I’m Sharing My Best Thoughts With Strangers

A month on Substack and I am gatekeeping the best parts of my life from the people I love most

It’s been almost a month on Substack, and I’m finally admitting something I’ve spent years dodging,

I am a writer.

I treated writing as a ghost skill, something I possessed but never permitted to be a part of my identity. But it’s not just a skill I happen to have, it’s a hobby I actually love.

Recently, I started journaling, and it felt like a dam broke, it triggered a landslide. Watching my own thoughts spill onto the page was like meeting a twin I didn’t know I had, a shock even to me.

Since then, I’ve filled two entire journals with raw, unfiltered thoughts I didn’t know I was carrying. But here’s the thing, nobody in my real life knows I write. Not my family, not my closest friends, not even the people I share meals with know that I spend my nights translating the universe into sentences.

Only one friend knows, the one who recommended this app and even then, it took weeks of courage before I dared to send her my username.

She said “To be free is to be cringe”

I’m learning to live by that. Choosing honesty over polish, expression over restraint, and allowing myself to exist without shrinking.

I’m not embarrassed by my writing, I’m very good at it. I love the fact that strangers are reading this right now. But showing it to people who know me in the flesh? That makes me feel “socially naked.”

It’s almost like I don’t want them to see this expressive side of me. I’m proud of my work yet I struggle from the emotional vulnerability that comes from being seen in new perspectives.

Even when I’m home for the holidays, if someone walks into the room while I’m journaling, I’ll quickly pivot. I’ll pretend I’m studying or working on something “technical” for my job, rather than just admitting I’m a man with big thoughts.

I know they won’t cringe or judge if they read my work, I’m an amazing writer. I’m almost certain they’d be pleased at how brilliant I articulate my thoughts. But admitting to this expressive, in-tuned side feels like revealing a secret room in a house they’ve lived in for decades.

It’s the same way I gatekeep my spiritual life. My circle doesn’t know I’ve had an awakening. They don’t know I’m a strong believer and practitioner of manifestation and the laws of the universe, that I study energy, frequency, and the deeper philosophies of life. Even my mother doesn’t know that I’m a born again Christian or that I pray for long hours almost every day, read my Bible, attend church on Sundays, or that some of my favorite music is Christian worship songs. They don’t know that this is the closest I’ve ever been to God, and I’ve been building and maintaining this relationship with him for almost a year now.

I hoard parts of my life and I’m not entirely sure why, but it feels good sometimes to keep my hidden gems to myself. I’m very in touch with my feelings and in harmony with my emotions but a lot of times I don’t know how to show people this empathetic part of myself. I used to blame it on subtle toxic masculinity, but it’s more complex than that, I’m not that kind of guy.

It’s even harder with family. With strangers, I can be vulnerable to a point, but with people I truly care about, I struggle.

I don’t live with my family full time so I only come home for holidays. I try to bridge the gap, when I’m away, I’m sweet and empathetic, over calls and texts I’m caring, present, and we feel close. But once I’m back home, it’s like a switch flips. I retreat into my room, isolate myself, and that affectionate version of me disappears.

We even joke about it, how I seem like two different people. The me they see when I’m away isn’t the me they live with at home. I am two men living in one skin, taking baby steps toward a bridge that hasn’t been built yet. But the relationship is good, I’ve been blessed with the sweetest family.

The irony of my life is that I am an engineer by trade and tech guy by choice. My professional world is built on cold logic and literal structures. But I have never felt more alive than when I am sitting across from a glowing screen at 2:00 AM, researching and sharing thoughts for no reward other than the pure love of the craft.

When I first joined Substack, I went by “Diary of a Tall Man” It was a shield, a way to test the water without getting my face wet.

But anonymity is a small desire. I have realized that purpose should never be hidden or unpursued.

As the saying goes,

“You will become as small as your controlling desire and as great as your dominant aspiration.”

Today, I am putting down the shield.

I am Alex Jacks.

I am a writer, a thinker, and a creator.

We live in a culture fluent in critique. We analyze and compare until our softness feels like a weakness. We are taught that if a hobby isn’t monetized, if you’re not getting paid for it, it isn’t worth the time. But I am learning that doing things for the simple sake of the heart is the only way to stay human.

You can write without a paycheck. You can create to satisfy a craving in your chest. I believe that if you love the work, the world will eventually find a way to reward it but that isn’t the point.

Life is meant to be enjoyed, not just sold. You are not a product to be marketed - you are a creator meant to be heard.