I was sitting in a Zoom call with a dozen other course creators, my brain absolutely fried. I remember it well.
We'd been working through Melissa's intensive program for weeks. Wit & Wire promised to teach us how to build online courses properly - the frameworks, the structure, the marketing, all of it. And believe me, Melissa delivered. My notebook overflowed with strategies, systems, and steps.
But in this particular session, we'd hit a wall. My wall, specifically.
We were working on naming our programs. Everyone else seemed to have ideas flowing. They were testing combinations, workshopping tag-lines, building brand identities that sounded polished and professional.
And I had nothing.
Well, not nothing. I had a dozen rejected names scribbled in my notes. Each one technically fine. Each one strategically sound. Yet each one completely, utterly wrong.
Melissa noticed my perplexed face. She has this gift for reading people through screens, for sensing when someone's struggling even when they're trying to hide it.
"David, how are you doing? What ideas might you like to share with the group?"
I could have deflected. Could have shared one of those rejected names and pretended I was making progress like everyone else.
Instead, I spoke truth.
"I don't know, nothing is jumping out. All I know is that my course is going to be absolutely phenomenal..."
The moment those words left my mouth, everything shifted.
Melissa's face lit up. "Say that again."
"Err... Phenomenal..?... Phenomenal Sobriety?"
And there it was. Not from strategy. Not from workshopping. Not from trying to sound like what a recovery program should sound like.
From conviction.
Why everything felt formulaic
Looking back, I understand why all those other names felt wrong. They were recovery industry language. The kind of names you see everywhere in this space.
"Sober Success." "Freedom Path." "Recovery Reimagined." "The Clarity Method."
Technically fine names. Strategically sound. Following all the branding rules Melissa had taught us.
But they just didn't fit what I was actually building.
I wasn't creating another recovery program using slightly different language to say the same things everyone else was saying. I wasn't repackaging conventional wisdom with fresh marketing.
I was building something fundamentally different. First and foremost, a sobriety, not recovery program, using an approach that challenged the standard orthodoxy. A framework that treated sobriety as privilege rather than punishment. A system that valued individual transformation over collective conformity.
None of those formulaic names could contain that vision.
My subconscious knew it even while my conscious mind tried to force conventional options. Every rejected name was my deeper self saying "no, that's not what we're doing here David."
The struggle to name the program was actually the struggle to fully own what I was creating.
The fear of claiming phenomenal
Here's what I didn't immediately recognise: saying "my course is going to be absolutely phenomenal" in a group setting required enormous confidence.
Not arrogance. Confidence.
Arrogance claims superiority without substance. Confidence claims value based on genuine belief.
I knew what I was building mattered. I knew my approach worked because I'd lived it and helped others live it. I knew combining my eight years of personal sobriety with my professional therapy training created something valuable.
But claiming it would be "phenomenal"? That felt audacious.
What if I was wrong? What if people laughed? What if the program failed and I'd forever be the person who called his failed course "phenomenal"?
These fears kept me searching for safer names. Names that didn't make bold claims. Names that left room for mediocrity, just in case.
The moment I said "phenomenal," I eliminated that escape route.
I committed to building something exceptional. Not someday. Not eventually. Right from the name itself.
That commitment terrified and excited me simultaneously. The good kind of fear. The kind that means you're onto something real.
When meaning finds you
Viktor Frankl, whose logotherapy deeply influences my approach, taught that meaning can't be pursued directly - it must ensue. You can't manufacture meaning through force of will. You create conditions for meaning to emerge, then recognise it when it arrives.
That's exactly what happened in that Zoom call.
I'd been trying to manufacture the perfect name through strategic thinking. Forcing meaning through conventional frameworks. Pursuing the "right answer" like it was hiding somewhere in my notes.
Then I stopped trying. I just spoke honestly about what I knew to be true.
And meaning found me.
"Phenomenal" wasn't a branding strategy. It was recognition of what already existed. The program was phenomenal in my vision, in my conviction, in my commitment to building it properly.
The name didn't create that reality. It revealed it.
This pattern repeats throughout meaningful work. You can't force the breakthrough. You create space, do the work, maintain conviction, then stay alert for the moment recognition arrives.
Sometimes meaning announces itself in a casual statement during a group Zoom call. No, really!
The alignment that changes everything
Once the name clicked, everything else aligned.
Not because "Phenomenal Sobriety" was magically perfect branding. But because the name matched my actual vision.
I stopped trying to make my program fit conventional recovery moulds. If the name was going to be bold, the content needed to match that boldness.
I leaned into contrarian positions. Day counters might sabotage recovery? Say it. Traditional meetings don't work for everyone? Own it. Sobriety is privilege, not punishment? Make it the foundation.
The name gave me permission to build what I actually believed rather than what I thought I should build.
This is the power of alignment. When what you're calling something matches what you're creating, the friction disappears. You stop second-guessing. You trust your instincts because your instincts led to the name in the first place.
Melissa understood this immediately. That's why her face lit up when I said "phenomenal." She recognised the shift from strategic naming to authentic claiming.
