Starting a personal blog felt like a big step.
Fifty posts in, I should feel proud. I should be celebrating.
But instead? It feels hollow.
Like I’m pouring my heart into something no one will ever see.
The Fear That Starting a Personal Blog Was a Mistake
Here’s the honest truth: I’m scared that none of this matters.
That I’m doing all this work—writing, editing, researching, learning SEO—just to scream into the void.
No audience.
No connection.
Just… emptiness.
And it makes me wonder: what if I really am just wasting my time?
Feeling Like a Freak for Even Trying
Some days I hear this voice in my head that says,
“You’re just a freak talking to herself.”
And the worst part?
Sometimes I believe it.
I feel embarrassed by this blog.
Ashamed of needing it.
Guilty for not being “trans enough” to do more.
Like I’m pretending I matter when I don’t.
Maybe the blog itself is just one more way I try to feel seen—without ever actually being seen.
Why I Keep Showing Up Anyway
I wish I could say I write just for me. But I don’t.
I want to be heard. I want this to mean something.
I want to know that maybe, maybe, someone out there feels less alone because of these words.
And still… even if no one ever reads this?
Even if it never leads to anything?
I think I’ll keep going.
Because this blog is the one place I don’t have to lie to myself.
What Fifty Posts Into Starting a Personal Blog Feels Like
So yeah, fifty posts sounds impressive.
But it doesn’t feel like a milestone.
It feels like a mirror I don’t want to look into.
And yet—here I am.
Still writing.
Still hoping.
Still showing up.
If you’re reading this—thank you.
If you’re feeling this? Even more so.
And if you’re not reading this?
I’ll still be here.
Talking to myself.
Just in case someone needs to hear it one day.
2 Comments
Amanda · July 7, 2025 at 1:55 am
Michelle, sometimes I read blog posts that move me far more than the author could ever imagine. Kandi Robbins’ ‘Open Letter to our Wives’ was one such post, given the hash of coming out to my wife that I’d made a few years earlier, and this one was another. I used to use Flickr as a sort of blog – post a photo, right something about some trans issue or other and then enjoy the interaction as people commented. Except one time, they didn’t. I posted and absolutely nothing came back. A downward spiral quickly led to a minor breakdown which was made all the worse because I was unable to tell my wife what had actually caused it. These days, as you know, I write on Kandi’s Land which has a ready made audience but I still get that feeling of trepidation if comments are slow to materialise.
I completely get all of this – writing is our way of having visibility and being relevant when circumstances dictate that, for whatever reason, we can’t physically represent and experience this side of our personalities.
I’ve read every single one of your posts here, some more than once, and they are an absolute goldmine of sensible observation and advice. You don’t stray into pointless political rhetoric & rants and just stick to topic in hand.
I can’t promise to comment on every single one of your posts but I do read them all and I’m sure others do as well. But you’re preaching to the converted as far as I am concerned – if even one anonymous person reads what you write and it helps them, either through practical advice or just giving them comfort that they’re not alone, then the whole thing is worthwhile.
Michelle · July 8, 2025 at 8:44 am
Amanda, this means more than I can say—truly. That feeling of silence after putting yourself out there? I know it too well. It’s like being stripped bare and then met with nothing but the echo of your own voice. I’m so sorry you went through that, and I’m so grateful you shared it here.
I think you nailed something I’ve been struggling to articulate: writing like this is how we claim some kind of presence when life doesn’t let us live it fully. It’s connection in exile. And knowing you’ve read every post, even some more than once… I don’t have words for how much that means.