Growing up, I thought of myself as a bad writer. That’s not to say I couldn’t write - I could always pump out a 5 paragraph essay. 1 intro, 3 body, 1 conclusion. 5 sentences each. It felt, though, like some people had something I didn’t. I could follow the formula and make a point, but I struggled to go beyond that and break the mold. I just couldn’t find my voice.

This was infuriating because I’ve never had trouble finding my voice orally. My whole life I’ve been speaking, teaching, and debating with passion. These experiences always felt different to me: when writing I felt friction just arranging my words onto the page, but when speaking, I felt a flow that allowed me to say exactly what I meant exactly how I wanted. At the time, I saw writing as an immutable weakness of mine. Some people are good at some things, some people are good at other things.

This feeling changed for me when I started to write about things I enjoyed. I have a distinct memory of writing a long essay about Edward Snowden at some summer camp - I turned it in expecting for it to be ripped apart, but I was met with praise instead. I built a part of my identity around this weakness, accepting that some people are good at some things while some are good at others. While there’s some truth here, this way of viewing myself was artificially limiting.

And so I wrote about why to use fish not bash; about why I should buy a Pebble; about random bits of network engineering. This moved me in the right direction, yet it wasn’t enough. Even though I started to write about things that lit me up, I still had expectations I was holding onto. Whether it was my boss, teacher, or some imaginary hyper-critical netizen, I was worried that someone more skilled than me would read my work and look down on me. For this reason, I wrote almost exclusively technical posts. Tech is something I’ve always been confident in; it allowed me to write without fear of judgement.

I have so much more to say than just explainers about tech! It’s only been through writing braindumps that I’ve felt comfortable getting those words out, though. By giving myself a space to write with no expectations, I’ve written some of my most proud words. I’ve had the chance to profess my model of teaching, thank the best mentor I’ve ever had, reflect on friendship, and much more. In letting go of my fear of being perceived, I’ve finally found my voice.

But now that I’ve found it, what will I say?