A few months ago, I spent two hours writing a newsletter I thought was great.
I hit publish… and waited.
No likes. No replies. Not even an accidental thumbs-up.
I remember thinking, “Is anyone even out there?”
If nobody cares, there’s nothing to lose.
And if someone does care? That means you finally said something worth reading.
This week, I hit 200 subscribers. By internet standards, that number is microscopic. But to me? It means a lot.
Because I started this a year ago with zero audience, zero strategy — and one goal:
Build the habit.
Write every week. No matter what.
See what happens when you stop planning and start publishing.
Over the past year, I’ve met dozens of people who want to write. Several friends even reached out to ask how I started.
They want to write — but they don’t.
Not because they lack ideas. But because they’re afraid to look stupid. Afraid to start something new. Afraid to be seen before they feel ready.
And I get it. I’ve been there too.
But here’s the twist I didn’t expect:
Most people aren’t watching.
They don’t give a fuck about you.
Not at first and not like you think. Nobody’s refreshing your feed. People don’t screenshot your typos. Nobody’s silently judging your every move.
And that’s a privilege.
When nobody knows who you are, you’re free.
Free to experiment. Free to get it wrong.
Free to find your voice before anyone tries to shape it for you.
We treat pressure like a badge of honor.
“If people expect a lot from me, I must be doing something right.”
Maybe. But pressure also kills momentum. It makes you second-guess, over-polish. Perform.
And that’s how most creative energy dies.
Substack has millions of writers. Why should anyone care?
The truth is, they shouldn’t.
We’re addicted to visibility. We want the audience before we’ve earned the voice.
But once you stop trying to be noticed and start trying to be honest, something changes. You stop creating content. You start telling the truth.
And that’s when people begin to care.
If you’re sitting on a post, a messy draft you’re scared to share — or building a side gig you’re afraid to make public — publish it anyway.
This mindset — showing up before you're ready, building while no one’s watching — it's not just a writing habit.
It’s a SHIFT.
A shift in how you work, how you show up, and how you think about momentum.
Nobody’s watching as closely as you think.
That’s not a weakness. That’s your window.
Don’t waste it scrolling someone else’s dream.
Most people don't care about you.
Unless they can get some work or money out of you.
I’ve adopted this mental model where I’m writing for the future generations. I know it might sound pathetic but it gives me an illusion of someone listening on the other end.