I can tell you're masking from your Substack
What happens when you stop writing for approval?
Hey there, fellow Substacker. I've been following your writing for a while now, and I've got to be honest: your mask is showing.
Oh, don't get me wrong—your writing is good. Damn good, even. It's polished, insightful, and always hits the right intellectual notes. But that's just it, isn't it? It's always exactly what we expect from a successful Substack. And while that might earn you subscribers, it's not earning you authenticity.
The Danger of Perfection
You're writing like you're afraid to make a mistake, and it shows. Every sentence feels carefully curated, every point meticulously explained. But in the pursuit of perfection, you've sanded off the edges of your voice. You've hidden the parts of you that are messy, unsure, and real.
And I get it. Vulnerability is terrifying. Putting your true self out there means risking judgment, rejection, even ridicule. But it's also the only way to create something that truly resonates. Something that makes people feel seen, understood, and connected.
The Tyranny of Relatability
But it's not just about vulnerability, is it? It's also about relatability. You've mastered the art of writing about topics that appeal to the broadest possible audience. But in doing so, you've lost the specificity that makes your voice unique.
You're writing for everyone, which means you're writing for no one. You're sticking to safe topics and surface-level insights because you're afraid to alienate potential readers. But the truth is, the most powerful writing often comes from the most unexpected places. It comes from digging into the things that keep you up at night, even if they're not trending on Twitter.
The Mask of Controlled Vulnerability
But perhaps the most insidious form of masking in your writing is what I call "controlled vulnerability." You offer glimpses into your struggles and insecurities, but they're always fleeting. Always neatly resolved by the end of the post.
This isn't real vulnerability. It's a performance. It's giving your audience just enough to make you seem relatable, without ever truly letting them see you. And while it might earn you sympathy, it won't earn you connection.
Writing Without a Mask
So, what would happen if you took off the mask? What if you wrote like no one was watching, like you had nothing to prove and everything to explore?
What if you let yourself be messy, confused, and contradictory? What if you wrote about the things that set your soul on fire, even if they're not guaranteed to go viral? What if you trusted your readers to follow you into the unknown, without needing your hand to guide them?
I'll tell you what would happen: your writing would come alive. It would pulse with the energy of your unfiltered voice. It would attract the kind of readers who don't just admire your intellect, but feel a kinship with your spirit.
And here's the thing—this doesn't mean you have to ditch tools like ChatGPT. In fact, AI can be a powerful ally in the quest for authenticity. But instead of using it to polish your writing into a shiny, impersonal veneer, use it to dig deeper. Use it to explore the questions that scare you, to push past your comfort zone, to discover new frontiers of your voice.
The Freedom of Unmasking
I know, unmasking is easier said than done. It means facing the parts of yourself you've been hiding. It means risking failure, rejection, and misunderstanding.
But it also means liberation. It means writing with a fire that can't be extinguished by the opinions of others. It means connecting with your readers not just on an intellectual level, but on a human one.
So, dear Substacker, I challenge you: the next time you sit down to write, ask yourself what you would say if no one was watching. Ask yourself what truths you've been too afraid to tell, what questions you've been too timid to ask.
And then, write from that place. Write like your words are the only thing that matters, because in the end, they are. Write like you're done with masks, done with approval, done with anything less than your most authentic self.
The real you is waiting to be heard. It's time to let them speak.
