I’ve been sitting on this for a while. I keep thinking I should write more, but the truth is, I’ve been hesitating. Not because I don’t have anything to say. I’ve been in tech long enough to have a lot of stories. I’ve seen things change. I’ve helped build a few things, lead a few teams, gotten things wrong, and learned along the way. I could write about all of it.
But every time I go to actually write a post, I stop myself.
Part of that is knowing who might read it. A lot of the folks who follow me are smart, opinionated, and not always generous. Some are friends. Some are people I’ve looked up to. And some are just really loud on the internet. I saw someone the other day drag a certain writing style. That kind of judgment makes me want to shrink back and say, never mind.
Over time, that kind of stuff chips away at you. Or at least it did for me.
Because I used to be more confident. I used to write regularly. I used to give talks, share ideas, throw out opinions. I didn’t worry so much about whether what I said would be good enough or original enough. I just said it. I trusted that someone, somewhere might find it useful.
I don’t know exactly when that changed. There wasn’t one big moment, just a slow fade. Something dimmed. I started second-guessing myself more. Started holding back more. Then I had my youngest, and my whole world shifted again. New priorities, new rhythm, less space to think clearly. Then the pandemic hit, and the isolation settled in. And somehow, I ended up feeling really far away. From people. From the industry. From the version of myself that used to be so sure.
I’m not in the weeds every day anymore. I don’t ship code. These days I’m leading, mentoring, lifting up others. That work matters to me. But if I’m honest, I miss building things with my own hands. I miss making something small and messy and mine.
That’s why I’ve been tinkering again. Rebuilding old sites. Playing around with code. Trying to find my way back to that spark. Trying to remember what it feels like to create without pressure or performance. Just because it’s fun.
But even then, I don’t share most of it.
Because the fear is still there. What if it’s not that good? What if someone sees it and thinks I’ve lost my edge? What if it’s not technical enough, not smart enough, not useful enough? What if someone screenshots it and laughs about it in a group chat? What if it ends up on Hacker News and ruins my day?
It’s exhausting.
I watch people I admire write every day, like my friend Cassidy, and I’m in awe. She just shows up. Says what’s on her mind. And the ripple effect is real. I’ve seen others start writing because of her. I love that. But when I try to do it myself, it’s like pulling teeth. Every word takes effort. I question everything. I spend hours on a single post and still wonder if I should even hit publish.
Sometimes I don’t.
I wish I could say I was past this part. That I’ve grown thicker skin by now. But the truth is, I still care. Not about applause. I care about people’s time. I care about making things that are worth showing up for. And that pressure? It can be paralyzing.
Still, something in me wants to try. Slowly. Gently. Maybe I’m not going back to who I was. Maybe I’m heading toward something new, something more honest.
Maybe I don’t need to be prolific. Maybe I don’t need to impress anyone. Maybe I just need to show up. Write what’s on my mind. Share the small things. Even if they’re messy. Even if they’re quiet.
Because I know I’m not the only one who feels like this. I know I’m not the only one trying to find their way back to something they used to love. I know I’m not the only one wondering where their confidence went.
So I’m writing this post—not as a declaration that I’m going to blog every day (I probably won’t), or that I have a new master plan (I don’t). I’m writing it as a gentle reentry. A reminder to myself that taking up space, even imperfectly, is still worth doing.
And if you’re reading this and nodding along, just know: you’re not alone. You don’t have to write every day. You don’t have to have the hottest take. You don’t have to prove anything. You just have to be real. That’s enough.
I’m starting here. And if you’re trying to find your way back to something too, I hope you’ll start with me. 🩷