[!NOTE] This post was originally published on Substack.
Here’s a confession: I haven’t been writing.
In my last post back in December, I mentioned how excited I was about my two weeks off. I needed that time to recharge, spend time with loved ones, and do things that bring me joy. But I was also ambitious, and deep down, I hoped to get some writing done. And I was off to a fantastic start, somehow managing to write and publish something on Christmas. (I promise it’s not as pathetic as it sounds.)
I did it—I successfully posted once a week for an entire month! Who would have thought? My excitement was electrifying, and almost immediately, thousands of article ideas swirled around my head.
I should write about the New Year, I thought. Just like what my favorite podcasts were doing. It didn’t even have to be about goals, resolutions, and all that jazz. Just something about 2024. It was timely, and it would force me to produce something—and to do it soon.
Unfortunately, all my plans disintegrated into thin air.
The rest of my vacation passed by in a blur of good food, audiobooks, journaling, yoga, and gaming. Of spending an insane amount of time in the kitchen, whipping up more dishes and baked goods than our fridge could handle. Of seeing visitors come and go. Of trying—and failing—to fix my broken sleeping schedule, finding myself helplessly wide awake in the wee hours, and eventually muttering “fuck it” as I embraced my new life as a temporary night owl.
Before I knew it, the corporate world had me in its clutches again.
And I hadn’t written a single word.
I don’t regret any of it.
I had a lot of fun. I even managed to do some errands and admin tasks I’d been putting off for weeks. As I mentioned, the past couple of months had been overwhelming, so I desperately needed to take things slowly and focus on self-healing.
I also haven’t completely thrown writing out of my life.
Faithful to my yearly tradition, I spent the remaining days of 2023 reflecting on the year. It was my little morning habit for a while: I’d prepare my favorite iced Spanish latte, play some relaxing music, and start rummaging through my brain. I pondered on the milestones, highlights, and victories of 2023. On what I was sad or regretful about, and what I could have done better.
As soon as 2024 arrived, I focused on my New Year’s goals and resolutions. In between, I journaled about everyday stuff, no matter how simple and mundane it was. Like what I did that morning, or my plans for the rest of the day.
And since I vowed to be more sociable this year, I even had pen pal-like interactions with a few people online, which, of course, also involved writing.
So, in a way, I have been writing.
But it wasn’t Substack. It wasn’t the little writing project that was supposed to pull me out of my writer’s slump, give my life a sense of direction, and make me fall in love with writing all over again.
I have lots of goals for this year, including being more consistent with writing.
It was still the second week of January when I started drafting this post. At the time, I was eager to regain momentum but wanted to be realistic, so I aimed to publish at least two Substack articles that month. I thought it would be a piece of cake.
But weeks later, I’m still stuck in the same article.
Trust me, I tried my best. I’d make myself my trusted coffee on Sunday mornings, ready to spend the next couple of hours churning out a new article, but I always ended up staring at a blank Word document for far too long. Or, if I were lucky, a few lines of incoherent ramblings.
Since I’m not one to give up so easily, I decided to switch things up and try writing at night instead. Armed with a cup of warm tea and lo-fi music playing in the background, I’d beg the Muses to grace me with their presence, but to no avail. I had dozens of ideas, but it wasn’t enough to yank me out of my rut.
I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of not finding the right words. Of starting an article and then abandoning it. Of not being the writer I wanted—needed—to be.
I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with writing, so it was hardly a surprise when the whole process started feeling like a chore. Yet again.
Every time I started a new project, I was beyond thrilled, ready to astonish the world with my eloquence and writing prowess. But inevitably, before the project could develop into something meaningful, the spark would fizzle out.
The words wouldn’t come out. Or when they did, they fell flat.
Like now.
Even I know perfectly well how lackluster this article is. How agonizingly dull. It’s the kind you’d stop reading after a couple of lines. I’d be lucky if someone’s eyes grazed down an entire paragraph.
But I don’t have a choice; this is the best I can do at the moment. If I want to get back into the groove, I need to embrace the unglamorous side of writing and work with what I have, hoping that, by some miracle, my words will eventually become a little more engaging.
It’s not just this article alone, but my writing ability in general. When I start my writing ritual and don my “Substack hat,” I immediately feel an immense pressure weighing down my shoulders.
You’re about to work on your latest writing project. You better not mess this up, a voice hisses, and I feel myself cowering in the corner as this shapeless monster points an accusing finger at me. This better be successful; otherwise, you can never call yourself a writer again.
It all goes downhill from there.
Sometimes, I try too hard to be creative, and my prose comes out flowery and convoluted. Other times, my writing is so simplistic that I know I won’t be able to hold a reader’s attention for more than a few seconds.
Meanwhile, when I work on other writing activities, like composing yet another love letter to my boyfriend, journaling, or sharing a random personal story on Reddit, the final text is compelling and effectively showcases my writing skills.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been revisiting my published Substack articles, and it was excruciating. I felt appalled and amazed at equal proportions, my mind oscillating between “Did I genuinely write those?” and “How did I manage to publish five articles?”
