VOCAL: Vulnerability in the Virtual Void

There's something about writing on a platform with other writers that can't talk to each other that makes my little introverted heart skip a beat.

I’ve been a member of Vocal for two weeks, and have already come to the following conclusion:

There is no other place like it on the internet.

But I should back up, and provide a bit of context for my rather lofty statement.

I’ve been a writer all my life, mostly analog style. Shifting to write online has been a challenge because my first parlay into blogging over 10 years ago, ended disastrously when, in my sophomore year of college, I began writing casually about my dating + relationship experiences, and unexpectedly garnered a readership.

As its popularity grew, people from my real life – the people I wrote about – eventually learned about my blog. Long story short: feelings were hurt, and being the people-pleaser that I was, I began censoring myself. Blogging lost its appeal shortly thereafter, and within a few months, I quit.

Since then, I’ve continued writing digitally but not sharing my writing online for fear of ridicule. Cancel culture is at an all time high, and for years, I was terrified of sharing my thoughts online again.

I thought I found the solution to my fears last year when I started a blog on the Svbtle platform. Its design is simple + minimal, and made writing feel so soothing.

The following is a post I wrote in November 2020 reflecting on my gratitude for a safe space to write online:

11.1.20 | nothing to prove.

9:33pm

I have to admit, I just sighed a huge sigh of relief.

I sat down with the intention of writing for at least 30 minutes tonight in a bid to participate in National Novel Writing Month. My plan was to pen a post everyday for the next 30 days of November on Medium. I logged on prepared to do my writing and allowed myself to get distracted by a billing dispute. I reconciled the issue -- a good thing -- but the truth is, I was avoiding writing. Why? Because I didn't want to set myself up for a public failure.

Around this time last year, I made a commitment to write everyday for a month on a blog that I have since abandoned. I made it to Day 10 before I fell off. Why? Because I had a lot riding on this commitment. I was publicly sharing my posts on both Facebook and Instagram -- a bad idea for someone who has had experienced backlash for honest blogging in the past.

Not to mention the fact that I had faded into obscurity for some odd three years, and decided to resurface only to share my break down spiritual awakening/mental breakdown. It was no wonder why I stopped writing a third of the way through.

I recently finished an excellent book called Finish: Give Yourself the Gift of Done. What I expected to be a compilation of productivity hacks turned out, for me, to be an amazing strategies for outwitting perfectionism. And I'm realizing right now, one such way to do so is to write here, on Svbtle instead of Medium.

My primary objective at this point to is to adopt a consistent writing flow. The discipline of sitting down and writing are inescapable aspects of realizing my goals. I shudder at the thought of allowing *another* year to go by where I'm not writing regularly. It simply cannot happen.

So, by taking the advice in *Finish*, I'm cutting my hyper ambitious goals (publishing one article on Medium and sending out one newsletter on Substack per week) in half. Instead of holding myself to writing polished pieces on a public platform with the high stakes of visibility and compensation, or worse -- the lack thereof -- I'm writing personal reflections here.

The sigh of relief I breathed earlier was in accidentally typing the letter "s" into my browser, and seeing it auto-populate the url for this blog. It was the relief that, when I write here, I have nothing to prove. Even though it exists on the interweb, I have not made this blog url public. So, for my purposes, it is as private as a blog can get.

*Such sweet relief*

It's interesting though. I have a digital notepad on my desktop - a few in fact. I have Microsoft One Note, Evernote, and the basic html notepad that comes pre-installed on all PCs. I occasionally use all of these platforms for personal writing, but the allure of blogging *online* has continued to beckon me. It makes me endlessly aware that digital capability are not Things, but Places. And just as important as finding a physical home to live, where my words occupy the virtual void takes thoughtful intentionality.

But even as I typed that, I know it's more than words. This is about my mind. My heart. My soul. I could write anywhere, but home is where the heart is.

And perhaps that's what it comes down to. I could write about my ideas all day online, on public platforms. But intermingled in my ideas are the pulses that make my heart sing. The thoughts and questions that keep my up at night. The anxieties and joys and fears and triumphs and disappointments and loves...

I've opened my heart + mind to the public on previous occasions and it has always come back to haunt me. I'm prepared to overcome the anxiety of a repeated affect because if I don't, I'll continue to live a small fear-filled life.

**I cannot think of a better moment for my 30 minute timer to sound**

With that, I must overcome these anxieties on my own terms. The enormity of my goals are what have kept me from pursuing them. I've learned from my past misjudgments, and realize -- when it comes to writing with regularity online -- this is a battle that must be fought in private, initially at least.

So, my intention for this blog , is for it to serve as my refuge. My laboratory. My sounding board. My diary. My friend. My confidant. My metaphorical playground. A place to practice prose, to think, to ideate, to dream, to write, to find my voice. To just *be* without judgement. Everything my childhood journals started out as before they were invaded by prying eyes.

It's hard to find such solace on the internet these days, or perhaps it just feels that way. It is indeed quite possible to be a drop in the bucket if I wish, even with the inevitability of digital surveillance. It is simply overriding the cultural impulse to share (prematurely).

The reality is, *someone is always watching*. But when it comes to the yearnings of my heart, for the time being, I'd rather a write to silent audience of a million than a loud audience of one.

About a month after writing this piece, I found Vocal.

“I truly have loved reading other people’s work because I know that their hearts beat within the words and sentences of their stories. Seeing other’s share their thoughts, emotions, experiences, and fantasies is motivating and stirs me to be bolder with how and what I write."

- Rowan Finley, Vocal Contributor

When I read something like that, I feel cozy.

For some, cozy is a place. For others, cozy is a person.

No matter how it is termed or presented, cozy is ultimately the feeling of being held.

And up until recently, I thought my Svbtle blog was the only place that could hold the weighty vulnerability in my writing.

And then, I found Vocal.