The Only Place I Write Now

Learning to write without losing what made it mine

I used to over-edit everything

Google Docs.
Word.
Notion.
Even random project management tools.

I’d write in all of them, chasing the “perfect” draft before anything saw the light of day.

The process felt right at first. Write a rough version, let it sit, come back to it later with a sharper eye. Edit, polish, make it better.

But somewhere along the way, that sharp eye became a heavy hand.

The idea I started with — the one that came from the gut — would slowly be buried under edits, second guesses, and “this needs to sound more professional” rewrites.

From honest spark to something unrecognisable

It always started with something honest.
Raw. Messy.
But mine.

The kind of thing that pops into your head on a walk or hits you when you're half asleep.
You grab your phone or a notepad, write a line or two, and think, Yeah, there’s something here.

But the second I took that idea and dropped it into a “real” writing tool, it became something else entirely.

I’d tidy it.
Rework it.
Overthink it.

I’d cut the weird word choices that actually felt right.
I’d iron out the rhythm until it sounded like every other thing online.

And by the time I hit publish?

The voice that wrote it was nowhere to be found.

The moment I realised what I was doing

It hit me after yet another post felt off. Not bad, just… not me.

I thought back to the original idea — the thing I scribbled down without a filter.
That version had something true in it.
It didn’t care how it sounded. It wasn’t worried about tone or formatting.

It just said what it needed to say.

But instead of trusting it, I rewrote it to death.
And that’s when I realised — it’s not that I needed a better process.
I needed to get out of my own way.

Writing isn’t about getting it perfect

It’s about capturing a thought and letting it breathe.
And more than that — it’s about sounding like you.

The stuff that lands hardest with people?
It’s never the polished paragraph or clever metaphor.
It’s the line that feels like it came from an actual person.

It’s the small, strange detail.
The unfinished thought.
The casual sentence that somehow says exactly what the reader needed to hear.

That’s the gold.
And you can’t always edit your way to it.
Sometimes, you edit your way out of it.

What I do now

Now, I just write.

Wherever I am.
However it comes out.

If I have an idea, I get it down as fast and simply as I can.
Then I let it sit for a bit.
When I come back, I’m not there to rewrite it into something new — I’m just there to help it be more itself.

Tighten. Don’t reshape.
Cut the clutter, not the character.

If something reads like me, I keep it.
Even if it’s not “right.”
Even if it breaks a rule or sounds a bit strange.

Because here’s what I’ve learned:

• No one’s waiting for perfect.

• People are way more interested in real.

• And your weird, messy, imperfect voice is probably the thing they’ll remember.

You don’t need permission to sound like yourself

You don’t need to write like someone else to be taken seriously.
You don’t need to sound polished to make an impact.
You just need to show up honestly, as you are — and keep showing up.

So if you’ve ever caught yourself over-editing, second-guessing, or deleting something that felt true?

This is your reminder:
Trust the first spark.
Let it be a little rough.
Say what you mean before your inner editor gets involved.

That’s where the good stuff is.

If you liked this post or it reminded you of your own messy writing habits, I’d love to hear about it — leave a comment, or share it with someone who overthinks their words too.