Bryce Yockey

Hello X. Many of you will know me as a top poker player who doesn’t say very much, and for a long time, I guess I didn’t really think I had much of value to say. I’ve kept a low profile for most of my life. I’ve built my career with a quiet determination and focus on the things I could control—my preparation, my decisions, my consistency. “I don’t waste my time with social media,” I told myself. And while that decision was undoubtedly the right one for me at the time, the reasons were fabricated—or at least incomplete. What I didn’t admit so explicitly was my fear: fear of criticism, of vulnerability, and of my inability to control my own obsessive nature. I would almost certainly meet the criteria for autism spectrum disorder. I would almost certainly meet the criteria for bipolar disorder, though I never stuck around long enough after an episode to receive a formal diagnosis (whether or not I identify with these labels is a topic for another day). I’ve known the isolation of being forcibly separated from society, for my own protection, and wondering how I got there. I’ve experienced being so socially drained from a day of live poker that I’ve gone to sleep hungry. Not because I was so focused that I lost my appetite, but because those one or two brief human interactions required to feed myself were just too much. I know how absurd that sounds—I knew it back then too—but no amount of rationality stopped it from being true. Over time, I slowly adapted. I learned how to sublimate that anxious energy and turn it into a motivating force—into an obsessively focused drive to reach my potential as a poker player, to prove my worth to the world through external accomplishments. And then the validation I was seeking started coming. In 2019, I was voted by my peers in a CardPlayer magazine survey to be the best player in the world—my dreams had become reality. My ego had a field day, but it wasn’t long before I realized there was still a piece missing. Now that I was painted as “the best”, there was no margin for error. Despite everything I had accomplished, I was no less fragile. Every misstep felt like a threat to the whole narrative. Am I slipping? Am I getting old and complacent and lazy? How much longer can I keep tricking people into thinking I’m so good when I know how big my mistakes can be? And none of that even touched the root of what I was actually seeking underneath it all—to be accepted. So when someone threw out an offhanded criticism—“boring,” “robotic,” “no personality”—I took it to heart. Because somewhere in me, I was scared they were right. Driven by my desire to be the best poker player I could be, I started doing deeper inner work—peeling back the layers of my belief structure and examining what was uncovered. Why did I feel like I had to be perfect to be worthy? What was I really seeking through my success? Uncomfortable investigations that slowly but surely started to free me from my preconceived notions of who I was and who I should be. And I saw the benefits—in my performance at the table, yes—but more so in my day-to-day interactions with my family, my friends, casual acquaintances, and even total strangers. The progress empowered me and urged me onwards. The more I leaned into vulnerability, honesty, and trust in others, the more confident, authentic, and self-assured I felt. I’m learning to listen not only to my precious logic but also to the quiet, mysterious, unexplainable voice within. The voice that speaks when _I_ am silent. The voice that now compels me to write this—and to expose it for the world to see. And so here I am—the kid inside the robot costume. Just another human being in pursuit of love, of connection, of belonging. Tired of running from my shadow and ready to stop and turn around (I hope). This message is for anyone who feels trapped in the darkness. I’ve lived through times that felt unbearable—where the idea of peace, or connection, or even a quiet mind felt impossibly far away. If you’re in that place right now, I want you to know: it can get better. You’re not broken. You’re not beyond help. Keep going. I also want to thank all the people who saw something in me that I took a long time to see in myself and guided me down this path. Some will know who they are. Others may never realize how much a small gesture meant to someone who was struggling. I’m deeply grateful for all of you. TL;DR: Hi, I’m new here. PS my intention is to be quite intermittent in my engagement with social media, at least initially, so if you reach out to me and I don’t respond please don’t take it personally.