Starting Again: Writing, Fear and the Courage to Be Seen

I haven’t written in months. If I am being completely honest, I haven’t really written since last October—not in the way I wanted to, not in the way I know I can. I’ve let dear hold me back. Fear of being seen, fear of failing, fear that my words aren’t enough. I’ve second-guessed my voice, questioned my dreams, and convinced myself that maybe they weren’t worth chasing in the first place.

But the truth is, I miss writing. I miss the way the words flow when I stop overthinking them. I miss the feeling of putting my thoughts into something tangible, something real. I miss the way writing lets me connect— not just with others, but with myself.

The reality is that I've hit a significant low in my mental health journey. I'm on the path to recovery, which is why I'm able to share this post, but during my dark moments, I felt the need to present a more genuine version of myself to the world. In fact, the lack of authenticity in my life was what initially led to my downturn. You see, I've always had to wear a mask. I've had to hide parts of myself because of Autism. This process, accepting my truth, has brought about long periods of discomfort because I no longer fit into the places I once forced myself into. I'm letting go of years of personas that I should never have adopted, but which I wore to protect myself in environments I felt I needed to be a part of.

Why am I grappling with presenting my whole self to the world? A large part of this overwhelming feeling stems from an intense and paralyzing fear. I find myself grappling with a deep-seated anxiety about the potential repercussions of sharing my truth. It is a daunting prospect, as I am acutely aware that honesty can sometimes provoke strong reactions. The thought of someone being angry with me for simply expressing my authentic self sends shivers down my spine. I am terrified that my vulnerability, my rawness, might disturb those around me, causing them to recoil or react negatively. This fear is compounded by the possibility that they may resort to dishonesty in an attempt to undermine my experiences and distort the narrative I NEED to share. The idea that they could spread falsehoods or manipulate the perceptions of others to sway them against me is distressing. I can feel my heart race at the thought of being the subject of gossip, of having my character questioned or my intentions misconstrued. The shaking that accompanies these thoughts is not merely a physical reaction; it is a manifestation of my internal struggle. I am consumed by the fear that someone might not like me, that their approval, which I have come to value, could be jeopardized. This fear of disapproval looms large, making me question whether the truth is worth the potential fallout. I find myself caught in a cycle of doubt and apprehension, weighing the importance of my honesty against the risk of alienation from those I care about. The prospect of rejection feels like an insurmountable barrier, one that keeps me from stepping into the light of my own truth.

And yet, even with this fear, I know that silencing myself isn’t the answer. The weight of hiding is heavier than the risk of being seen. So, I am choosing to step forward anyway—slowly, hesitantly, but with intention. BECAUSE MY TRUTH MATTERS, AND SO DOES YOURS.

I am choosing to start again. Not just with writing, but with showing up—fully, authentically, unapologetically. Not just me sharing my thoughts or ideas, but sharing me. The messy, ever-evolving, sometimes uncertain version of myself who still has dreams, even when doubt whispers that they don’t matter.

For so long, I thought i had to have everything figured out before I could put myself out there. I thought I needed to be polished, successful, “worthy” before my voice counted. But I am realizing now that authenticity isn’t about perfection—it’s about showing up as you are. It’s about letting people see the process, not just the outcome.

So here I am. Writing again. Showing up again. Not because I have all the answers, but because I am finally ready to believe that my voice—myself—is enough.

And if you’re out there feeling the same way, if you’ve been holding back out of fear, let this be your sign: Start again. Let yourself be seen. The world needs your voices not the perfect version of it—just you. Because my truth matters, and so does yours.