performative vulnerability is not actual honesty.
a personal essay about personal essays and why we need to bring back diaries.
So much of my current loneliness is a self-inflicted wound….a wound that I can’t expound upon without tearing up.
— An excerpt from “a treatise of loneliness”
The first Substack piece I killed was titled “a treatise of loneliness.” In this personal essay, I complained about the Event that cleaved me into three parts: my former self (open, unaware, senseless), the self I was in transition (acerbic, paranoid, tentative), and the self I am trying to build (sharp, discerning, warm).
In “treatise,” I discussed my paranoia and how it led to the severing of friendships, and how I desperately tried to gain them all back. I slit my heart open and allowed myself to bleed over your screens. My laptop was painted red, a stain I am still trying to mop up.
I know that some of the people referenced in “treatise” still watch me. I check my website analytics, perked up with interest when I saw their towns on my map, saw how my vulnerability was passed around certain groups of authors who surely have better things to do than gossip about everyone in the publishing industry. I imagined that happening again, only maybe this time, they would return to me and love me again and tell me how brilliant I was and—
No. I didn’t even want that. Reconciliation cannot happen through a social media or blog post.
If it did, I would be absolved of all my sins.
I deleted a few sentences from my draft. I wrote some more. I stopped. I sent the draft to a friend, joking about it being akin to a diary entry. I paused when I realized how true that was. I considered:
Is this personal essay designed to be digested, or is it a rebuttal for invisible accusations that nobody has actually lobbed at me?
I knew the truth, so I allowed that post to rest in my notes app. There was no funeral, only faint remembrances now of how—yet again!—I almost humiliated myself publicly.
My next attempt was a post called “the brutality of desire.” This one centered around how annoying romantic yearning is. “Brutality” didn’t get very far; I was hyperaware of my shortcomings since the last personal essay was dropped from my Substack schedule. I wrote. I stopped. I wrote some more. I paused. Then, I left that post to linger in my notes app, where it will stay.
I wish that aching version of myself well.
So then you close your heart, only you don’t, because you’ve become such a hopeful person when it comes to every other area of your life—so why not this?
— An excerpt from “the brutality of desire”
“Brutality” was a worse transgression of my moral code. I have implemented a strict rule: do not talk about my love life on main. I’ve stuck to this since my old Twitter days, when I would talk about nearly every other part of my life, from my undertreated depression to what books I was reading and all other sorts of nonsense I’ve blocked from memory.
People seemed to like this honesty, until my vulnerability was weaponized against me by anonymous cowards determined to misunderstand me. But that’s a story for another ‘stack1.
Why did I choose to eschew those two personal essays but publish posts like “experiencing rejection when you have complex ptsd”? Part of it is because “rejection” served myself as well as other people. “Treatise” and “brutality” served only myself, and discussed a part of my life that, for me, is off-limits.
When you write about personal things on the Internet, it’s important to set boundaries. Maybe you’ll discuss a day-by-day timeline of your menstrual cycle2 but never discuss the traumatic birth you experienced. Maybe you discuss the highs of parenthood but not the lows—not because you want people to have an unrealistic grasp of what it means to have children, but because you are trying to protect your children by not complaining about them under your byline. There’s many examples that your favorite content creators implement, but you’ll never know their individual cases because, again, boundaries.
I’ll share a few of mine, for the sake of example. These aren’t all of them.
ok to share
Travel. After I’ve left the location, travel is fun to discuss and generally safe.
Books I enjoyed. Word of mouth recommendations help the author!
let’s hesitate
Mental and physical health. I am OK with discussing this with a lot of caution. I don’t talk about the “uglier” symptoms of complex PTSD—at least, not the ones that I personally experience—because of stigma.
Included in this is childhood trauma. I try not to discuss that for reasons that are likely obvious.
Social issues. When I do, I make sure that I’m informed and have research and carefully constructed opinions behind me.
Book drama and issues in the writing community. BEEN THERE, DONE THAT, WOULD NOT RECOMMEND.
girl don’t talk about that
Family. My mother was doxxed before. I do not want to put her or my loved ones in danger.
My love life and sex. As I said above, this is an open wound, for reasons I will not name. For all you know, I have a long term girlfriend, or have screwed fifteen people in 2026 already, or have been celibate for one year, or have an off and on long-distance, no commitment situationship3. I do, however, share general memes about love and sex sometimes because hashtag relatable.
Books I didn’t like. As an author, I consider this unprofessional. There are exceptions, like if you were a known critic before you were published. But, also, I find it unrewarding to discuss books that sucked.
General bitching and moaning about my life. Unless I have a damn good reason for calling something out, I save it for the group chat.
and now, discussing a lack of context
An important reminder for content creators: You were not born to be consumed by people with no context behind why you act the way you do.
You shouldn’t feel like every post is defending yourself, that it is redress for a crime you didn’t commit. Internet criticism is odd and harsh because there’s not proper context for your actions, and people do not know or really understand the origins behind your perspective, even if you spell it out for them. I made it incredibly clear on my old social media accounts that I am queer. What did people still say? That I write about queer people to cash in on a “trend,” like a lesbian porn director. Please.
should we stop creating content?
I am not anti-content creation. This is literally a piece of content. What I am against is content with no real goal beyond disclosure.
Why are you writing this personal essay? Is pouring your heart out this your form of therapy? (If it is maybe…put the essay away for later.) Do you really want people to know this information about you? Can this information be weaponized against you by employers, family members, or just plain haters?
Is your piece for revenge, peace, or to actually share something of value with the world?
Whenever I write a post like this, I take pause and hesitate for so long that my emotional urgency falters, that the passion is somewhat leeched from the piece. I no longer like to express myself fully on the Internet.
—an excerpt from “a treatise of loneliness”
Sometimes, it’s a matter of letting your ideas rest until they’re actually ready.
This isn’t to say that your ideas don’t have value. They do. They all do. It’s just that, sometimes those ideas need to rest until you can speak somewhat objectively.
And please. Please get a diary. Some topics, some experiences are too personal for the blogosphere. This is the diary I use.
probably paywalled this trauma is NOT FREE
“omg EW PERIODS” bro grow up
i do have to say that last one is a JOKE i have SOME self-respect
This is a really beautiful post