What Publishing 63 Blog Posts Taught Me

Today, I realized that I’ve been blogging and writing for over a year now. When I set out on this experiment, my goal was to publish one blog post a week. I started on my personal website (https://tommytribolet.com) and later added Substack (https://substack.com/@tommytribolet). I reached that goal — and then some. I even published more than I set out to.

But after all these hours spent writing, there’s one thing I still can’t say for certain: I don’t know if I like writing.

Sometimes, it feels like the words appear by themselves. The sentences seem to flow from my fingers. But then there are days when I dread writing even one word. Nothing seems to be happening.

Writing makes me feel productive in the beginning, but that feeling fades quickly. Especially in the past couple of weeks, writing has become more of a must than a joy. Of course, that’s true for every activity to some degree. No activity lets you enter complete bliss all the time. And if it does, that bliss is borrowed — and comes with a debt attached.

But even if joy might have eluded me recently, one thing I can’t deny: writing is a great teacher.

It taught me to structure my thoughts more clearly than before. But that learning had an even greater effect that I didn’t realize until later: writing didn’t just structure my thinking — it revealed what I actually think.

Thoughts are obscure by nature. Only when they’re articulated can you see them clearly. Sometimes, I started writing an essay only to realize halfway through that I didn’t even believe what I had set out to write. Writing made me smarter.

This happens when you write for yourself. But what if you share what you wrote? That’s when writing helped me in an arena where I’d fought a losing battle for a long time: it helped me win the battle against the fear of judgment.

And it all started with publishing the first blog post I ever wrote.
It’s my first time. My eyes are wide, and my hands are sweaty. My hand hovers over what I’m about to touch — what I’m about to do. After thinking for another ten seconds, I do it. My finger smashes the button. After all this back and forth, I’ve just published my first blog post.

A huge grin appears on my face. I sit a little straighter, shoulders back. But my breath starts getting shallower. Pearls of sweat form on my forehead. It becomes clear to me: I’ve just made the most horrible mistake of my life. What if somebody finds my blog post? What if they laugh at me?
During the hatching of my escape plan from Switzerland and the research on how to forge a new identity, one thought saves me: so what?

That’s where publishing online — especially about your personal struggles — had the most profound impact on me. It made me realize that a lot of fears are just paper tigers. They only exist in your head.

After blogging for a while, I realized something else: the opposite is much worse. If you pour your time and energy into something, it’s only human to expect a reward somewhere down the line. After a full year of blogging, my personal website has exactly eleven subscribers — all of them people I know. My Substack has one subscriber (hello, Sinem!).

So what’s worse: being laughed at for something you do, or nobody caring in the first place?

Neither — because that’s the wrong question to ask. What’s important is that you care. It’s also almost impossible to measure how much my writing practice has positively impacted my life in ways I’m not even aware of.

It’s not just about the writing, either. What also gave me confidence is that I stuck to a schedule for over a year. Most people quit — and quitting isn’t great for confidence.

Most bloggers quit after about three months when they don’t see any traction. If you post once a week, that’s about twelve blog posts.
I’ve published sixty-three.

Even though it hasn’t taken off yet, the trust in myself grew exponentially. I now have evidence that I’m someone who sticks to their goals. Someone who can be trusted — not just by others, but especially by myself.

But the greatest boon has been the people I’ve met on this journey. It’s amazing how many people you can connect with when you’re not afraid to be authentic. I always was in offline life, and I’ve found it’s true online too.

Yes, appreciation and recognition feel good — but they’re not the reason I started writing. They’re not the reason I want to tell stories. In the beginning, I started writing to clear my thoughts. Then it helped me overcome my fear of judgment. Later, it gave me confidence. And now, it’s giving me friends from all over the world.

And again, writing helped me to see clearly: By writing this blog post, I realized that I do love writing — maybe not for the craft itself, but for what it gives me. For what it lets me give to the world.

Do yourself, and all of us, a favor: start writing. We’re all eager to hear what you have to say. And trust me — one particular person can’t wait to hear it: yourself.