You’ve told yourself the same thing for years.
I’m writing for my reader. You’re serving them. You’re thinking about their needs. You’re crafting value for their inbox. The whole exercise is framed around them - what they want, what they’ll respond to, what will help them.
This story is doing a lot of work for you. And what it’s mostly doing is hiding the fact that half the reason you’re writing at all is to avoid something inside yourself.
Not consciously. Nothing so clean. But you sit down at the keyboard, and instead of the piece that would actually cost you something to write - the honest one, the confessional one, the position you can’t retreat from - you produce another well-crafted piece “for your reader.” Something that helps them. Something you can defend as professional. Something that never once required you to confront the thing you’re actually running from.
Your reader is not a service exchange. Your reader is your alibi.
The alibi mechanism
Writing “for your reader” is one of the most respectable forms of avoidance ever invented.
You look busy. You produce visible output. You participate in something people take seriously. You have measurable metrics. Nobody can accuse you of laziness. Nobody can call it procrastination. On paper, you’re doing the exact thing a writer is supposed to do.
Meanwhile, the actual writing you were put here to do - the specific piece that would require you to say something you’ve been avoiding saying - never gets touched. It stays in a drawer marked someday. And every “helpful” piece you publish for your reader is another week you got to pretend the drawer isn’t there.
The reader-focused frame lets you extract all the identity benefits of being a writer without ever having to face what you’re avoiding on the page. That’s the trade. And it’s a bad trade - for you, mostly. Your reader is fine. They can get useful newsletters anywhere. The person losing something in this arrangement is you.
What you’re actually avoiding
It’s usually specific. It’s usually the same specific thing.
Some position you’re afraid to hold in public. Some experience you haven’t processed enough to write about. Some part of your work history that would recontextualize you if you named it. Some belief you’ve been softening for so long you’re not sure you still hold it.
The piece that would matter is almost always parked in that territory. The pieces you’ve been publishing are almost always in the other territory - the safe surrounding country where you can be useful without being located.
You’ve built a whole newsletter that reliably orbits the thing you’re avoiding without ever touching it.
Your reader is not fooled. They may not know what specifically you’re avoiding - they don’t have access to your interior. But they sense the orbit. They sense that the writing is going around something rather than through it. That’s why the pieces feel technically fine but emotionally flat. The center isn’t there.
The move
Ask yourself, honestly: what’s the piece I would write if I had complete permission and no consequences?
Not the piece you’d like to be able to write. The piece your body knows exists, that you’ve been not-writing for months or years, that would require you to say something specific you’ve been avoiding saying.
That’s the piece. It’s not for your reader. It’s for you first - because it’s the piece you owe yourself before you can honestly claim to be writing at all.
Publish it. Not to serve your reader. To stop hiding behind them.
Your reader will benefit either way. But you will only benefit if you stop using them as the cover story for a decade of not writing what you actually needed to.
P.S. The 30-Minute Writer includes an idea engine that specifically pulls from your experience, not from what’s trending - because the piece you’re avoiding usually lives inside you, not out there. Structure that surfaces the thing rather than helps you orbit it. Get it here.


Saami, this absolutely called me out in the best way possible. Your point about productive avoidance hit me like a ton of bricks. It is so easy to hide behind the excuse of serving the reader with a neat, well-crafted piece, while entirely avoiding the terrifying, messy topics we actually need to address. The idea that the reader is just an alibi to keep our most honest, high-stakes writing locked in a drawer is a brilliant and challenging perspective. Thank you for this necessary push to stop orbiting our fears, drop the cover story, and finally write the pieces that actually cost us something to put on the page.
And what are you avoiding? 😉