The Part No One Talks About

No one tells you that chasing your dream can be this lonely.

I dropped into publishing without all the information.

In my head, it was simple: write a book, get an agent, get published. The end.

Not even close.

What I found instead was that I knew absolutely nothing.

Apparently, I needed a website to be taken seriously. So I bought a domain… and then sat there, staring at it, trying to figure out what I was even supposed to put on it. I haven’t published yet, so what exactly am I showing the world?

Then came social media.

I learned quickly that I was “supposed” to be on it. Posting. Engaging. Building a following. So I made the accounts. I started posting. I followed the rules.

The problem is… I’ve never liked social media.

I don’t understand it. I don’t enjoy it. And yet somehow, my success is tied to it.

So I keep showing up. Posting daily. Trying.

And nothing happens.

No followers. No traction. No response.

At first, I told myself it takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight.

But when you’re posting every day because that’s what you’re “supposed” to do—and no one responds—you notice.

You start checking more often than you should. Refreshing. Overthinking.

How do I fix this? What am I doing wrong? Is it me? Do people just not like me?

And that’s when it shifts.

What started as excitement slowly turns into insecurity. Then loneliness. Then something heavier.

It’s one of the most unsettling, discouraging experiences I’ve ever had.

Somewhere along the way, in trying to promote my book, I found myself slipping into a depression so deep it made me question whether I even wanted to publish at all.

All because of “likes.”

I’ve lived a small, quiet life. I don’t like having my picture taken. I don’t like being in front of a camera.

And now suddenly, my name, my face, my book—my words, my heart—are out there for the world to see…

And the world doesn’t seem interested.

That kind of silence is loud.

It gets in your head. It wears on you.

But I made myself a promise.

As a disabled veteran who never knows when a migraine might put me back in a dark room for days… I can’t let anxiety over numbers and likes be the thing that stops me.

I won’t let it win.

So I’m still here. Still writing. Still trying.

And if you’re feeling this too—this sadness, this loneliness, this quiet kind of desperation—I need you to know something:

You’re not alone.

I see you.

And if you need someone to reach out to, someone to talk to, or even just someone to give you that one like that feels so hard to get…

I’m here.

Always.

And as always—stay a little sassy, stay a little stubborn, and don’t let the silence convince you that your voice doesn’t matter.