The Writing I’ll Never Publish

Why it’s useful to have a writing practice, rather than a social media practice.

This post is part of my series How to Start a Writing Practice: A 7-Week Experiment. Read the full series here.

I once heard a sweet southern lady say, when her friend dropped an f-bomb,

“Oh lord!! Let ’er rip, tater chip!”

I think about that line a lot when it comes to my writing practice. Because so many of us, especially those in healing, education, or caregiving roles, have been trained to be nice. To listen. To smooth things over. To be “positive.” And look, those are good skills. But they come with a cost.

The hidden cost of "positive thinking"

Many of us have been taught that thinking only “positive” thoughts like “I love my work” makes us happy and negative ones like “I hate my job” make us miserable. But you know what really makes us miserable? Not telling the truth to ourselves. Because the body knows that you hate your job, and no matter how much you say you love it, it’s not going to change a thing.

“A cheerful statement can feel like soul murder if you know it isn’t true, while a supposedly “negative” thought can set you free to experience joy.” — Martha Beck, Ph.D.

The blank page can be an invitation to be honest with yourself.

Look, I’ve written stuff I’d never show another human. Not because it’s anything “bad,” but because it’s mind gunk. Petty. Thoughtless. Ungenerous. It doesn’t belong in anyone else’s ears. It belongs on the page. Sometimes it’s just lists of things that piss me off. After I write that stuff, really get it out of my system, I’m actually able to be generous with other people. Not perform generosity. But really embody it.

Writing as a release valve

Control has upsides and downsides. It’s good to have the capacity to hold what’s uncomfortable. But there needs to be a release valve. Because when all that mind gunk backs up, it doesn’t disappear.

It leaks.

And turns into:

• Sleepless nights. 

• Snapping at people we love. 

• Anxiety that won’t settle. 

• Forgetting simple things. 

• Or spray painting obscenities on your conservative neighbor’s shed.

Some people aren’t afraid of writing badly. They’re afraid of writing or saying something they can’t take back. That’s why it’s useful to have a writing practice, rather than a social media practice.

If it’s online, it’s permanent. 

If it’s on your neighbor’s shed, it’s a misdemeanor. 

But if it’s on paper, it’s truly yours.

You’re not a loose cannon. And even if you are, you’re going to let it spill out on the page instead of on your co-worker, the guy who responded to your post with some misogynistic crap, your mother-in-law’s critique of your fashion choices, or that lady who lets her dog poop on your lawn, despite the nice hand-painted sign that says, “Pick it up, Janet, or I’ll put it in your mailbox.”

So here’s your chance. No more soul murder. This practice is where we stop being polite.

Let ’er rip, tater chip.

No one is watching.

You can burn the page later.

Tips for writing

Having trouble letting go? Don’t try to write anything meaningful. Just write whatever is moving through you right now.

Write about the sensation in your foot. 

Write about your annoying sister. 

Write about your fantasy of quitting your job and moving to Jamaica. 

Write about your desire to paint your mother’s antique furniture purple with white stripes.

These random thoughts might unlock a flurry of delight.

Your practice

Write one page you would never let anyone read.

If that feels like too much, start with one sentence.

Many people find that this kind of writing eventually touches something deeper, about work, transition, or vocation. If that’s happening for you, my one-on-one work starts with listening.

This essay originally appeared on my Substack newsletter Sensitive Matters.

Read the next post in this series