When You Care About Your Projects, But Your Work Often Meets Silence
Let me tell you something. Something I’ve brushed up against, felt doubt creeping into my thoughts, and wanting to slam my keyboard into the nearest wall.
I hate writing.
I hate writing because I always check my emails, my blog and Ko-fi stats like a tweaker, convinced that the numbers will change from 0 to 1 if I keep opening the apps every 2 seconds.
Human or Bot? When Signals Aren’t Clear Cut
It gets worse whenever you can’t tell the difference between a human dropping in or a bot doing its job.
That ambiguity is poison for my spiral, because I can’t tell if my work is being seen or if it’s just the digital equivalent of a tumbleweed rolling past.
That’s why I try to leave tiny signals—like my little wave buttons.
A click isn’t required; it’s optional, and it’s a subtle way for a human to say, “I saw you. I’m here. I get it.”
It’s a breadcrumb for both you and me.
For me, it’s proof that someone—anyone—could be reading, reacting, thinking, or feeling along with me. For the reader, it’s permission to exist quietly without having to shout “like” or “share.”
Even if no one ever clicks those buttons, the act of putting them there matters. It’s a reminder that connection doesn’t always need validation, and that my work, my voice, my little archive of thoughts—it can exist, quietly, for the people who stumble across it.
When Reality is Messy, And So is The Internet
Maybe today it’s zero views. Maybe tomorrow someone reads the whole post without a single click.
That’s okay. The signal is still there.
And when they don’t?
Well… I stew.
I spiral.
I ask myself why I even bother. Who am I even writing for if the silence is deafening?
Here’s the thing: silence doesn’t mean your work is worthless.
It doesn’t mean no one will ever see it.
It just means that the internet is messy, chaotic, and way too big for anyone to stumble across your little corner right away.
I know this from first-hand experience.
When You Write to Fit In, You Lose Your Will to Create
When I started writing on WordPress/Jetpack, I relied on WordPress Reader and their daily prompts to get people to check out my blog.
After a few months of writing to answer someone else’s questions, I felt as though I wasn’t writing authentically for myself and made the decision to ignore the daily prompts and write about the things I wanted to write about instead.
Sure, I lost a lot of views, visits, and likes by making this choice to move away from Reader.
However, despite my blog being quiet most of the time or found by the few people who were curious enough to read my works anyways—even though I’m not a guru, I’m not an expert, I’m not a professional writer, I don’t provide listicles, and I don’t write motivational or positivity porn—I chose my own poison of creativity instead of someone else’s.
That’s Why I Keep Writing Anyways.
Not because I’m going to blow up overnight, not because I’m chasing clout, and definitely not because I think anyone needs my words.
I write because if I don’t, I rot a little on the inside.
I write because I need a record of me trying.
Me experimenting.
Me surviving.
Sometimes the numbers do tick up. Sometimes someone reads a post months later and clicks “like” or downloads a PDF. Most of the time, nothing happens. And that’s fine. The work exists anyway. I exist anyway.
If you care too much about your stats, your audience, your numbers—you’re going to hurt yourself. Stop checking every hour. Stop thinking your work’s value is measured by the tiny numbers in a corner of a screen.
Write. Experiment. Fail. Reflect. Repeat. Keep your corner of the internet messy and alive, because eventually—even if no one notices—it’s a little bit of proof that you were here, trying, and refusing to be erased by silence.
If You Made It to the End
Thanks for reading all the way through. I support this work myself, but if you found these words meaningful or just wanted to let me know a human was here, you can tap the tiny wave button below.
It’s completely optional, no pressure—it just lets me know someone saw the work and understood, even a little, the weight of trying to create while the world often stays quiet.
Even a like, share, and subscribe tells me a person found value here too.
Explore The Archives Below
I’ve written more about this uncomfortable feeling because I believe that it doesn’t completely leave you alone, no matter where you are in life.
Not when your work is quiet, and not when you suddenly “make it.” It morphs into something that makes you sit and doubt yourself, no matter what you do, but it also keeps you on your toes.
If you have a break, below are related articles to check out and my homepage to see what else the Archives has to offer.
