Why 99% Of Writers Never Fulfill Their Potential

It’s not a lack of talent that holds people back. It's something else entirely.

Jun 25, 2025

You wake up. You make coffee. You open your laptop and check your inbox. Nothing.

Not just no comments. No replies. Not even spam. You stare at the screen like maybe if you refresh it, something will change. You know it won’t. But you still refresh it.

That was me for a long time. I had just published something I actually felt good about. It was personal. I’d rewritten it three times. I sent it out at what I thought was the right time. And then it disappeared. Like I’d dropped it into a hole.

45 opens. 2 clicks. 1 unsubscribe.

I remember closing my laptop and just sitting there. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw anything. I just felt tired. Like I wanted to stop thinking about writing for a while. Maybe forever.

In April 2020, I had just sent out a post I didn’t like, but I needed to publish something out of obligation. So, I was going through the motions. Writing out of habit. Not out of care.

That night I sat on the floor of my apartment and stared at the ceiling. I didn’t want to open my laptop the next day. I didn’t want to open my eyes the next day.

That’s the closest I’ve come to quitting.

Not because something bad happened. But because I was just tired of trying and getting nothing back.

I opened a new doc. I didn’t know what I was writing. I just started typing. A note to myself. No structure. No edits.

I wrote, “You still get to say something.”

That line stuck with me. Still does.

I told a friend I might be done. We were sitting at his kitchen table. There were plates from takeout still on the counter. I told him I didn’t think I could do this anymore. That maybe I wasn’t cut out for it. And that maybe people just didn’t care what I had to say.

My friend didn’t say anything for a while. A minute, probably. Maybe two. But eventually, he spoke.

“I don’t think you’d survive not writing.”

At first, I laughed. Then I got quiet. Because I knew he was right.

Even when it felt impossible, I still kept opening the blank page. Even when no one replied, I still wanted to share something. Even when I was angry at the work, I still needed to write. After all, I’ve been writing stories since I was 7 years old, and I intend to continue writing until the day I die.

A subscriber said he was going through a rough time. And my writing helped him feel less alone.

That was it.

No big compliment.

No long story.

Just a quick thank you.

Guess what?

That email meant more to me than any viral post. Because it was real. Because I could see him. Not just as a subscriber to my Substack. But as a person.

I forget that sometimes. When I’m looking at open rates or charts or graphs. Behind every number is someone who maybe just got bad news. Or just came home from work. Or just needed to feel seen. I think that’s why I still write. Because I don’t always know who I’m helping. But I believe someone out there might need it.

A lot of people ask me why writers don’t fulfill their potential. Why they give up, quit too soon, and throw in the towel.

Here’s what I think.

99% of writers don’t quit all at once. They just stop trying as hard. They look around and start imitating. They post on someone else’s schedule. They chase topics they don’t care about just to make a quick buck. And they get bored. Or tired. Or scared of algorithm changes. And they tell themselves it’s just a phase. But eventually, they drift away.

Not because they couldn’t write something great. But because they got caught up in trying to grow… instead of trying to connect.

Here’s a piece of writing advice that changed everything for me…

Write like one person is listening. Write like they need it. Write like it might be the only thing they read today that has a chance of making them feel seen.

That’s it. No hacks. No formulas. Just that.

Growth on Substack (and every other platform) will be slow. And it’ll suck sometimes. And there will be weeks where it feels like you’re moving backwards. But if you keep showing up, if you keep saying something that actually matters to you, someone out there will feel it. And if you’re lucky, they’ll tell you. But most of the time, they won’t.

They’ll just keep reading because something about your voice feels like home.

Writing Wednesdays

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