Hi Fleur. As I was commenting to you last night, the only reason I am getting comfortable with sharing deeper levels of myself and my writing is that the Substack community is filled with amazing souls who have been uplifting, interesting, and thoughtful (. . and of course, fun-loving).
I hope Mental Judo serves you well. Those seven tools have been years in the making, and I’d love to hear how your experience using them unfolds. Keep me posted!
You have a way of eloquently saying exactly what is jumbled up in my own mind. My biggest fear is that there is no real me. I only started writing recently so hopefully somewhere in there I will find it and have my own gatekeeper. Thanks for sharing this
Your line—“My biggest fear is that there is no real me”—stopped me cold. I’ve carried that same fear. Still do, some days. What if there’s nothing underneath the performance? Nothing coherent? Just layers of adaptation.
But here’s what I’ve come to believe: the act of writing is the act of building. You’re not finding the real you—you’re making room for it to take shape.
And you will have a gatekeeper. We all do. But the fact that you’re writing, and reflecting like this already? That tells me yours is listening. Maybe even wondering if it can start to trust you.
I’m grateful you shared this. Keep going—you’re closer than you think.
Thank you for your courage in showing your authentic self. It isn't easy. And, we have to be mindful of who we are sharing our vulnerabilities with. Not everyone will respect and honor them. I am not suggesting that we be inauthentic We can still be real. But there are levels or layers of revealing ourselves. Choosing when, with whom, and how much to share is our right. People need to earn our trust through actions over time.
You're absolutely right that we have to be thoughtful about where and with whom we show our authentic selves. But as a writer, I tend to assume the best in readers, even knowing that many won’t connect with what I share—and some may even respond with hurtful criticism.
That’s the price we pay, isn’t it?
I’m not sure I always have the strength, but I like to believe I’d be willing to endure the critiques of 99 readers if it means reaching the one who truly needed to hear it.
The writer–reader relationship is a fickle one. It requires a bit of masochism—or at the very least, a strong tolerance for emotional turbulence.
This is beautiful, and I can relate to that pretending. My book coming out is a big step of faith. It will force the removal of a mask I've been wearing for a while.
Reading through my proof copy now. Book will be live within weeks.
It’s for anyone who has felt themselves unraveling or crashing through thin ice and needing to grab hold of hope to climb back up to solid ground.
Watch my little blurbs coming as I want to do a Book launch soon. 📖
All of my short narratives on the Stack leave little breadcrumbs to my book. These stories are not in my book, but you get a flavor when you read these 5-min stories.
I’ve learned not every one will like you. I used to have fear that if I wrote something I want EVERYONE to like it, but if everyone likes you, you’re not being real enough, and not true enough to yourself. Now I’m like the right people will gravitate to you. We have to learn ourselves that every one is different and sometimes the things we fear be exactly what people crave. They be like oh I feel like way too! Like a connection
Wow, Matt. Thank you so much for sharing! I definitely resonate with how writing feels like a shortcut to honesty and vulnerability where so many other avenues have roadblocks ❤️🙏🏼
This is stunning. Thank you for naming this inner paradox with such clarity and care. It’s rare to see vulnerability this honest, where every sentence feels like it’s been lived through, not just written down.
I love your analogy of writing as the notch in the bars of a self-constructed cage of identity. And then using your writing not to erase your identity, but to hold it with more clarity. Love that!
Without some way to express what’s real, it’s easy to lose track of what’s true, even to ourselves.
Writing unlocks that clarity in me as well. It’s a big part of why I’m drawn to the page. And yet, even at its best, writing doesn’t free us instantly. Instead, it gives us a place to speak truth without asking permission. And over time, that kind of truth-telling unravels something in us, something long buried beneath doubt, fear, embarrassment, and all the other subtle armors we’ve learned to wear.
Wow, Glenn—thank you. That means a lot coming from someone who clearly gets it on a deep level.
