How to Write When You’re Afraid Your Ex/Boss/Family Will See It

I hover over the "publish" button for three full minutes before I finally click it.

I do this every single time.

As soon as I publish, my article goes live. What I've written is now searchable, findable, and anyone can read it. I mean, literally anyone.

My family. My old boss. One of the guys I used to date. That person from high school who I haven't talked to in twenty years, but who definitely still follows me on social media and watches everything I do.

As I hit publish, I ask myself, "What will they think? What will they say? What if they recognise themselves in something I wrote? What if they judge me for being too vulnerable, honest or offensive? What if I get it wrong in front of them?"

These thoughts run through my head every time I'm about to publish.

Here's the thing: I publish anyway.

It's not because the fear goes away or because I've figured out how to stop caring what people think. It's because I've learned how to write despite being absolutely terrified that specific people will see it.

The Specific Fears We Don't Talk About

Most writing advice treats the fear of being seen as this vague and abstract thing. "Get over your fear of judgment!" "Stop caring what people think!"

From my years of therapy and working with others like me, I know that's useless advice because the fear isn't vague. It's extremely specific.

I'm not afraid of "people" reading my work. I'm afraid of:

• My family reading about my struggles and thinking I'm oversharing or embarrassing them.
• My ex (no one specifically, just those from my romantic past) seeing me write about relationships and wondering if I'm writing about them (I'm not, but they might think I am).
• My former boss finding an article where I talk about hating my old job and taking to LinkedIn to tell the world I'm unemployable.
• Old friends reading something vulnerable and thinking I've changed or gotten weird. Or even that I hated them all along and our friendship wasn't genuine. 
• That one person who hurt me seeing that I'm succeeding and feeling vindicated or smug.

These aren't abstract fears. These are specific people whose opinions, thoughts and feelings still have power over me, even when I wish they didn't.

Why This Fear Is Rational

The advice to "stop caring what people think" assumes the fear is irrational.

It's not.

The people you know will read your work. They will have opinions (and might share them with you directly, or behind your back). Some of those opinions might be negative (and you might be forced to endure their negativity).

Your uncle might think you're sharing too much. Your old boss might think you're unprofessional. Your ex might text you asking, "Is this about me?"

These things can actually happen. The fear isn't in your head. It's based on real risk.

The question isn't how to eliminate the fear. There is nothing you can say or do to stop others from having an opinion about what you do. 

We can only control what's in our power to control. In this case, it's how to write anyway when the fear is legitimate.

What I Do When I'm Afraid to Publish

Step 1: I identify the specific person I'm afraid will read it.

Not "people." A specific person.

Is it my mum? My ex? My old boss? That friend who always has something critical to say?

Once I name them, the fear becomes manageable. It's not "everyone will judge me." It's "Dave might think this is stupid."

Dave's opinion matters less when I'm specific about it being Dave.

Step 2: I ask myself: Is this actually about them?

If I'm writing about my failed book launch, I'm not writing about my old boss. If I'm writing about building a writing habit, I'm not writing about my ex.

Most of the time, my work has nothing to do with the people I'm afraid will read it. They just happen to exist in my life, and I'm imagining their judgment.

Naming this - "this isn't about them, they're just in my head" - helps. It's adding rationality to what feels like an irrational feeling. 

Step 3: I ask: What's the actual worst-case scenario?

Let's say my ex reads an article where I mention being in a relationship that didn't work out. Worst case: they think it's about them. They text me. I don't respond, or I say "no, this isn't about you."

That's awkward, but let's be real, it's not catastrophic.

Most of the time, the worst-case scenario is temporary discomfort but not an actual disaster.

Step 4: I change identifying details if necessary.

If I'm writing about a specific situation involving a specific person, I change details.

Different gender. Different job. Different context. I change enough that the person won't recognise themselves, even if they read it.

I'm not lying by changing those details. I'm protecting privacy while telling the truth about the experience without affecting the story.

Step 5: I publish anyway and accept the discomfort.

The fear doesn't go away when I hit publish. If anything, it gets worse for about 10 minutes.

Then I move on. Because 99% of the time, the person I was afraid would read it never does. And when they do, they usually don't care as much as I thought they would.

(I can attest to this 99%, as well. I wrote and self-published a book and only sold ten copies. There were more people at my last birthday party than there were sales.)

The Truth About Who Actually Reads Your Stuff

Here's the uncomfortable truth: the people you're most afraid will read your work probably won't.

Your ex isn't Googling your name every day. Your old boss isn't following your blog. Your family isn't reading every article you publish.

They have their own lives. They're not thinking about you as much as you think they are.

