What Happens When You Write for Yourself

Why rediscovering my voice became more important than being seen

For a while now, I’ve been trying to fit into a mold.

You know the one — “Provide value.” “Give people a takeaway.” “Offer the 5 steps, the 3 truths, the 1 secret.”

I thought perhaps I could carve out a space in the self-help world. Maybe even make a little money from it. After all, I’ve lived through pain, collapse, and reinvention. I know what it feels like to come undone, to rebuild, to keep going. I figured that meant I had something useful to say. And I still think I do — but not in that voice.

That voice was never really mine.

It was me trying to be neat, helpful, and polished when what I actually value is messiness, rawness, and authenticity.

I’m not a life-hack guru. I’m not a checklist person.

I’m a poet, a writer, and a deeply flawed, yet observant person who transforms experience into language. To be honest, I prefer my writing to be raw and fluid — for my words to, dare I say it, bleed on the page.

For a while, I forgot that essential truth about myself. Or perhaps I simply abandoned it, hoping that this other version of me might be more palatable. Easier to understand. Easier to…