There’s a particular kind of heartache we can’t help but feel as artists…
It’s a bittersweet sense of dejection that comes with creating something from the depths of the soul, only to feel like it vanishes into a void the moment it’s released into the world.
You pour yourself into your work, immersed in the absolute magic of this act of creation. Every word, every sentence, every detail flows from someplace deep inside, waiting to be brought to life. And you do—you bring it to life. You birth it into the world, and because of that, you can’t wait to share it with the world.
The excitement builds. The anticipation grows. You’re eager for others to experience what you’ve experienced—to see how it might speak to them, move them, make them feel, too…
And then…
Crickets.
The post becomes buried in the algorithm.
The video gets views but no engagement.
The book sits on the literal shelf, waiting for its readers.
You can’t help but wonder, What’s the point? Why am I even doing this if no one’s seeing it?
If no one cares.
(Been there. Felt that. Ad infinitum.)
I’ve felt this with posts I’ve written, videos I’ve made, and programs I’ve created—all of which I’ve poured my whole heart into because that’s who I am. I don’t know how to create halfway. I don’t know how to not put everything I have—and everything I am—into what I produce.
And while I don’t regret a single thing I’ve created, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel disappointing.
Disheartening.
Frustrating.
Sometimes, it even makes me want to give up entirely.
But that’s also decidely not who I am.
As artists, writers, and creators, we want our work to reach people. We have something to say, something to share, and we want to say and share it with the best of intentions—to touch the very same part of you that touched us when we were creating it.
Because this is what connects us as humans, as souls experiencing this crazy journey we call life. It’s that wonderful feeling of, “Oh! Me, too! And here I thought I was alone…”
Art is a reminder that we’re not alone.
And yet, in our modern world of social media algorithms, it can feel like we are. Now, more than any other time in history, there are more ways to reach people, more ways to connect, more ways to share our art and our hearts.
More ways to feel like it doesn’t matter.
This is the gift and the curse of modern-day visibility.
On the one hand, we have limitless access. We can put our work out into the world with the click of a button, no longer reliant on gatekeepers or traditional systems to be seen. A single post or video or book has the potential to reach thousands, even millions, in ways that were never before possible.
And yet, that very oversaturation of content can make it feel impossible to be seen—to break through the noise, to find our place in the world.
We’re told to be strategic, to optimize, to “hack” our way through the codes of engagement. We’re instructed to package our videos into thirty-second sound bites or condense our writing to one-liners just to find some scrap of visibility.
It’s exhausting.
I’m tired.
I never wanted to play that game.
I refuse to, anyway.
Here’s the thing I’ve realized:
We all have something to offer. We’re all wanting our work to be seen—our work is worthy of that.
But no one is you.
That’s the greatest gift you bring to the world.
And here’s another thing:
Sometimes creation takes time. Sometimes the work needs space.
It’s easy to measure impact in numbers, views, and engagement.
But all those measurements won’t ever tell you how your book made someone feel in the middle of the night when they were searching for hope, when they were needing healing.
You won’t always know how far the ripples go.
Your work matters.
Every word you write, every story you tell, every creation you birth into this world—it exists now. It’s a seed planted in the world, even if you never fully see it grow.
So write with raw honesty.
Create with unbridled passion.
Express your whole self to the world without hesitation or fear.
Not for the algorithm or the numbers or the validation…
But for the ones who will find your work when they need it most.
For those who will recognize themselves in all you’ve created.
For the hearts that will carry your words for a lifetime.
For you.