Self-Reflection | After My Writing Was Seen, I Came to Know Myself Again
English translation of the Chinese original (AI-assisted). Read the original in Chinese.
Before my work was published and before my public account was launched, I was very certain about my motivation for writing.
At that time, I wrote for myself, and also for my children in the future.
Writing was simply a process of organizing my thoughts and calibrating my understanding. It had no direct relationship with whether it was seen.
However, when the words actually entered the public space, that certainty began to change.
I discovered that I was not as "detached" as I had imagined.
When there was little attention, I cared;
when the numbers rose, I was pleased;
and when I realized that many of those people did not truly understand my writing, I felt hesitant and uncomfortable.
These feelings do not conflict.
They simply reminded me that, no matter how much I emphasize independence and restraint, I am still a person who is affected by feedback.
This is not a departure from my original intention.
This is human nature.
What truly made me reflect was not whether I was recognized, but a more fundamental question:
Why can the vast majority of people not even be led into "thinking" itself?
Later I gradually realized that this has nothing to do with whether the writing is right or wrong.
Thinking itself is not a neutral act.
It means uncertainty, it means breaking inertia, and it means taking on new cognitive costs.
For many people, keeping an existing structure is far safer than entering into thought.
And my writing did not provide ready-made answers, positions, or exits.
It simply presented structures and acknowledged uncertainty.
Under such circumstances, being ignored is not surprising.
What truly brought me relief was confirming one simple yet important fact:
These words had already been read carefully by complete strangers.
At that moment, I realized that I was not simply talking to myself.
At the same time, I also saw myself more clearly.
I still hope for responses,
I still feel emotions as the numbers change,
and I still long to be understood and affirmed.
Acknowledging this does not diminish the meaning of writing.
Quite the opposite—it lets me separate two things more clearly:
The motivation for writing must answer to the inside;
external feedback may exist, but it should not set the direction.
Writing these things publicly is not meant to prove anything.
I simply hope that, before expressing myself, I can first put myself in the right position.
If these words are ultimately read by only a very small number of people, that does not mean they have been rejected, only that they are waiting for the right time and the right readers.
Writing has never been about occupying people's attention, but about leaving, amid all the noise, a coordinate that is still willing to think and willing to be honest with itself.