The Great Writer Conundrum: Looking for Acceptance While Remaining True to Self

Most of my life has been about chasing that elusive feeling of acceptance.

As a kid, I’d constantly show my mom my latest poem or story, hoping she’d turn it into a poster or decoration to showcase to anyone who came by.

Despite being bullied or teased, I’d give the same kids another chance to be my friends, because maybe, just maybe, this time they’d mean it.

In high school, I’d glance longingly at the “cool table,” even though I knew if I’d ever sat there, the experience would’ve been awkward and forced.

Every bit of laughter or applause from an audience, every like or share of a post, every kind comment from a reader who says my work resonated, all of it offers a little nudge toward that precious feeling: I’m accepted. I belong.

The need to belong runs deep in all of us. It’s why echo chambers thrive. It’s why people express their “individuality” by dressing like everyone else in their scene. It’s why we join clubs, follow celebrities, and cling to creators who seem to share our voice.

As an AuDHDer who often feels like he misplaced the life manual and spends every ounce of energy just trying to appear like he belongs in the room, acceptance can feel like an earthquake; briefly silencing the lifelong echoes of too much, too lazy, too awkward, too careless, too annoying, too dumb, too unwanted.

Acceptance is why I mask. It’s also why I’m still trying to decipher what unmasking and being myself really mean.

It’s one of the reasons I mostly stopped writing about politics or controversial issues. I tell myself I don’t have the energy to deal with trolls, and that’s true, but underneath that, there’s fear. Every time I write something provocative, a voice warns me: You’ll be rejected. That voice imagines me left out in the rain while everyone else enjoys turkey dinner in a warm dining room.

That’s the comic irony of being a writer or creator. We craft our little worlds to grow an audience: to inspire, inform, entertain, and build community. We crave connection. We want to belong.

But to truly be a great writer or artist, you have to be vulnerable, honest, and passionate. You have to dig deep into your gut and pull out your truest self. That kind of work will inevitably offend, divide, or unsettle someone.

Not because you want to, but because truth often does.

It’s something I’ve known for decades, but some days it’s still terrifying. To be authentic means risking rejection. But it’s the only way to create work that truly matters.

Now, we live in an era filled with loud figures who seem to thrive on division, people whose entire purpose is to insult, agitate, and “other.” That’s never been my path. If anything, my writing is meant as a pushback against that.

I’m interested in empathy, compassion, kindness, open-mindedness, and yes, acceptance. Unfortunately, those traits can sometimes be treated like weaknesses. But that only makes me want to champion them louder.

Even then, how I define those traits (and how I apply them to real issues) means some people, even ones I care about, may see things very differently. My hope is to engage respectfully and seek understanding, even knowing I might lose acceptance along the way.

Because here’s the truth:
If a creator wants to make a difference by helping to shape the world for the better, then their work must sometimes act like sandpaper, rubbing away comfort to reveal something raw and real. Some people will walk away. But others will stay. They’ll stay because they value your honesty, even when it challenges them.

That’s where the treasure lies, in building a community that connects not because they always agree, but because they care. They debate. They push back. But they stay.

The creator appreciates the audience, and the audience values the creator.

That, to me, is real acceptance.

Not the fleeting kind born from applause or likes, but the enduring kind that comes from showing up as yourself, and still being seen.

Acceptance, at last, is achieved.

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