Why You Should Lie About Your New Ideas
My sister had a baby last year.
For the first month, almost no visitors. Just immediate family. Quiet house. Controlled environment.
I asked her why she wasn't having people over. "Isn't everyone excited to meet him?"
She said: "He's too fragile right now. His immune system isn't ready. We'll introduce him to people slowly."
Made sense for a baby.
Took me six more months to realize I should do the same thing with my ideas.
The Pattern I Keep Missing
I get excited about a new idea. A novel concept. A business direction. A project I want to build.
And immediately, I tell everyone.
I post about it. I bring it up at dinner. I ask five friends what they think.
Then someone says, "Isn't that kind of like [other thing]?" or "Have you thought about how you'll handle [obstacle]?" or "Interesting, but I don't know if people really want that."
And the idea dies.
Not because it was bad. Because it was fragile. And I exposed it to too much too soon.
What Fragile Things Need
A sprout pushing through soil is fragile.
You don't dig it up to check if the roots are growing right. You don't transplant it to a different spot every week. You don't expect it to survive a windstorm.
You protect it. You give it consistent water and light. You let it develop some strength before you stress-test it.
A baby is fragile.
You don't feed it steak. You don't scream next to its head. You don't pass it around to 30 people at a party while it's still building its immune system.
You protect it. You give it what it needs to grow. You introduce stress slowly, as it gets stronger.
New ideas are exactly the same.
Where This Shows Up
Writers with new story ideas:
You have a premise you're excited about. You tell your writing group in week one.
Someone says, "That's been done before." Someone else points out a plot hole you haven't even gotten to yet. Someone suggests you make it a completely different genre.
You leave the meeting feeling deflated. The idea suddenly feels impossible.
It's not impossible. It's just fragile. And you brought it into a room full of people before it had any strength to defend itself.
Entrepreneurs with new business concepts:
You're excited about a new offering or pivot. You mention it to three friends who run businesses.
They all have opinions. "That market's saturated." "Have you thought about X and Y and Z?" "I tried something similar and it didn't work."
You abandon the idea by the end of the week.
Not because it wouldn't have worked. Because you asked for critique before you'd even tested if the roots would take.
Anyone with a new creative direction:
You want to try something different. New medium. New style. New approach.
You share it early—before you've even figured out what it is—and someone's reaction makes you second-guess everything.
"That's not really your thing, is it?"
Maybe it could have been. But you'll never know now.
Why We Do This
Because we're excited. We want validation. We want to know if it's a good idea before we invest time in it.
But here's the problem: you can't validate a fragile idea. You can only kill it or protect it.
A baby can't tell you if it's strong yet. A sprout can't tell you if it'll grow into a healthy plant.
They need time. They need protection. They need nurturing before they're ready to be tested.
Ideas are the same.
What Protection Looks Like
Keep it private at first.
When someone asks what you're working on, lie.
Not a big lie. Just: "Still figuring some things out."
Don't describe your fragile idea to people who aren't invested in protecting it. They'll give feedback with the best intentions and kill it without meaning to.
Feed it before you test it.
Work on the idea. Write pages. Build prototypes. Test it yourself. Let it develop some roots.
A plant doesn't need to survive a storm on day three. It needs consistent water and light.
Your idea doesn't need to survive tough questions on day three. It needs you to explore it without pressure.
Introduce stress slowly.
Once your idea has some strength—once you've written 10,000 words, or built a rough version, or tested it on yourself for a month—then you can bring in feedback.
Share it with one trusted person who understands it's still developing. Not five people. Not the internet. One person.
Then, as it gets stronger, introduce more opinions. More critique. More testing.
But not at the beginning. Never at the beginning.
The Permission Slip You Need
You're allowed to protect your ideas.
You're allowed to not share what you're working on.
You're allowed to say "I'm not ready to talk about it yet" even when you're excited.
Protecting a fragile idea isn't being secretive or insecure. It's being smart.
You don't hand a newborn to a stranger at the grocery store. You don't expect a seedling to withstand high winds.
Don't expect your new idea to survive early exposure to people who haven't invested anything in it yet.
Try this: Next time you get excited about a new idea, don't tell anyone for two weeks.
Write it down. Work on it privately. Feed it. Let it develop some roots.
Then, when it has a little strength, share it with one person who wants to see you succeed.
Notice how different that feels than exposing it on day one.
Your ideas aren't any weaker than anyone else's. They're just fragile at the start.
Protect them like you'd protect a baby. Nurture them like you'd nurture a sprout.
Let them grow strong before you test if they can survive the wind.
What idea are you protecting right now?