SIRF TUM.....💓❤ (only you)

✨ A Writer's Brutal Truth-From Me to You ✨

I have been getting messages for quite some time. Messages that, in theory, should make me excited to tell my own story, but in actuality have left me dealing with thoughts that most writers are too frightened to share.

Things like

"Why did you even start this story if you can't finish it?"

"It's annoying when writers just disappear midway. At least be serious."

"If you can't keep up with consistency, why bother publishing at all?"

"We've been waiting for weeks, and honestly, it feels like you don't respect your readers."

To begin with, I thought these messages were a part of the dream I had admittedly always had—people actually waiting for my words. Imagine that—someone actively refreshed a page for your story. Isn't that what every writer dreams of secretly?

However, after a few days, those same messages became a burden. Because the reality is, no one tells you:

Writers are not machines. We are not automated beings that can endlessly create chapters. Writing is not just about delivering content on demand; it is an emotional and intellectual labor. There are days when the words flow like water and days when they feel like blood being drawn from you drop by drop.

When I see messages saying I'm "wasting potential" or "letting readers down," I don't just hear people judging me. I hear the unspoken weight that all writers bear in silence—the expectation to keep producing, to keep feeding stories at the expense of their mental, emotional, and physical state. 

Most writers won't tell this to their loved ones or friends, and for good reason—thank you for being a reader! How ungrateful! How arrogant! If you've ever been in this situation, you know its weight—a profound pressure that all goes unnamed and stays inside.

And yet, amidst everything, I want to stop and say this: Thank you. Seriously, thank you. For reading my words, for waiting, for caring enough to reach out to me at all—even if your words cut deep, even if they hurt. Because, in somewhat of a twisted way, it means the dream was realized after all. Someone is actually reading me. For a girl who hid her ideas in notebooks, I thought this would NEVER happen.

Here I am, stripped bare and sincere: there is gratitude, but above all, I am a human being. I will stumble. I will stop. I will drop by sometimes. Not because I do not care, but rather because writing has not ever been about that speed for me. Writing has always been about depth. And depth must require more than time. It requires heart, patience, and sometimes space.

Thank you for remaining. Thank you for reminding me that my words have weight. And if I am slow, know this—I want to give you something worth waiting for.

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