Yoooo I'm a writer!

Unedited diary entry on creative angst, reading about salsa's roots and my experience hosting an adult playdate.

Don’t Read My Diary

Today’s entry was written by Catherine, a writer and coach based in Philly. Catherine recently took a leap and left the tech industry to pursue her passions full time. Like many entrepreneurs, she’s struggling to comfortably promote her business and own her creativity. She wrote this as she reflected on the shadows that could be directing her moves.

Dec 7th 2025

It didn’t click until I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror this morning - Ugly ass cry

I’m a writer

I’M A FUCKING WRITER

Yoooo I’m a writer!

The idea that you are what you go to school for…

Years of writing classes, authortube, NanoWrimo, endless books on the writing process and style, questioning what my style is…reading my word of the day so that I can expand my vocabulary and sound more like a real writer

Señores what the fuck is a real writer? Why do I so badly want to be seen that way?

The overexplaining

The need to be perceived the “right way”

Manipulation of perception

not wanting to be misunderstood

Not sharing until it’s good enough until it meets “real writers” standards.

Today I did a brave thing. I submitted a writers grant application!

Last night I was still on the fence, still running away.

Maybe I could edit a little more, maybe I just make this scene a little more dramatic.

Tinkering and tinkering

What the fuck am I afraid of anyway? That they’ll say no?

Nahh… it’s more like - “ Why does she think she’s a writer?”

The voices in my head say

“She’s never published anything”

“She never went to school for it”

“She don’t got good grammar”

Looking in the mirror I realized why I felt this way

Why I minimize, shrink, hide the writer in me, the voice in me

The muse that I’ve shut in the closet over and over again

I only let HER come out to play when I have free time

On the weekends

When my To-Do list is done

So many other things that I have put before HER

I sincerely apologize to all the words buried in my cells screaming to be heard

I apologize to my throat chakra for dismissing it’s expression

My sacral for telling my inner child that creativity is a waste of time,

My root for not creating a safe page

Solar- I’m sorry for not letting you shine

Heart - apologies for the lack of self-love

Third eye - for the times I couldn’t see my higher self

Crown - I’m sorry for blocking the channel to my ancestors

I realized I don’t tell people I’m a writer because I have no accolades for it

I didn’t go to school for it

I was in ESL

I still can’t pronounce a lot of words “correctly”

I think in Spanish but write in English and it gets confusing

My writing is fragmented

I either don’t finish the sentence and jump to another topic or run a sentence for miles…corriendo mas terreno than the herencia my family is still arguing about

December 8th 2025

Some days I let myself sit but the words don’t come out

Sometimes it feels like Mami is gonna open my diary and tell me how bad of a daughter I am

Sometimes I dread the question, “Did you publish that book yet?” “When is it going to be done?”

I want to crawl in a hole

I don’t write because my grammar is perfect

I don’t write because its a “chill” hobby

I don’t write because I’ve read all the great American novels and felt inspired

In fact I never thought of myself as an author at all - and maybe that’s redundant after already yapping about it for pages but I guess what I’m trying to say is that even after admitting, accepting that YES, I AM A FUCKING WRITER! It’s not about the titles

I write because it saves me

I write because I have shit to say

I write because somehow this gift allows me to share my highest form of expression

Writing strips me of other people’s expectations of me

Writing allows me to get shit off my back so the page can carry it

Writing allows my scattered, multi-passionate brain to process my thoughts and emotions

Writing reveals my truest self

When I can see HER clearly I can also see others clearly

Writing builds love and compassion for humanity’s beautiful flaws.

The page sees me and as a result I see HER.

I need to just let it… let the words pour wherever they land on the page. Let them scatter across the border, they were never meant to be contained anyway.

---

The Discussion

Jeez… did Catherine steal a page from my journal? Many of us could have written this entry ourselves.

As a friend, I felt proud reading these words, like when I witnessed my foster dog get her bark for the first time. Her bark was so loud she even surprised herself. She then ran back and forth on the bed, barking and barking, at herself.

This entry is a beautiful reckoning of an ego. As a loving reminder, our ego’s job is to keep track of three things: who we are, who we want to be and how we want others to perceive us. Our ego keeps track of things like your favorite movie and that you like to play chess. As we all know, our cute ego takes its job frighteningly seriously. Catherine’s ego seemed okay with adding “writer” to the list of things she wants to be. She mentions the “years of writing classes, AuthorTube” and reading “endless books,” all evidence to her ego that there is no question of her wanting to be a writer.

It seemed she was still struggling with the “who we are” part and the “how we want to be perceived by others” part. She still didn’t think she could call herself a writer and she wanted people to think she’s a “real writer,” imagining the doubtful thoughts others might have if she did pursue it confidently. Her ego was overwhelmed by not having a promotion plan for her to graduate from wanna-be writer to writer. I saw a perfectionism shadow, stepping in to continually move the goalposts, trying to convince her she’s only one more edit or class or an expanded vocabulary away from graduating. She was like an AI model that only wants to be trained over and over but never feels quite ready.

