false self.
To burn it all down. Go alpha. Go monk. Go lone wolf.
I touch on these topics as well to take you on the journey because you can't skip the steps to enlightenment.
But that’s just another mask.
You don’t free yourself by rejecting your past.
You free yourself by reclaiming what you buried to survive it.
This is the real meaning of integration.
Not “killing the ego.”
Not “rejecting the shadow.”
But making peace with all the parts of you.
The man you became to survive?
He had a role. He kept you safe. Got you here.
But now it’s time for a new architect at the wheel.
The Outlaw.
Not as a saboteur. Not as a reckless rebel.
But as the integrated version of you who remembers who you were before the world told you who to be.
You don’t destroy the mask, you learn to wield it consciously.
You don’t kill the shadow, you bring him home and make him a weapon.
Turning the Light On
Everything looks scarier in the dark.
But most men would rather live in a dim room than face what’s hiding in the corners.
They stay half-lit. Half-alive.
Not quite miserable enough to change, but nowhere near fulfilled.
They numb with distractions.
Hide behind busyness.
Convince themselves that “this is just life.”
But deep down, they know.
They know the light could be brighter.
They know the Outlaw is still there—waiting.
And they know the only way out… is in.
So the question becomes:
Are you ready to flip the switch?
To face the parts of you you’ve been taught to fear.
To listen to the voice you exiled.
To meet your shadow, and mine its gold.
To stop performing and start remembering.
Because the Outlaw isn’t a future you’re chasing.
He’s the truth you’ve been hiding.
And your freedom begins the moment you set him free.