Let's Be Honest: I Hated My Own Brand

On ditching the book, finding my voice, and giving myself permission to be messy

So here’s the thing—Found in the Margins never felt like me. It was pretty, sure. Poetic, even. But every time I sat down to write, I felt like I was wearing someone else’s blazer. Professional. Proper. Completely suffocating.

This? This chaotic, punchy, say-whatever-grabs-me energy? This is actually me.

The Book That Became a Brick Wall

I was supposed to be writing a book. Past tense very much intended.

Turns out, when you tell yourself you’re writing THE BOOK, capital letters and all, every sentence becomes a referendum on whether you’re a Real Writer™. Every paragraph gets scrutinized. Every idea gets second-guessed into oblivion. And somewhere along the way, I stopped enjoying the one thing that used to make me feel alive.

I got dangerously close to quitting entirely. Like, drafting-a-farewell-post close. Because the pressure of Building Toward Something Big turned writing from joy into performance anxiety with a word count.

The New Plan (Which Is Barely a Plan)

So here’s what’s happening instead: I’m writing whatever story catches my fingers on the keys.

Maybe it’s my story. Maybe it’s something I witnessed on a Tuesday. Maybe it’s a half-formed thought that wouldn’t leave me alone at 2 AM. I don’t know yet, and that’s exactly the point.

I need to fall back in love with writing, and that means giving myself permission to be messy, unpolished, and gloriously unpredictable. No more pressure. No more “building toward” something. Just me, showing up, and seeing what wants to be said.

What This Means for You

Expect chaos. Expect wit. Expect posts that feel like they were written by an actual human instead of someone trying to sound like a Writer.

If you’re here for the ride—chaotic detours and all—I’m genuinely glad you’re sticking around.

If the old version was more your speed, no hard feelings. But this version? This is the real one.

Let’s see where this goes.

P.S. — If you’ve ever felt the crushing weight of your own expectations turning something you love into something you dread, you’re not alone. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is give ourselves permission to start over.