Your words reflect the exact kind of resonance I hope for when I write—not agreement necessarily, but that quiet nod from someone who’s wrestled with the same questions. That’s the kind of connection that makes the vulnerability worth it.
I love how you said writing “gives us a place to speak truth without asking permission.” That’s it. It’s not always freedom in the moment, but it is a slow unraveling. A loosening. A way to gently remove the armor without forcing anything.
I’m really grateful you took the time to read and reflect like this. I felt seen. Thank you.
You wrote what so many of us feel but don’t have the words for - that quiet ache of pretending, and the relief that comes when we finally tell the truth, even if it’s just on paper. Your words felt like a hand reaching out in the dark. Grateful 🙏
Ahhh the full answer to the question I posted! So glad I saw this. You capture what I’m certain so many feel. The clarity around what’s going on with the mask vs truth dynamic allows options to surface. The freedom to contextually choose to cross that boundary between options is powerful. Thank you for sharing, Matt!
Thank you for sharing, Matt.
Hey Jeff. Thank you for the words of encouragement. Those five words go a long way to me.
Amazing, vulnerable and raw. Thank you. 🙏🏻
Hi Fleur. As I was commenting to you last night, the only reason I am getting comfortable with sharing deeper levels of myself and my writing is that the Substack community is filled with amazing souls who have been uplifting, interesting, and thoughtful (. . and of course, fun-loving).
Yes, so far it seems like an incredible community. Keep doing your great work 👍🏻
Powerful. Thank you.
Hi Dan—thank you!
I hope Mental Judo serves you well. Those seven tools have been years in the making, and I’d love to hear how your experience using them unfolds. Keep me posted!
You have a way of eloquently saying exactly what is jumbled up in my own mind. My biggest fear is that there is no real me. I only started writing recently so hopefully somewhere in there I will find it and have my own gatekeeper. Thanks for sharing this
Wow, Happy. That reflection hit me in the chest.
Your line—“My biggest fear is that there is no real me”—stopped me cold. I’ve carried that same fear. Still do, some days. What if there’s nothing underneath the performance? Nothing coherent? Just layers of adaptation.
But here’s what I’ve come to believe: the act of writing is the act of building. You’re not finding the real you—you’re making room for it to take shape.
And you will have a gatekeeper. We all do. But the fact that you’re writing, and reflecting like this already? That tells me yours is listening. Maybe even wondering if it can start to trust you.
I’m grateful you shared this. Keep going—you’re closer than you think.
Glad to hear I’m not alone in these insane thoughts 😁 thank you for the encouragement!
My reply sounds glib, but I really am taking it to heart. Genuinely, thank you.
Thank you for your courage in showing your authentic self. It isn't easy. And, we have to be mindful of who we are sharing our vulnerabilities with. Not everyone will respect and honor them. I am not suggesting that we be inauthentic We can still be real. But there are levels or layers of revealing ourselves. Choosing when, with whom, and how much to share is our right. People need to earn our trust through actions over time.
Hi Christine—wise words, indeed.
You're absolutely right that we have to be thoughtful about where and with whom we show our authentic selves. But as a writer, I tend to assume the best in readers, even knowing that many won’t connect with what I share—and some may even respond with hurtful criticism.
That’s the price we pay, isn’t it?
I’m not sure I always have the strength, but I like to believe I’d be willing to endure the critiques of 99 readers if it means reaching the one who truly needed to hear it.
The writer–reader relationship is a fickle one. It requires a bit of masochism—or at the very least, a strong tolerance for emotional turbulence.
Thanks again for the thoughtful reminder.
Fascinating - I’ve known you in so many, but had zero clue who you were until now. Smooth and beautiful writing, so nice.
Thank you, Lisa. Truly.
This is beautiful, and I can relate to that pretending. My book coming out is a big step of faith. It will force the removal of a mask I've been wearing for a while.
Your book? Tell us more!
Reading through my proof copy now. Book will be live within weeks.
It’s for anyone who has felt themselves unraveling or crashing through thin ice and needing to grab hold of hope to climb back up to solid ground.