What conviction actually sounds like
There's a specific quality to speech when it comes from genuine conviction rather than performance.
When I listed those rejected names in my head, I was performing. Trying to sound professional. Attempting to create something that would be accepted by the recovery industry.
When I said "my course is going to be absolutely phenomenal," I was speaking truth. Not trying to impress. Not seeking approval. Just stating what I knew.
The group heard the difference. Melissa heard it. I heard it in my own voice.
Conviction doesn't sound like strategy. It sounds like certainty without defensiveness. Like clarity without performance. Like truth spoken plainly because there's no reason to dress it up.
Learning to recognise that quality in your own voice matters. It's the difference between building what you think you should build and building what you're actually meant to build.
The trust required to stop forcing
The deeper lesson from that moment wasn't about naming. It was about trust.
I had to stop trusting the strategic frameworks long enough to trust my own knowing.
This doesn't mean strategy doesn't matter. Melissa's course was invaluable. The frameworks, the structure, the marketing principles - all of it served the program's development.
But strategy becomes destructive when it overrides genuine insight.
I was so focused on finding the strategically correct name that I almost missed the authentic one. I needed to set strategy aside temporarily and listen to what my deeper conviction was trying to tell me.
This requires real trust. Trust that your instincts matter. Trust that your vision has validity. Trust that speaking plainly might reveal something more valuable than performing professionally.
For people who've spent years not trusting themselves - which describes most people in active addiction - this trust feels revolutionary.
Sobriety itself requires the same trust. You have to stop forcing conventional recovery methods that don't resonate and start trusting that your individual path has validity.
You have to give yourself permission to say "this approach is going to be absolutely phenomenal for me" even when it doesn't look like everyone else's approach.
The trust to stop forcing opens space for authentic transformation.
When the name becomes the mission
Here's what happened after that Zoom call: "Phenomenal Sobriety" stopped being just a name and became a mission.
Every decision about the program got filtered through one question: "Is this phenomenal?"
Not "is this good enough?" Not "will this work?" But "is this exceptional enough to deserve the name?"
This standard elevated everything. The curriculum structure. The community design. The support systems. The measurement frameworks.
I couldn't launch something mediocre called "Phenomenal." The name held me accountable to my own vision.
This is the hidden power of authentic naming. When the name comes from genuine conviction, it becomes a north star for development. It reminds you what you're actually building when you're tempted to compromise.
Every time I considered making the program more conventional, more palatable to traditional recovery culture, the name stopped me. "Phenomenal Sobriety" didn't mean "slightly better than average sobriety." It meant exceptional. Revolutionary. Transformative.
The name became the mission.
Finding your phenomenal
Your version of this moment might not involve naming a program. But the pattern applies universally to meaningful work.
You'll try to force strategic solutions when authentic ones are waiting to emerge. You'll perform professionalism when truth-speaking would serve you better. You'll seek external validation when internal conviction already knows the answer.
The question becomes: can you seize the moment your phenomenal finds you?
It won't announce itself with trumpets. It might arrive in a casual statement during a group call. In an offhand comment to a friend. In a journal entry you didn't plan to write.
The signal is the shift from performing to stating. From trying to knowing. From forcing to recognising.
When you hear yourself speak with that quality of simple conviction - not arrogance, not performance, just clear certainty - pay attention.
That might be your phenomenal finding you.
The confidence to claim it
Once you recognise it, you face the harder challenge: claiming it publicly.
Saying "my work is going to be phenomenal" requires vulnerability. You're making a claim that could fail. You're setting a standard you'll be held to. You're eliminating the safety of modest expectations.
But here's what I've learned: the confidence to claim your phenomenal isn't about certainty you'll succeed. It's about certainty that what you're building matters enough to attempt exceptionally.
I didn't know Phenomenal Sobriety would succeed when I named it. I knew it deserved to exist. I knew the approach had value. I knew people needed what I was creating.
That knowledge was enough to claim "phenomenal" and accept the accountability that came with it.
Your phenomenal deserves the same claiming. Not because you're guaranteed success, but because what you're building matters.
Trust the moment
Looking back at that Zoom call, I'm grateful I didn't have a name prepared. I'm grateful I struggled with all those formulaic options. I'm grateful Melissa asked me to share when I had nothing polished to offer.
Because the struggle created space for recognition. The lack of prepared answers forced authentic response. The vulnerability of admitting "I don't know" opened the door for "all I know is..."
Your breakthrough might require the same pattern. Stop forcing. Start trusting. Speak your conviction plainly even when it sounds audacious.
Your phenomenal is waiting to find you.
You just have to create space for it to arrive.
And when it does - when you hear yourself speak with that quality of simple certainty - trust it. Claim it. Build it.
Even if it terrifies you.
Especially if it terrifies you.
That's how you know it matters.
Book a free discovery call. We'll talk honestly about where you are and whether my approach fits what you need.
If we're a good match, we'll work together. If not, we'll know and maybe I can point you toward someone or something else.
Either way, you'll have clarity about your next step.
