TheQuilled

I’ve spent years talking myself out of this moment, convincing myself that I wasn’t ready yet. That there’d be a better time, a clearer voice, a more confident version of me who would finally know how to begin. But here I am, beginning anyway, because there’s no perfect time. There never was. Just the ache of wanting to share, and the louder silence of holding everything in for too long.

For the longest time, I told myself that silence was safety. That if I stayed quiet, no one could reject what I hadn’t offered. I built an archive of unfinished beginnings: stories left in drafts, paragraphs waiting to be edited “just one more time,” a blog designed and redesigned but never published.

Each time I came close, I’d retreat, whispering the same old line “Not yet.” I told myself I was waiting for growth, for excellence, for timing, but really, I was afraid of indifference. Because it’s one thing for people to laugh at what you do (at least laughter is a sound). What I feared most was the quiet that comes when no one looks your way.

Still, something in me refused to go silent completely. Even when I wasn’t posting, I was writing. I was scribbling notes in the dark, piecing together thoughts that might one day see light. And every time I shared something with friends, they’d say, “This needs to be out there. I’d be one of your readers. When are we publishing the blog?” They’d look at me with that kind of belief that both warmed and terrified me.

But belief means nothing if it never becomes motion.

So, here I am. Not because I’m fearless, but because I’ve grown tired of fear deciding what gets to live. I’ve grown tired of waiting for the world to make space for me before I take my seat. Now, I’m choosing to write anyway. Not for applause, not for recognition, but because these words deserve air. Because even if no one reads them, they will exist. And sometimes, existence is enough.

This is where I reintroduce myself.

I am Quillove, the voice behind The Quilled. …the written story of us.
This is where I write, You read, and somehow, between the words, We become. We see ourselves living, breathing, feeling with the characters I bring to life. It’s the space where stories stop being mine and start becoming ours.

Every word here is meant to reach you. To the dreamer, the overthinker, the almost-brave heart who has held too much inside. Every story here is stitched with truth, the kind that keeps you reading because it sounds a little like your own heartbeat. And every post is a reminder that you’re not alone in the wondering and the trying.

So, welcome – not to a grand beginning, but to a becoming. Welcome to the middle of my story, where fear still lingers but doesn’t lead and where silence no longer means hiding, but breathing. Maybe you’ll find yourself here or maybe you’ll just linger for a while. Either way, I’m grateful you stopped by.

Because finally *whew* after all the waiting, doubting, deleting, procrastinating and starting again, I AM HERE.