It’s embarrassing to admit, but at one point, my finger hovered over the “Delete Post” button for a long time.
But thankfully, I decided against it. And now, a couple of months later, here I am. I somehow managed to finish something, even if it’s subpar, all over the place, and a far cry from the personal essay that was supposed to prove my worth as a writer.
Regardless, I did it.
I hope that after a few months of writing consistently on this platform, I can look back on my posts with a sense of pride and nostalgia. Perhaps I’ll even find it amusing that I almost let my crippling self-doubt stop me from writing, the way it had in the past.
But not this time.
Today, I emerged victorious.
As long as I have something to say, as long as I find the writing process rewarding, I’ll keep at it, even if everyone else—especially the demonic voice inside my head—tells me otherwise.
I’ll continue reading, writing, and experimenting until I finally discover my elusive writing voice. It seems like a pipe dream now, but I want to reach a point where I can consistently produce high-quality articles that fully capture my thoughts and how I feel.
I’ll get there one day. I’m owning it.
]]>[!NOTE] This was originally published on Substack.
I haven’t written anything in months.
My brain immediately comes to a standstill. The words struggle to come out, and the keyboard feels foreign against my fingertips. The word processor is nearly blank, save for a few lines. The blinking cursor is ominous and insistent, like a ticking grandfather clock. I should be used to this by now.
After all, I’ve faced and fought the dreaded blank page since I was a teenage girl trying to pen “The Next Best Filipino Novel.” It was also my best friend as a Creative Writing major and, eventually, a writer slaving away in the corporate world.
Since I don’t write in my current job, writer’s block hasn’t visited me in a long time. It’s like an unwelcome guest who keeps pounding on the door—scary, frustrating, and impossible to ignore.
Most importantly, it’s a vicious reminder of why I didn’t want to get back to writing in the first place.
For weeks, I toyed with the idea of starting a newsletter here on Substack. Not really to grow a following, build a presence, or anything of the sort, but to hold myself accountable. The thought of publishing my writings online forces me to produce something half-decent. It doesn’t even matter if no one ends up reading my posts; they’re still out there for the whole world to see. And that’s more than enough to get me going.
Creative projects have always thrilled me; soon enough, I had a thousand ideas brewing in my head. I immediately set up a Notion page to plan everything, for one. I’d already come up with dozens of potential article titles. And whenever something vaguely interesting happened, I’d think of all the creative ways I could write about it.
While taking a shower or washing the dishes, I was suddenly bombarded with random thoughts that were too intriguing to let go of.
I’d ponder these ideas or scribble them down, then file them away safely for later use. While the ideas seemed perfect, I never bothered to sit down and write anything.
Weeks passed by without any progress. It seemed like my Substack newsletter would never see the light of day.
Just like how I’ve abandoned my previous writing projects.
Here’s how it typically went: I’d enthusiastically kick off my writing project, planning everything down to the smallest detail. If it’s a blog, for example, I’d have the information architecture and categories all figured out before drafting an article. I’d list all the topics I wanted to write about, brainstorming enough ideas to last me for months.
I applied the same attention to detail and organization to fictional works, whether for my eyes only or for something I planned to post somewhere. In my last attempt at writing a novel, I already knew how the story would end before wrapping up the first chapter.
I’ve also tried all sorts of platforms—Squidoo, Multiply, Blogger, WordPress, FanFiction, Tumblr, Medium, Reddit, LinkedIn, you name it. The same goes for writing apps and programs.
Despite everything, none of these writing projects still exists today. Not a single one.
As a perfectionist, I tend to get stuck in the planning phase. I never felt “ready” enough to proceed; there was always something else I had to iron out before moving to the next stage. I had to do more research on content marketing first. Paint a clearer picture of my target audience. Study more websites as references. Sharpen my writing voice. The list went on and on.
There’s also the fact that while my writing ideas were incredible in my head, I knew they’d be messy or even nonsensical when translated into words.
Not having the power to transform your ideas into something tangible, something you could be satisfied with, was frustrating. And let’s face it: consuming is much easier than creating. Even though I have things I want to say, it’s way simpler to distract myself with media and other people’s stories instead of voicing my own.
Finally, given how my previous writing projects went down, I had already concluded that this Substack project was silly and bound to fail. If so, why bother? My ideas would only be good inside my head and be nothing but self-important drivel when written down, so why put effort into it? These thoughts whirled in my brain for the past few weeks, paralyzing me into inaction.
But today, I’m embracing the uncomfortable.
Everything feels unfamiliar, scary, and exciting all at once. I don’t know where this will take me. I don’t even know what I’ll write about next.
But it doesn’t matter.
Today, I’m choosing to challenge myself—and finally show my perfectionism who’s boss.
]]>[!NOTE] This was originally published on Medium.
I’ve wanted to start a blog for years.
