Feeling Exposed Is the First Sign You’re Growing
Feeling seen just feeds your comfort.
We’re all on Substack here. For different reasons.
Some are here for business. Some, for writing.
And some, to read. The vast library of material this platform provides.
And in this journey, you’ve read something. That landed. And made you feel seen.
You liked it. Shared it. Commented even. Because someone said something valuable.
Something you have been carrying around. Without knowing how to say it. Or whether to.
What you read, became a mirror. And the weight you carried, disappeared. For a second.
Most people stop there. Because they think recognition is growth.
That being understood is the same as being changed. It isn’t.
Feeling seen is easy to chase. Especially online.
You keep scrolling. Until something nods at your pain. Or echoes your discomfort.
You double tap posts. That match your burnout. Your doubt. Your guilt.
And you feel better afterwards. For a while at least.
But that feeling is fleeting. It’s not the same as getting better.
Recognition demands nothing from you. It meets you where you are. And lets you stay there. Feeling better.
Growth doesn’t do that. It moves the ground from under your feet. And forces you to move.
It’s uncomfortable. Until it isn’t.
Because life is about getting better at the things you dislike. It doesn’t unfold to suit your likings.
That’s why discomfort resonates. And writers have figured this out.
They write about struggle. And wrap it in language. That’s made to feel like a warm hand around your shoulder.
It leaves you feeling soothed. But not questioned. And it works most of the time.
It gets likes. Shares. Followers. Because it flatters pain.
And most people online? They’re not looking for clarity.
Just someone to nod with them. Instead of challenging them.
You see it all around you. People complaining in the name of rumination.
About why life is a certain way. And why it can’t be what they wished instead.
This is what happens. When you’re fed delusions. Of doing whatever you desire.
Because dreams that aren’t worked toward, shatter. And when they do, people escape.
Into writing. That rewards fantasy.
That’s why repetition is rewarded. And the loop continues.
Where writers turn into mirrors. And people admire their stagnation in the writing.
As a copywriter, I was taught. To study people. Learn their motivations.
Some called it psychographics. Most called it consumer personas.
And most things I wrote, was supposed to influence. Until I saw the reality.
Of how most writing got muddled. For comfort. And dumbed down conviction.
That couldn’t stand its ground against seniors. Or an extrapolation of what the ‘audience’ wanted.
Because decision makers wanted validation. Not impact.
They drove the vehicle of growth. While flooring the brakes of fear.
And most work I did? Never really for the reader. Not if it nudged people beyond their comfort zone.
Each piece became an echo chamber. Of beliefs steeped in recognition. Instead of gradual transformation.
Growth is different. It often doesn’t feel like being seen. Sometimes, it feels like disruption.
Of the status quo. Your comfort zone. And the beliefs that affirm them.
It’s the moment you read something. And your first instinct is to argue.
Until you realise you can. But it would be a lie your conscience doesn’t back.
When you read a line. And it hits. And leaves you feeling exposed. Before you feel ready.
You’re forced to sit with it. Because you know. Something just got confronted.
And you can move past it. But you won’t be able to go back.
That’s what I call good writing. Which doesn’t wrap around your self-image.
It sharpens the blade. Cuts through the comfort. And forces re-evaluation.
It may give you a line or two. To quote and share.
But first, it leaves you without one.
The content I remember the most, has had this. Something that made me pause.
Left me at a loss for words. For a good moment, or two.
Something that made me pause. Mid-sentence. And send my mind into a thought-spiral.
I don’t remember every word. But I know how I felt upon reading them.
I forgot the writer. But not the lesson. Because the sentence was forgotten. But the sentiment wasn’t.
It had, after all, made me sit. With something I’d rather have ignored.
The best writers provoke growth. In their words. And your thinking.
Everyone else writes to preserve reach. By softening everything for applause.
And if you’re one of them, ask yourself.
Would you bend your stance, if someone unsubscribes? Or cut deeper regardless.
Would you rather echo pain? Or provoke discomfort that heals.
How much are you holding back? In what you truly want to say?
Reception should refine your instinct. Not define it. Otherwise, every sentence will feel banal.
Like it’s been through a committee. With repeated vetoes. And no conviction.
Instead of writing to be liked. Write to be undeniable. So there’s no space for the truth to hide.
Neither for you. Nor the reader.
And the next time you feel seen? Ask yourself why.
Whether you’ve heard it before. Whether it comforts you too easily.
Or makes you feel smart. Without making you think harder.
You’ll know clarity when it makes you uneasy. Because something twists.
That’s what changes people. Not the post that panders to their pain.
But one that forces them to question. Why they’re still carrying it.
And if you want to grow? Stop curating content that conforms. To who you already are.
Start building libraries of language. That question your identity.
Healing should keep you in your comfort zone. If it does, it’s a charade with empty words.
Choose growth. Even if it doesn’t get you seen. Because it makes you see yourself. In a way you hadn’t before.
Stop asking others whether they see you or not.
Ask yourself whether you finally see. What needed changing all along.
I’ve also written the Unperformed series.
Two small books. That explore how I see the world.
If this stirred something, tell me what needs talking about next.
Want to support this publication? Buy me a coffee.
A way to keep it going. So the content stays free. And the clarity, unhindered.
And remember. No soft language. Not here.
Thoughts are spiralling. I admire that skill. It’s rare to be genuinely taken on a journey of contemplation and not feel the need to land on one’s feet. I’ll drift here a tad more. Thank you.
You are on to something. I’m listening. My interest is piqued. I do seek growth until I don’t and then I want to be seen and heard. I love the way you gracefully facilitated my seeing myself.