In first grade, I started writing in a journal. I’d pen the day-to-day dramas and secrets of a six-year-old: Tassin cried at Ethan’s party because Ethan stole his balloons; I had a crush on Ethan but was best friends with his one of his triplets, Emma. 

If you’re a writer, you probably kept a journal growing up, too (hey, we had to put our ramblings somewhere). This habit set the tone for writing early on—it’s an emotional and self-indulgent activity. 

But if you want to be a successful writer, you must detach yourself from your writing. 

Although writing can be intimate, the best writers regard their craft objectively. That’s because getting too wrapped up in your own writing not only stops you from consistently publishing, it might prevent you from sharing your writing altogether. 

How to actually hit “publish” (the ego issue) 

If you’re not careful, writing can turn into a self-serving activity where you only write for yourself. This “me, me, me” fixation can trick your ego into believing the world now revolves around it. It starts to believe people care an enormous amount about what *you* have to say. 

And with this imaginary spotlight comes the crippling fear of publishing online. 

The ego assumes that what they share might be so earth-shifting, people will come running to taunt them. No wonder this belief turns any writer into a nervous mess—no one wants a hoard of anonymous critiques in their grill! 

But can you remember the last time you stumbled upon an article that was just meh? The author, topic, or date? I’m guessing no. Instead, you hurriedly exited the window and kept surfing the web. 

The internet is a vast sea with a million droplets of content—a study found that 2 to 3 million articles are published every 24 hours (yeesh). If you’re reading an article and realize it’s not for you, there are hundreds of millions of others you can read instead. Readers have too much stuff on their algorithmic plate to pay attention to 99% of writers. 

This isn’t me trying to dissuade you from creating. There is always room for quality content. No matter how many millions of books are in circulation, every year dozens of shiny bestsellers hit the shelves of Barnes & Noble. 

Instead, this is a reminder that those “What will people think?” fears are your ego assuming you’re in the spotlight. 

Writers who are actually able to share their work understand that people don’t care that much about it. Even if people don’t enjoy their writing, life goes on. By embracing this indifference, they’re able to click “publish” and move forward. 

How to hit “publish” consistently (the caregiver issue) 

When you start writing, you’ll have to publish consistently. It’s how you build a library of intellectual capital, practice writing, and establish credibility. After all, no one has published just one article and become a legend (but if you know someone who pulled this off, let a girl know). 

However, if you tie your self-worth into your writing, the publishing process probably unfolds as follows:  

You’ve spent days (maybe even weeks!) finishing your project. This creation, whether it be an article, newsletter, blog, or something else, is your baby. You swat the doubts, hit “publish,” and brace yourself as it enters the interweb. 

You wait for noise. A dozen comments. A hundred likes. A heartfelt email. 

Nothing. 

Each time you refresh your browser, the absence of notifications makes you wince. This is so embarrassing, you think. You poured your soul into something, and all you got was lousy, deafening silence.

This is what it’s like to be emotionally attached to your writing—and it’ll be your downfall. When I first started writing online in 2020, an unnoticed article or tweet stung, lowering my self-worth a few pegs.This slowly morphed into an unhealthy obsession with social media. If I could only get a few likes, I thought, I’d be validated. 

This anxious hum complicates the writing process. With each piece now impacting your self-esteem, you feel less inclined to publish consistently—if at all. 

Writer Nathan Baschez is all too familiar with this feeling, as he explains in his piece for Every, “How to Write Essays That Spread”: “If publishing essays starts to feel like pulling the lever of a slot machine, you’re in trouble. Writers do awful things when they become addicted to public recognition. It becomes a sort of game where they try to make the numbers go up, and they lose touch with the reason to write in the first place. This eventually has the perverse effect of making the numbers go down, because readers don’t want to be pandered to.”

I was able to dilute this feeling with one simple mindset shift: going from “caregiver” to “scientist.”

Instead of seeing my writing as a literal extension of the self, I classified each piece as an experiment. For example, an essay on what ecosexuals can teach us about creativity might resonate. Or, a tweet on why fiction is better than self-help might interest someone. 

Now, when a piece of writing doesn’t seem to catch anyone’s eye, my thought process shifts from Why do I suck? to Why did that happen?

The scientist doesn’t bug out when a hypothesis doesn’t go their way. Instead, what is in their control is the ability to gather information from their work, adjust their hypothesis, and conduct a new experiment. 

Becoming a good writer is balancing on a tightrope. On one hand, you’re revealing some of the deepest parts of yourself. On the other hand, you can’t let yourself identify too closely with what you’re writing. If you do, outsider judgment and algorithms halt your progress. 

The best writers know their creations aren’t a direct measure of their self-worth or representation of who they are. They’re ephemeral glimpses of who you are in a specific moment of time, and these glimpses continue to bloom and shapeshift over the span of one’s creative career.