The Monster You Never See

I was talking with a client today about a TV show—a notoriously violent one. Personally, I’m not a fan of graphic gore, but the story is compelling enough that I put up with it.

Recently, there was an episode that took a sharp deviation from the usual script. Instead of showing the violence, we only saw the aftermath. We saw the wreckage and the insinuation of what had occurred. Strangely, it was far more disturbing than the graphic scenes I’d sat through before.

It reminded me of an old rule in horror filmmaking: It’s always worse when you never see the monster.

The Creative Engine of Fear

Our imagination is a far more efficient architect of terror than any special effects team. When a director shows you the monster, it becomes a known quantity. It has a height, a weight, and a set of physical limitations. But when the monster stays in the shadows, your brain assigns it every terrifying attribute you’ve ever feared. It becomes infinite.

We do the same thing in boxing.

Almost every fighter, no matter how seasoned, feels that cold knot of nerves before they enter the ring. Why? Because of the Unknown.

Fighting the Shadow

In the locker room, your imagination isn't "lying" to you. It’s actually working exactly as it’s supposed to: it’s being creative. It senses your heightened emotions—the adrenaline, the cortisol, the heart rate—and it builds a story to match that intensity.

If you feel terrified, your brain writes a horror script to explain it. It fills the empty space of the future with every possible catastrophe:

• What if they’re faster than I think?

• What if I gas out in the second?

• What if I’m exposed as a fraud?

But once the bell rings and that first punch lands, the monster finally steps into the light. The "Unknown" becomes the "Known." You realize they have a rhythm you can time, a reach you can navigate, and a jaw you can find. The reality—no matter how hard the fight—is rarely as infinite as the version your imagination built while you were wrapping your hands.

The Life Lesson: Master the Storyteller

We spend so much of our lives paralyzed by the "aftermath" we imagine for ourselves. We avoid the hard conversation, the new career move, or the difficult change because we are staring at the shadows and letting our creativity run wild with the worst-case scenario.

The Lesson: Understand that your imagination is just trying to find a narrative that matches your heartbeat. When you’re standing in the "locker room" of a big life moment, don't mistake the story your brain is telling for the reality that’s coming.

The story is just a reflection of your nerves. The reality is something you can actually hit back. The only way to shrink the monster is to make it step into the ring with you.