Watch my little blurbs coming as I want to do a Book launch soon. 📖
All of my short narratives on the Stack leave little breadcrumbs to my book. These stories are not in my book, but you get a flavor when you read these 5-min stories.
Sounds amazing, Shell. Keep us posted.
Love this post. Especially love this line: Each word was a quiet act of rebellion.
I’ve learned not every one will like you. I used to have fear that if I wrote something I want EVERYONE to like it, but if everyone likes you, you’re not being real enough, and not true enough to yourself. Now I’m like the right people will gravitate to you. We have to learn ourselves that every one is different and sometimes the things we fear be exactly what people crave. They be like oh I feel like way too! Like a connection
Wow, Matt. Thank you so much for sharing! I definitely resonate with how writing feels like a shortcut to honesty and vulnerability where so many other avenues have roadblocks ❤️🙏🏼
This was a very courageous and thoughtful piece Matt. Appreciate you sharing 😊
This is stunning. Thank you for naming this inner paradox with such clarity and care. It’s rare to see vulnerability this honest, where every sentence feels like it’s been lived through, not just written down.
I love your analogy of writing as the notch in the bars of a self-constructed cage of identity. And then using your writing not to erase your identity, but to hold it with more clarity. Love that!
Without some way to express what’s real, it’s easy to lose track of what’s true, even to ourselves.
Writing unlocks that clarity in me as well. It’s a big part of why I’m drawn to the page. And yet, even at its best, writing doesn’t free us instantly. Instead, it gives us a place to speak truth without asking permission. And over time, that kind of truth-telling unravels something in us, something long buried beneath doubt, fear, embarrassment, and all the other subtle armors we’ve learned to wear.
Thank you for sharing this! 🙏
Wow, Glenn—thank you. That means a lot coming from someone who clearly gets it on a deep level.
Your words reflect the exact kind of resonance I hope for when I write—not agreement necessarily, but that quiet nod from someone who’s wrestled with the same questions. That’s the kind of connection that makes the vulnerability worth it.
I love how you said writing “gives us a place to speak truth without asking permission.” That’s it. It’s not always freedom in the moment, but it is a slow unraveling. A loosening. A way to gently remove the armor without forcing anything.
I’m really grateful you took the time to read and reflect like this. I felt seen. Thank you.
Who’s “Chris”? 😉
Sorry, Glenn. Chris is the gentleman that I was just messaging before reading your response. My apologies.
😆… I do that a lot too.
This really landed for me Matt. Thank you for writing it :)
“I write because it’s the only place where I can stop pretending—without the risk of losing everything I’ve built by pretending.”
This line got my attention !
I’ve felt this—the manner in which writing becomes the one safe place where the truth can shine.
“They had me as a friend, but I didn’t have them.”
Yes. That paradox of being surrounded, yet unknown—it’s such a quiet kind of loneliness, and you described it perfectly. It’s an abyss of sorts !
“Each word was a quiet act of rebellion.”
As a beginner to sharing my writing - I never think of my writing in this way, but it is just that. A defiant expression of hope ?
I saw myself in so much of this.
The mask, the gatekeeper, the tussle between a desire to be seen and the instinct to feel safe.
You have articulated this so well - thanks again for writing this mate 🙏🏾
Talking to yourself without apologies. This is where all comes to life. The truth lies beneath the crystal palace of old gathered human—break it!
Great progress Matt. You have a lot to say, and even better; you can do it just right.
You wrote what so many of us feel but don’t have the words for - that quiet ache of pretending, and the relief that comes when we finally tell the truth, even if it’s just on paper. Your words felt like a hand reaching out in the dark. Grateful 🙏
Ahhh the full answer to the question I posted! So glad I saw this. You capture what I’m certain so many feel. The clarity around what’s going on with the mask vs truth dynamic allows options to surface. The freedom to contextually choose to cross that boundary between options is powerful. Thank you for sharing, Matt!