Public Intimacy: Expression vs Exposure

Our privacy still matters.

I just saw a 19-year-old girl’s Substack with four thousand followers, with well-curated posts adorned with those much-liked cult American media snapshots, narrating her college life and understanding of love. I thought of myself when I was around her age and quietly blew a small “wow” from my lips. For sure, Gen Z is a different breed; I happen to have come a bit before them. It is interesting to see the stark difference. I still remember witnessing the camera opening of the very first iPhone while playing basketball in PE class outside. It was shocking to see a phone like that for the first time, and also shocking that my friend’s conservative family decided to purchase it for their thirteen-year-old daughter. I wasn’t allowed to have a phone with a camera for a long time, so when I saw this buttonless phone with a fancy camera, it blew my mind.

This entry isn’t necessarily what I am going to talk about, but it helps me reach something, like using a stick to get the fallen leaves out of a swimming pool before it closes for the autumn and winter season.

I have never truly wanted to be identifiable here, but a part of me wanted to be seen and recognised as well, though this comes with complications. When I started to write here, I meant it as a way to process all the emotional upheaval I went through from a literary perspective. When I saw many other women doing the same and actually creating a platform out of it, it got me excited. Seeing understanding comments beneath posts and people forming friendships made things even better. But for these connections to be established properly, I realised that you must be visible to an extent; your full name, your face. You sort of have to create a brand out of yourself. I have seen this done successfully on many occasions, often with a very well-crafted schedule.

I have a job where I am already quite exposed, with many colleagues I am in touch with regularly, as well as family and friends. The idea of exposing the very depths and details of my emotional world to this circle and beyond is deeply unsettling. I dipped my toes in first by changing my profile images endlessly, archiving and re-releasing certain posts, adding paid ones, putting my Substack link on Instagram, but not announcing it. I didn’t want to market it heavily, but I wanted it to be quietly accessible, to say, “It’s here if you are actually interested.” But up until a few months ago, I decided to archive all my rawest, most personal essays and poems I have written.

Most users here bash social media as it deserves, yet I think what you decide to release here in writing is far more exposing than many realise. I have seen many women releasing, and frankly dumping, the most intimate details of their lives, their deepest emotions. The vulnerability expressed here is above and beyond, but it makes me think. Literature and writing are being used as an escape, but in truth, it is exposure disguised as escape, a part of yourself in the wrapping paper made with years of trauma, ready to be gifted off to strangers for their quiet voyeurism.

I am in no way putting down individuals who are looking for means to express themselves. I have done the same, and I am doing it now. But I want to bring a different perspective into this conversation. I cannot help but empathise with the unveiling of one’s soul and memories, and the potential harm a woman might face as she has written down her most painful moments, how she gave her ex a blowjob on the kitchen floor, broken in pieces by not being chosen or wanted. Thousands of strangers have access to her most intimate memories, and on top of that, double more followers on Instagram. Is this level of transparency healthy? Could you call this literature or self-expression?

I see these people having good family and friend connections, as they often express, yet they seem to continue seeking comfort in strangers’ appraisals. I find it hard to understand why the very new home you have just purchased is being shared online with strangers. Or your pregnancy scans. I find it disingenuous to believe that this is now normal. Something feels very much off in witnessing people’s very private lives, unintentionally, being splashed across my feed and explore pages constantly. It is this understanding that was about to hijack my privacy and convince me into marketing it as if my life were a product to be served online.

I do not believe this is genuine self-expression or literature. I do not think it is adding intellectual value. The act of writing alone does not validate or erase the exposure vomit that we are seeing on Substack.

Indeed, we know of many poets and writers, and we do know of their lives and emotional worlds. But I must refer to earlier times; I cannot speak for this generation. You might know about the lives of Paulo Coelho or Khalil Gibran, but not like this. You sense the emotional world of Didem Madak through her poems, but not to the extent that you see a random woman with hundreds of thousands of followers trauma-bonding in the comments section. I could give many examples of fascinating women poets and writers. The ability to describe oneself and one’s emotions doesn’t depend on spelling out every physical detail or outcome. What gives writing its power is not precision of exposure but precision of feeling; events and emotions can be evoked through countless creative forms.

The healthy distance between a writer and their audience allows individuals to deepen their understanding of the meaning that is narrated in the work. The majority of the content I read here feels like I am watching an eloquent version of Big Brother. I prefer to remain semi-anonymous here. If I am in any way identifiable, it is a conscious choice to keep my most private, layered thoughts to myself. I am not interested in subscribers, and I have let go of the idea of turning my inner world into something paid or performative.

I will continue to use this space as a public notebook, but with discernment. Not everything that is written needs to be shared, and not everything that is felt needs an audience.

Writing is humanity’s utmost tool to transcend beyond time and space, so I will try my best to treat it carefully, with a sense of care and duty. My aim is to add genuine value if I am to express any thought.

That is all for now.

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