the most valuable thing i’ve ever learned about writing is being okay with the fact that my writing is... inherently pointless. when i accepted that the answer to “what’s the point of continuing to write?” is “there is no point”, but still wanted to write anyway, it changed a lot

it’s just a really slippery slope to assign some arbitrary future value to your stuff depending on how many eyes saw/liked it (bc you’ll never be satisfied no matter how high that number gets) bc sometimes only one other person will, and it might take them yrs to find it

ofc a lot of writers write bc they want to be heard, to be acknowledged, and it’s immensely fulfilling to know someone out there was touched by something you made. but u also have to be okay with your thing existing on its own terms, no matter what the feedback

my shorthand explanation for this is that our own writing is simultaneously worthless (the fabric of reality won’t fall apart if we don’t write it) and worthwhile (because our voices are unique and no one else can say things exactly like we can)

i’m closing in on a year of intense burnout and this is what these months of struggle have made me realize—i never NEED to write for the world to keep spinning. i just really, really still want to, even if my own self-satisfaction was the only reason left