Who I Write For

I have asked myself this question more times than I can count, and the answer has never stayed the same. It evolves as I evolve. What I know now is that I don’t write to fill space or chase approval—I write to make sense of what I carry.

Early on, one of the hardest challenges I faced was uncertainty. I wrote without knowing who was listening, if anyone was listening at all. I questioned whether my voice was too heavy, too quiet, too honest. That uncertainty made feedback feel personal, even when it was well intentioned.

The Challenge of Feedback

Asking for feedback required a level of vulnerability I wasn’t always prepared for. Some responses sharpened me. Others bruised me. There were moments when feedback felt less like guidance and more like dismissal, as if the soul of the work had been skimmed rather than understood.

I learned quickly that not all feedback is equal. Some people respond to craft. Others react to comfort. When the writing is rooted in truth, it will not always be received gently—and that took time to accept.

Writing Through Doubt

Doubt became a familiar companion. I questioned whether my experiences were too specific or too raw. I wondered if slowing down, sitting with emotion, and resisting trends made my work harder to place.

What carried me through those moments was realizing that I was writing for people who feel deeply but speak carefully. People who don’t always see themselves reflected accurately. People who need language for things they haven’t yet learned how to name.

Where the Soul Lives

The audience that matters to me is not defined by numbers or applause. It’s defined by recognition. It’s the reader who pauses mid-sentence because something landed. The one who feels seen without explanation.

I write for the version of myself that needed honesty instead of polish. I write for those navigating silence, discipline, patience, and growth without a spotlight. That audience matters because the writing is not performance—it’s witness.

What I Know Now

Writing with soul means accepting that not everyone will understand the work, and that’s not failure. It’s alignment. The right audience doesn’t just read—they feel, reflect, and return.

So when I ask myself, “Who do I write for—and why does that audience matter to me?” the answer is simple and hard-earned: I write for those who recognize themselves in the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. And that matters because it keeps the work honest.