There are days when writing feels like shouting into a beautifully designed void.
This is one of those days.
The Brooled Blog exists. It has articles. It has structure. It has thought, care, research, and time poured into it. What it does not seem to have is an audience that reacts. No likes. No comments. No shares. Just silence, sitting politely at the bottom of each post like an empty chair at a dinner table.
And honestly, it is frustrating.
I spend hours researching topics. I read, compare sources, think through angles, and try to write something that is clear, useful, or at least thoughtful. I edit. I tweak. I publish. And then… nothing. The post goes live, and the internet collectively shrugs. It starts to feel like I am writing notes and quietly sliding them into bottles that never reach shore.
When you create a blog, you imagine a conversation. Someone reads, nods, disagrees, reacts, or at least taps a heart icon. Instead, Brooled often feels like a monologue delivered to an empty room. No feedback loop. No signal that anyone is on the other side of the screen. Just me, my keyboard, and analytics that whisper instead of speak.
It makes you question things.
Am I boring?
Are the topics wrong?
Is the writing bad?
Does no one care, or am I simply invisible?
The hardest part is not the lack of applause. It is the lack of response. Even criticism would feel like proof of life. Silence feels like indifference, and indifference cuts deeper than disagreement. When no one comments, it feels as if the work dissolves the moment it is published, like ink dropped into water.
There is also a strange loneliness in caring deeply about something that no one else seems to notice. Brooled is not a content farm or a rushed side project. It is something I think about. Something I try to do well. Something I invest time and mental energy into. When that effort disappears into the void, the temptation to stop becomes very real.
Why keep going if no one is reading?
Why keep writing if no one responds?
Some days, it feels like I am doing this entirely for myself. And maybe that is the uncomfortable truth sitting underneath all this frustration. Brooled might not be a conversation yet. It might be a journal disguised as a blog. A place where I process ideas, test thoughts, and put words to things that would otherwise stay vague in my head.
That is not what I originally imagined. I wanted connection. I wanted exchange. I wanted community, or at least a handful of familiar names popping up in the comments. Instead, I got quiet. A lot of it.
But here is the part I cannot ignore.
Even if no one reacts, I am learning.
Every post teaches me something. I learn how to research better. How to structure ideas. How to explain things more clearly. I learn what interests me enough to write about without external validation. I learn patience, which I would prefer to learn in smaller doses, but here we are.
There is value in that, even if it does not come with likes or shares attached.
Writing for Brooled forces me to slow down and think properly. It makes me articulate ideas instead of letting them float half-formed in my head. It gives shape to curiosity. It sharpens skills that only improve through repetition. Even on days when the silence feels heavy, the act of writing still leaves something behind in me.
That does not erase the frustration. I still wish people would comment. I still wish someone would say, “This helped,” or “I disagree,” or even “I read this.” I still feel discouraged when a post gets published and disappears without a trace. Pretending otherwise would be dishonest.
But maybe Brooled is in a season where the work matters more than the response.
Maybe this blog is currently a workshop rather than a stage. A place where I build, practice, and refine, even if the audience has not arrived yet. Or maybe the audience is smaller than I hoped, quieter than I expected, and engaging in ways I cannot see.
Or maybe, for now, Brooled exists simply because I need it to.
That might not be a glamorous reason to keep going, but it is a real one.
So yes, I am frustrated. I am tired of the silence. I am discouraged by the lack of interaction. But I am also still here, still writing, still learning. And until I decide otherwise, Brooled will keep existing, even if it feels like I am its most loyal reader.
If nothing else, this blog proves that I showed up. That I did the work. That I learned something along the way.
And maybe, one day, someone will read this and recognise themselves in the frustration. Maybe they will comment. Or maybe they will just read quietly and move on.
Either way, the words will be here.
About the Author of this Blog