The audience that actually reads your work is mostly strangers. People who found you through search or social media. They are people who don't know you personally and have no context for your life.

They're reading for the value and not to judge you.

The people you know? They'll maybe skim one article, decide it's "not for them," and move on, if you ask them to read it, that is. They're not your real audience anyway.

What to Do If Someone Does See It (And Has Thoughts)

Sometimes the fear comes true. Someone you know reads your work and has an opinion about it.

Here's what I do:

If they're supportive, I thank them and feel weird about it for a day because I'm not used to people I know engaging with my work.

If they're critical in a constructive way, I consider whether their feedback is useful. If it is, I use it. If it's not, I ignore it.

If they're critical in a judgmental way, I remember that their discomfort with my work is about them, not about me. If they think I'm oversharing, that's their boundary and not mine.

If they ask, "Is this about me?": I say no (if it's not) or I say "I changed details for privacy" (if it kind of is). Then I change the subject.

If they're weird about it and it damages the relationship, the relationship was probably fragile anyway. People who can't handle you being honest about your life aren't people who support your growth.

How to Write About Sensitive Topics

Sometimes you want to write about something that definitely involves people you know. We've all been there, where we need to write about a bad job, a toxic friendship or a family dynamic.

Here's how I do it:

Focus on your experience and not their behaviour. Instead of "my boss was terrible," write "I struggled in that job because I didn't feel valued." Your experience is yours to share and their behaviour is their story.

Generalise when possible. "I had a friend who…" instead of details that make them identifiable.

Ask yourself: Am I writing this to process my experience, or to hurt/shame someone? If it's the former, publish. If it's the latter, write it in your journal, but don't publish.

Change enough details that only you would know it's about them. Time, place, gender, specifics. Protect their privacy while telling your truth.

Accept that some stories aren't yours to tell publicly. If writing about it would genuinely harm someone or violate their privacy in a way you're not comfortable with, don't publish it. Some things stay in the journal.

The Freedom on the Other Side

Here's what I didn't expect: the more I published despite the fear, the less power those specific people had over me.

I spent years avoiding certain topics because I was afraid of what my family would think. Then I published an article touching on one of those topics.

My mum read it. She didn't love it, but she didn't disown me either. She said, "I don't totally agree with this, but I'm glad you're writing."

That was it. The worst-case scenario I'd imagined for years was a mildly uncomfortable conversation.

Now I write what I want. Sure, I still feel the fear, but I know the fear is almost always worse than the reality.

What I Tell Myself Before I Publish

When I'm hovering over the publish button, afraid that someone specific will see it, I remind myself:

This work isn't for them. It's for the people who need it. If someone I know happens to read it, that's incidental.

Their opinion doesn't define the value of my work. Just because my uncle thinks I overshare doesn't mean I'm oversharing. It means we have different boundaries.

I'm allowed to tell my story. As long as I'm not violating someone else's privacy or being cruel, my experiences are mine to share.

The discomfort is temporary. In a week, no one will be thinking about this article except the people it genuinely helped.

If I don't publish this, I'm letting fear control me. And I've let fear control me long enough.

The Question That Helps

When I'm paralysed by the fear of a specific person reading my work, I ask myself: "If this person never existed, would I still publish this?"

If the answer is yes, I publish it, because my work shouldn't be held hostage by someone else's potential judgment.

If the answer is no - if I literally only want to publish this to get a reaction from them - I don't publish it. That's not writing. That's a different thing entirely.

You're Not Writing For Them

The people you're afraid will read your work are not your audience.

Your audience is:

• The stranger who is struggling with the same thing you struggled with
• The person who needed to hear exactly what you wrote today
• The reader who found you through Google and has no idea who your ex is

Write for them and not for the people you're afraid of.

Your ex doesn't get to dictate what you create. Your old boss doesn't get editorial control. Your judgmental family member doesn't get veto power.

You're the writer and you decide what gets published.

The Fear Doesn't Go Away - You Just Get Better at Ignoring It

I'm still afraid every time I publish. I still imagine specific people reading specific articles and having specific judgments.

The difference is I don't let that fear stop me anymore. I feel it, I acknowledge it, and then I publish anyway.

Because the alternative - staying silent to protect myself from potential judgment - costs me more than the actual judgment ever would.

Write your truth. Change identifying details if you need to. Protect people's privacy when it matters.

But don't let the fear of someone specific reading your work keep you from sharing it with everyone else. They're probably not reading it anyway. And if they are? That's their problem, not yours.

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I write about the emotional and practical reality of being a writer - drafting, doubt, discipline, and publishing while still figuring it out.

Mostly for people who write because they have to, need to, want to | https://linktr.ee/ellenfranceswrites