Trust the Page
A Year In Review
On March 25th, I hit “publish” on my very first Substack essay.
The piece was called Pages in Progress, which, looking back, feels like a prophetic title for everything that followed. At the time, I had never used social media. I had never shared my writing with strangers. I had never even called myself an essayist. Honestly, I wasn’t sure anyone would read it—except maybe a few obliging friends, and my mom (if I emailed it to her directly and reminded her to click the link).
But I did it anyway.
And somehow, since that first hesitant post, I’ve published 45 essays. Forty-five! On everything from writing to parenting, from faith to fear, from silly to sacred. I didn’t have a content calendar. I didn’t have a plan. I still don’t. And yet… something about this rhythm, this freedom, this space—it works.
A Journey from Questioning to Trusting
When I started, I questioned myself in every way possible:
What if my writing is too personal?
What if it’s not personal enough?
What if I post at the wrong time of day and the Substack algorithm banishes me to the wilderness?
What if I accidentally send a draft instead of the final version and everyone sees my typos?
What if I never figure out how to use tags properly?
What if no one reads it?
What if they do?
I wrestled with all of it: imposter syndrome, vulnerability, comparison, perfectionism. But the biggest fear? That I had nothing new or necessary to say. And I think many writers feel that way—especially at the beginning. Especially when you’re writing from the inside-out, not the outside-in.
And yet, here I am. Still writing. Still hitting publish. Still showing up.
Not because I mastered the algorithm. Not because I found a niche. Not because I cracked the code of online success.
But because I decided to trust the page.
A Strange and Beautiful Rhythm
Substack has become a place of no pressure for me. A place where I don’t have to strategize or polish or brand myself. I just write. What I want to write. When I feel moved to write it.
Some weeks I post about the hard stuff—mental health, grief, survival. Other weeks I celebrate my quirky son’s obsession with theme parks or share a poem about a paintbrush who wants to disappear.
There is no grand strategy. Just a thread of truth running through it all.
And that thread—that instinct to keep going, even when it feels small or scattered or unseen—is what I’m most proud of.
The Real Milestone
Yes, 45 posts is a milestone. But the real achievement isn’t the number. It’s the shift.
I started out second-guessing every word.
Now I trust my voice more often than not.
I started out wondering who would read.
Now I write because I need to write.
I started out trying to sound like a “real writer.”
Now I write like me.
Looking Ahead
I still don’t have a formal plan for my Substack. No schedule. No strategy. Just a hope:
To keep telling the truth, even when it trembles.
To keep showing up, even when it’s quiet.
To keep trusting that the words matter, even if they only land with one person.
And maybe that’s enough.
Thank you for reading, encouraging, subscribing, and reminding me that there is space in the world for pages in progress.
Here’s to another year of writing what’s real,
of trusting the murky middle,
of becoming.
—April