How joining an online writers collective gave me the confidence to write out loud

Why community is the secret ingredient every writer needs to thrive

Dear friends,

Today, I’m taking a short break from pummelling you with my passion for nature connection. I’d like to talk to you instead about what gave me the confidence to be writing on Substack at all.

A few months ago, I signed up to the Conscious Writers Collective—an online community of writers founded by Maya C. Popa, a poet whom I had read and loved for years. The Collective promises online classes, an impressive list of guest speakers, office hours in which to discuss the details of a writing life, workshops with live feedback on your writing and a generous feedback forum.

I had been a subscriber to Maya’s Substack for years. I even had a photo album on my phone named ‘Poetry’, where I furtively squirrelled away pictures of poems I loved. I frequently found myself sneaking away from my work desk to steal time to myself to write—writings which I hid away in note files on my phone, or in notebooks stashed in corners, in an attempt to keep them away from my work desk and, I guess, from myself.

Recently, as a result of a whole host of stuff that happened, the least horrendous of which was major abdominal surgery last November, I was forced to get myself signed off work for my health. The longer this went on, and the more space I had from this job, the more I realised how all I wanted to do was, in fact, write and play the piano, and how little I wanted to return to that job. So I quit.

(I say this glibly in that brief sentence, but please rest under no illusion; this was a very difficult decision and the result of months, if not years, of mental gymnastics. So if you too are wrestling with similar things, I do not wish to trivialise this. It’s hard, and I see you.)

I had no plan. I just knew that I needed to start building a life that gave me space and time to recover, heal and write—a life built around how I actually wanted and needed to be spending my time.

What I desperately wanted more of.

Throughout all of this, Maya’s beautiful newsletter, filled each week with poetry and the most gently encouraging tone, kept appearing in my inbox.

When the founding of the Conscious Writers Collective was announced, way back in April 2024, I remember staring at that email, feeling the pull inside me that wanted so much to join, but I ignored it. I told myself that I wasn’t a writer, so the space simply wasn’t for me.

Then, one dark, cold February night this year, a month or so before I plucked up the courage to hand in my notice at work, I found myself struggling to sleep, with a faint voice inside me wondering how I might give myself more permission to write. I rolled over at about 1am to reach for my phone and found myself flicking through Maya’s newsletter, clicking through to the CWC website and joining the waitlist for a space.

The next morning, an email appeared in my inbox announcing that spaces had opened up, and suddenly, there I was signing up, with more motivation for anything than I’d had in months. (A lot of fear too, but we do things despite this, don’t we?)

I cannot adequately express the transformation these last few months have gifted me, in no small part down to the wonderful, kind, supportive community at the Conscious Writers Collective. That week I signed up, I found myself cautiously telling a friend over coffee that I had joined an online writing collective, in a tone that suggested I’d committed some kind of minor crime. But the smile on her face made me realise just how much less surprised all my friends seemed to be about this than I was myself.

Trying to centre my writing life with a cat where my laptop should be.

It took me weeks to emerge from my little corner and post my first piece of writing for feedback. But then, I kept at it. I kept posting my writing, I kept commenting on other people’s and learning from them and this process, and I kept watching the classes, guest speaker talks and office hours on replay.

I’m based in the UK, so time difference makes it difficult for me to attend things live. This has not remotely been a problem. There has been nothing but encouragement, and zero pressure, to explore the resources at my own pace and to dabble in whatever feels most useful for me. This is exactly the kind of supportive environment I have needed to push myself ever so gently out of my comfort zone at exactly the speed I want to. There is even a burgeoning group of non-US-based writers, who organise events at times that suit us better. Plus, I’m sure for someone less introverted than me, it is completely possible to attend more things live. (Note to self: pluck up the courage to attend more things live.)

Fast-forward to a few months later, and here I am having finally started that Substack newsletter I’d had always harboured some kind of distant pipedream about.

Writing is a beautiful, rewarding, soul-nourishing thing to do with one’s time. But it is also solitary. This, of course, is a huge part of why we love it. It is also a hugely important ingredient for good writing. We need to be able to listen to ourselves to write, and for that our minds and hearts need space to breathe, meander and bubble—things that are impossible in a busy office surrounded by colleagues demanding tea breaks, meetings and a catch-up about the latest TV show.

But, as well as giving space to the voices inside us that urge us to write, this solitude also gives space to those voices that tell us not to hit the ‘publish’ button, not to send that submission in, that no one would ever want to read a single word we’ve written. It’s only in community with other writers—other human beings struggling with the same kind of internal wrestling match—that we can quieten these unhelpful voices, because in others we see only the potential and beauty of what’s been written, while the self-doubts of the author, to us, are invisible.

Don’t get me wrong, the classes at CWC, the feedback forum and the chance to ask for advice, raise questions and learn from others, have all absolutely helped improve the details of my writing, in just the way that sitting in an office next to a colleague allows for collaboration that produces better quality work. But, for me, it’s the sense of a supportive community of writers cheering each other on, willing each other to keep improving and growing in confidence, that has been the game changer.

If you hold a secret pipedream of creating more space in your life for writing, I want this game changer for you too. The community of non-fiction prose writers is growing and blossoming beautifully, so please come and be a part of it. Jump in!

BONUS: If you sign up using this link, you can jump the waitlist for spaces!

If you signed up for this newsletter purely for essays on nature connection (for which you are entirely forgiven, given my ‘About’ page), I apologise for my gander away from this theme. But it is not as tangential as you might think.

I wouldn’t be here writing about nature connection at all without the community and support that the Conscious Writers Collective has given me. So I think it’s only right that I give this beautiful network of writers their due thanks and honour them with the credit they deserve.

Tell me, what gave you the confidence and support to do a difficult thing?

Disclaimer:

The sign-up link I’ve included in this post is an affiliate link. This means that I earn a commission every time someone signs up when clicking it.

Please don’t feel that this has affected my judgement in any way. If you know me, you will know that I simply cannot argue for things I disagree with.

Maya is trying to grow the relatively new non-fiction prose community of writers, and she knows how much I am enjoying being there. This piece grew out of our discussion.

Please come and join us to prioritise your writing!

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