I can’t even remember when the desire first manifested itself.
But I remember exploring various blogging platforms in elementary, high school, and college. Right after my classes, I’d log into my computer and type away. Soon enough, I knew Multiply, Blogspot, Tumblr, and WordPress like the back of my hand.
My “blogs” were online diaries more than anything. In this digital extension of my handwritten journals, I ranted about my daily life, book adventures, writing, relationship problems, and so on.
These rambles were way too personal for the internet, but it didn’t matter. No one was reading them, and they were for my eyes alone.
But years later, as a working adult, I felt ready to put my words out there in the world.
I had something to say—and I wanted people to listen. I just had to figure out where and how to say it.
In 2017, I started working as a content writer for a digital marketing startup. Although I was grateful I could write for a living, I was unhappy. The role was a far cry from what I had pictured.
Almost every day, I forced myself to climb out of bed and commute to the office, which was two hours away. And that was just one way. I had to brave another two hours to get home, or much longer if the traffic was brutal.
Each day, I had to write about topics I didn’t care about.
If it went on, I knew I was bound to hate writing sooner or later. It was a scary realization for someone who loved and valued writing as much as I did.
I had to do something.
I needed to tap into my creativity and make writing my own again.
That was when I first discovered Medium. I set up an account and immediately fell in love. For the next few months, I spent my weekends writing personal essays and short fiction, submitting them to different publications, and receiving mostly positive feedback.
My Medium profile still wasn’t the blog I had in mind, but it would have to do for the time being. At least it satisfied that creative itch.
It made writing a fulfilling activity for me again.
After a year at that startup, I left the office and became a freelance writer and editor.
I considered starting a blog again—properly this time. I wanted to focus on freelance writing, remote work, productivity, and other related topics.
All fired up, I started drafting my first-ever blog post—a detailed account of how I got into freelance writing. I outlined the lessons I’d learned and offered valuable tips to those who wanted to do something similar.
It took me almost a year to finish writing that post.
Unsurprisingly, that blog never materialized, either.
But as the months passed and I learned more about content marketing, I toyed with the idea of starting a blog to monetize it. But first, I had to figure out my niche.
I had so many interests, so it was nearly impossible to narrow things down.
Coffee? Tea? Beauty? Astronomy? Interior design? Arts and crafts?
The possibilities were endless.
I got too overwhelmed and ended up putting the project on the back burner again.
By this point, blogging was starting to look like a pipe dream.
Sometime last year—around four years after I started posting on Medium—I took blogging more seriously. I couldn’t let things stay the way they were.
I made tremendous progress. I figured out my niches and even bought the corresponding domain names.
For the first blog, I’d write about minimalism, simple living, and mindfulness—things I’m genuinely interested in and the type of content I gravitate towards. The other one would be an affiliate marketing blog about skincare.
For both blogs, my primary goal was still to help a specific audience.
In my free time, I studied and researched content marketing and blogging further. I scoured blog posts, YouTube videos, and online courses. I applied my newly acquired knowledge to the planning stage of my blogs.
The blurry ideas and goals in my head finally started to take shape.
As time passed by, I found myself stuck in the planning phase. I didn’t want to move on from there. I just wanted to keep brainstorming, structuring my blog, and exploring WordPress.
I knew what to write, who to write it for, and where and how to write it, but I still made zero progress.
After many detours, I returned to the platform that rekindled my love for writing—Medium.
Initially, I planned to set up a simple static website and host my writings there. But I started a new job and got too busy with personal matters, so this writing project slipped out of my mind again.
A few weeks into my new job, I became more active on LinkedIn. I revamped my profile, wrote about my work and job-hunting experience, and followed several content creators. I noticed lots of them post on Medium, and learning that the platform is still active was such a pleasant surprise!
Before I knew it, I was drawn to this website yet again.
Instead of reviving my old account (which had a few hundred followers), I’m starting on a blank slate. Even if it means having close to no readership. The follower count doesn’t matter. I’m doing this for myself, anyway.
Yes, you read that right.
I returned to Medium not to build a personal brand or writing samples. After all, I have LinkedIn and my portfolio website for those.
Instead, I’m here to share my thoughts on different topics, explore and express myself, and reawaken my love for writing.
Maybe this is what I’ve always envisioned and truly wanted to do, but a part of me was afraid to pursue it.
It goes against everything I learned in university as a creative writing major. Even in my creative nonfiction classes, our professors always emphasized that you weren’t writing a diary. You weren’t writing for yourself—but for your audience.
I had it ingrained in my head early on.
This notion of writing for someone else became even more crucial when I started working as a content writer, copywriter, editor, and eventually a technical writer. It’s all about your target audience or user. You must get inside their heads and understand their problems and needs before writing a single word.
Yet here I am, scrapping everything I’ve learned and deciding to be selfish.
I’ve wanted to start a blog for years.
And now, I can proudly say that I’ve finally turned that dream into reality.
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