AI-generated image.

Internal Family Systems (IFS) is present, the psychological concept that we all have different parts within us with unique feelings and needs and ages. I struggled to find the cringiest¹ part. But if there was one, and if someone wasn’t used to this idea, her talking to her parts (throat chakra, inner child, sacral) would have to be it. Though if you haven’t gotten on this train, I highly recommend it. Mine just have different names while my friend Zomely names hers after animals.

There’s a realization: “I AM A FUCKING WRITER!” Her ego understands she can proudly add “writer” to the record of who she is. And yet, I noticed an angst. She apologizes to all her unwritten words. “I apologize to all the words buried in my cells screaming to be heard.” She apologizes to her different selves for dismissing her self-expression, for not letting herself shine, for blocking herself, and more. We don’t talk about this enough. The universal, gut-wrenching mourning that comes with finally going after what you want and then having to grapple with all the time spent not embracing who you are. It’s this itchy “I want to crawl in a hole” feeling she alludes to.

We can see a theme of spirituality. Catherine mentions her higher self, and the chakras, the energy centers in the human body. She mentions how writing makes her more compassionate toward humanity, touching upon the philosophy of Interconnectedness, the idea that we are all related to other humans in some way. It’s clear that spirituality is a strong guide for her.

There’s also the relationship between our creativity and societal structures, creating a sense of legitimization and credibility. She admits to not feeling like a writer because of the lack of publications, official degrees or “accolades.” Her desire for creative security and legitimacy is complicated by her multilingual and multicultural life. She mentions, “I was in ESL” and “I think in Spanish but write in English and it gets confusing.”

Catherine also mentions the pressures of adulting, how she doesn’t let herself create until she crosses off the to-do list. Reminds me of the phrase, “Art before dishes.” Otherwise, our responsibilities might never end and we’ll never do the things we want to do. Or simply rest!

The why-she-writes list read like a love letter to writing. “I write because it saves me” made my eyes water. I wonder if it was eating away at her that she wasn’t owning it or taking more action. Maybe Catherine is… in love with writing… oooo should we tell her? It sounds like for years, she wasn’t tending to this immense love in her life. Or she was writing, but she was tortured by keeping this love hidden—a secret creative affair.

AI-generated image

I was left with a question: is making and guiding others really even a choice for Catherine at all? It sounds like this is a part of her.

Questions I thought about:

1. Who have you not admitted you are yet?

2. How much evidence do you need to gather for you to finally accept you are?

3. Are you ok with being the thing even if that means you aren’t good at it? E.g, are you ok with playing the guitar for the rest of your life, even if you’re never good or great it? Do you like it that much?

If you’d like to collaborate on this column, submit your journal entry here.

What I’m Reading

Faces of Salsa by Leonardo Padura. A collection of interviews from some of the genre’s biggest influencers. I stayed up way past my bedtime this week, geeking over the stories of these icons who were incredible musicians, composers and producers but most of all impactful storytellers.

Several Short Sentences About Writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg. A craft book. A call to focus on getting better at sentences over anything else: genre, form, etc.

My Creative World

1. The medium is… community. Last weekend, I cohosted a beginner salsa class with Let’s Play NYC. It was an immediate hell yes when the founder, Sahara, reached out to collaborate. I’ve admired what the organization stands for: adult play. Let’s Play encourages us to remember what it’s all for, to move our bodies, to connect with others outside of the usual bars and coffee chats. And what better way to celebrate the last day of Black History month than to honor a dance that black people made? I was grateful when Sahara agreed to me teaching a mini history lesson on salsa’s afro roots before we got to grooving. If you want the “book report” I made when studying salsa’s history, let me know in the comments.

   

   Let’s Play NYC newsletter feature

2. I started my first-ever drawing class this week, part of a five-week semester. We covered sketching and shading. The drawing instructor told us, “90% of rendering a drawing is in the sketching.” It reminded me of pseudocode in programming, where writing the logical flow is more important than the syntax of a coding language.

   

---

Catherine is a writer, self-love mindset coach, and yoga teacher dedicated to fostering holistic transformation. With a unique approach that weaves together neuroscience, shadow work, movement, and creative practices, Catherine designs workshops, coaching programs, and yoga classes that offer a nurturing environment for individuals to embrace and integrate every part of themselves.

1. How do I define cringe? Imagine you had an insecure, easily-disgusted little person inside of you that was standing next to you as someone read your entry. Let’s call him Mr. Cringe. At which point in someone reading this entry would they cringe and/or feel naked?