I’m much braver with words than I am with people.

On a page, I can say things clearly. Thoughtfully. Without interruption. I can sit with a feeling long enough to understand it before letting it out into the world. I can choose the right phrasing. The right tone. The right moment to pause.

With people, it’s messier.

Conversations happen in real time. Feelings surface before I’ve fully named them. There’s body language to read, reactions to manage, responses that can’t be edited once they’re said. And suddenly, the things I know how to express so well in writing feel harder to access out loud.

Writing gives me space.

People require immediacy.

And I think that’s the difference.

When I write, I’m not hiding, I’m processing. I’m giving myself permission to arrive at the truth instead of blurting it out half-formed. On the page, I’m calm. Measured. Honest in a way that feels safe.

With people, honesty feels riskier.

Not because I don’t trust them, but because once something is said out loud, it exists between you. It can’t be quietly revised or softened. It lands exactly as it lands.

So I write the things I don’t always say.

Not because I’m afraid of connection, but because I respect it enough to want to get it right.

There’s also something protective about words. They hold shape. They don’t rush me. They don’t ask follow-up questions before I’m ready. They let me reveal myself on my own terms.

People, even the good ones, sometimes want immediacy. Answers. Clarity. Reassurance. And while I can give those things, I need time to arrive at them first.

I think that’s why this blog became what it did.

It wasn’t meant to be a performance or a confession booth. It became a place where I could be brave in a way that felt sustainable. Where I could say the quiet parts out loud without needing to watch someone’s face as I did.

And the funny thing is, people often tell me they feel closer to me through my writing. That they understand me better. That something I’ve written resonated.

Which makes me wonder if bravery doesn’t always look like speaking first.

Maybe sometimes it looks like listening to yourself long enough to speak truthfully when you do.

I’m learning that being braver with words doesn’t mean I’m bad with people. It just means I value intention over impulse. Depth over speed.

And maybe, slowly, I’ll get better at bringing the clarity I find on the page into the conversations that matter most.

Until then, I’ll keep writing.

Not as a substitute for connection, but as a bridge to it.