Sometimes I forget what this blog actually means to me.

I start seeing it through other people’s eyes, or at least through the version of them that exists in my head. I imagine people I know reading it and cringing; thinking I’m oversharing. Laughing. Maybe rolling their eyes at how deep I’m trying to be, or how emotional I get, or how I write about mental health issues like I’m the first person to ever experience them.

And in those moments I start to downplay it. I call it just a little blog. I tell people I’m just writing it for fun. I make jokes about it being my therapy diary on the internet. I try to soften it. Make it less serious. Less meaningful. Less me.

But the truth is, it’s not just a blog. It’s not just a hobby or a passion project or something I do when I’m bored. It’s so much more than that. This blog has been one of the most important things I’ve ever created. And I don’t give myself enough credit for it.

Because this little online space full of feelings and spirals and raw moments? It’s changed me. It’s saving me, in small ways, all the time.

Writing like this, so honestly and openly without hiding the mess, is not easy. It might read like I’m just casually spilling my guts but it takes courage to be this honest. It takes guts to write about mental health, self-doubt, loneliness, friendships, panic attacks, relationships, burnout, identity, healing – all of it. Especially when I know that anyone could be reading.

People I love. People I’ve drifted from. People I barely know. People who don’t like me. People who knew me years ago and probably think I’m being dramatic. People who think writing like this is cringey. People who think vulnerability is a weakness. People who would never in a million years post anything this personal online.

And still.. I post.

I write something real, hit publish, and send it out into the void knowing full well someone could screenshot it. Someone could mock it. Someone could think it’s too much.

But I do it anyway. Not for them, for me.

Because this blog helps me make sense of the chaos in my head. It turns spirals into sentences. It turns fear into clarity. It gives me language for things I struggle to say out loud. It gives me space to explore the stuff I usually shove into a mental drawer labelled ‘deal with later (never)’.

It’s a form of therapy. It’s a mirror. It’s proof that I’m feeling things deeply and trying to process them instead of pretending I’m fine all the time.

And honestly, that should be something I’m proud of. Not something I shrink from.

I think we live in a world where ‘cringe’ is the biggest insult. Where trying too hard is embarrassing. Where vulnerability is seen as oversharing. Where god forbid you care about something and say it out loud, because then you’re being “too much”.

But I’m done pretending this blog isn’t a big deal to me. It is.

It’s not about going viral. It’s not about getting hundreds of likes or shares. It’s about having an outlet that’s mine. A space that I’ve built and kept going even when my brain was telling me to give up. It’s about turning pain into something that might resonate with someone else. It’s about turning silence into expression.

And yeah, it is a little scary to be this open online. It does make me feel exposed sometimes. I’ve written posts and instantly wanted to delete them five minutes later. I’ve overthought every line. Wondered if I’ve said too much. Worried about people reading between the lines and knowing exactly who or what I’m talking about. I’ve had those little stomach-drop moments when someone I know tells me they’ve read my latest post and I can’t tell if they mean it in a good way or not.

But at the end of the day, I’d rather be real and cringey than curated and fake. I’d rather overshare than stay silent. I’d rather put my thoughts somewhere and look back at them later – even if they make me wince – than never express them at all.

Because there’s power in being vulnerable. There’s power in saying “I felt like this”. Even when it’s messy. Even if it’s not perfectly worded. Even if it doesn’t wrap up with a neat little life lesson.

I’ve had some people actually message me privately after reading a post to say “thank you for writing this, I thought I was the only one”. And that is everything to me. That’s why I keep going. That’s why I keep posting. That’s why I let myself be seen, even when I want to hide.

Because if one person reads it and feels a bit less alone? That’s enough.

But even if no one did – I think I’d still write.

Because writing reminds me I’m not invisible. It helps me feel grounded. It helps me feel like myself again when everything’s spiralling. It gives me somewhere to put the feelings that don’t make sense yet. Somewhere to land when I’m floating in uncertainty.

And honestly, I think more people should have that. Not necessarily a blog, but an outlet. A place to just… be. To not have to explain yourself. To say “this is how I feel today” and let that be enough.

I used to think I had to be an expert to write about certain things. That I needed qualifications, or more life experience, or some kind of permission. But I’ve realised that lived experience is expertise. Feeling things deeply is valid. Writing from the messiness of your own brain isn’t less valuable than a polished piece by someone with a PhD.

I’m not here to be perfect. I’m not here to impress people. I’m here to be honest. To write things that feel true in the moment – even if I cringe at them later.

Because this is real. It’s alive. It’s evolving as I do. And if that makes me ‘too much’, or ‘oversharing’, or ‘attention seeking’? So be it.

At least I’m being something.

So no, I don’t give myself enough credit for this blog. For sticking with it. For putting my thoughts into words. For choosing vulnerability over silence. For letting myself be seen.

But maybe it’s time that I start.

Because this blog isn’t just a space on the internet. It’s part of me. And if I want everyone else to respect it, then I should too.

— Lilly x