It’s been seven months since I started this journey on Substack, and yet, every time someone asks to see my work, I hesitate. I’ve written posts I’m proud of, pieces that reflect exactly who I am, but still, I rarely tell people I write. And when I do, it usually ends with a vague promise: “I’ll send it to you.” Spoiler alert—I never do.

It’s not because I’m embarrassed or think my writing is bad. In fact, I love writing. It’s one of the few things in life that makes me feel grounded, like I’m connecting to something bigger, even if I’m the only one who reads it. So why do I always hold back when someone asks to read my work?

Maybe it’s because writing feels like a quiet part of me. When I sit down to write, it’s just me and the page—no judgment, no expectations. My thoughts pour out unfiltered, free from the gaze of others. There’s something sacred about that space, where I can be completely myself without worrying about how it’s perceived. Once I share it, though, it becomes something else. It becomes vulnerable. Suddenly, it’s open to interpretation, critique, and reaction. And that vulnerability, I think, is what trips me up every time.

I tell myself it’s easier not to share. That keeping my writing to myself protects it from being misunderstood, or worse, from being dismissed. But I also know that’s not entirely true. Because I’m not afraid of criticism—I’m not even afraid of failing. What I’m really afraid of is letting go of the control I have over my words once they’re out in the world. Writing feels so personal, like a piece of me that I’m not always ready to expose.

It’s funny, though, because I started this whole writing journey to connect. Writing has always been my way of making sense of things—of capturing moments, thoughts, and emotions that otherwise might slip away. I’ve written about life, love, frustration, and everything in between. Each piece has been like a snapshot of where I am at that moment, and I know I’m not alone in those feelings. That’s what keeps pulling me back to writing: the possibility that my words could resonate with someone else, that they could make someone feel seen or understood.

But still, I hesitate. And the longer I keep my writing to myself, the more it feels like this strange paradox: I write to connect with others, yet I’m holding back from doing just that.

I think part of it is that sharing writing isn’t just about showing people what you’ve created. It’s about sharing a part of yourself that’s raw, a part of yourself that maybe isn’t fully polished or perfect. It’s admitting that you don’t have it all figured out. And maybe that’s what scares me the most—the idea that once my writing is out there, people might see me differently. They might see the cracks, the flaws, the insecurities.

But isn’t that the whole point of writing? To show up as you are, imperfections and all? Writing isn’t meant to be perfect—it’s meant to be real. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that keeping my work hidden doesn’t protect me. It just keeps me from growing. It keeps me from stepping into the full version of myself, as a writer and as a person.

Ironically, I’m writing this blog in the hopes of breaking down that very hesitation. Maybe by putting these thoughts out there—by laying it all out on the table—I’ll find the courage to finally hit send, to show my work to the people who are genuinely curious.

And maybe, through this process, I’ll realize that sharing doesn’t make my writing any less mine. It simply lets others in on the journey. I’m learning that it’s okay to let people in. It’s okay to let them see the messy, unpolished parts of my work because that’s where the magic happens—that’s where real connection starts.

So here’s to sending this blog, and maybe a few others, out into the world. Let’s see what happens. Maybe it’ll be scary, maybe I’ll feel exposed, but maybe—just maybe—it’ll also feel freeing.

Here’s to trusting the process and letting go of the fear. I think it’s time to finally hit send.