Why I Write in Public

I keep writing in public, even when it sometimes feels like standing naked in a crowded room. There's something terrifying about hitting the "publish button", knowing that anyone can read, judge, or misinterpret what I've written. Yet here I am, still doing it.

When I wrote about "the power of writing" before, I focused on the personal benefits like the clarity, the thinking process, the way words help me understand myself better. But publishing? That's a different beast entirely. It adds a layer of vulnerability that private journaling never demands. Every post is a tiny act of courage, or maybe foolishness, I'm not always sure which.

The internet doesn't forget, and people can be harsh. I've learned this the hard way. But here's the thing: the potential for judgment is also the potential for connection. Someone, somewhere, might read what I wrote and think "oh, I thought I was the only one who felt that way." That possibility makes the risk worthwhile.

I write in public because ideas deserve to be shared, even the half-formed ones. Especially those, actually. The polished, perfect thoughts are easy to publish because they're safe. The messy, uncertain reflections are where real growth happens, both for me and for readers who engage with them. When I share something I'm still figuring out, I try to invite others into the process of discovery rather than just presenting conclusions.

Public writing also forces a kind of honesty I don't always achieve in private. The possibility of being read makes me confront my own contradictions and examine whether I actually believe what I'm about to claim. It's uncomfortable, but necessary. An invisible audience holds me accountable in ways I sometimes fail to hold myself.

Every blog post, no matter how small, adds to the collective knowledge and experience we're all building together online. So I keep publishing, despite the fear, because the alternative is silence. And silence, I've learned, is far more limiting than any critique could ever be.