I Posted My Personal Writing on LinkedIn. Then Panicked.

Redundancy Diaries #4 - turns out posting personal writing on LinkedIn doesn’t cause instant career ruin

A few weeks ago, I posted something on LinkedIn that felt deeply unwise: I added links to my personal writing. Yep, right there on my job-hunting post, I dropped my Substack. You know, the place where I write about feelings and the fact that I most definitely don’t have my sh** together. Most of my 700+ connections are in corporate jobs. It felt very un-corporate, and very unhinged.

What followed was a chaotic mix of shame, panic, and, surprisingly… pride.

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It might sound small to some people, but it was pretty major for me.

I’d started a post saying that I’m looking for a job (as a Strategist by the way, in Marketing, Digital Experience, and Tech). But instead of sticking to the usual basic spiel, I was all like “and I love writing!!! Check it out here!!!”.

Even typing that makes me cringe a little.
Like, why would I think that adding links to my personal Substack was ok on a professional network, where people only know me as one thing?
It felt deeply unprofessional. I’d written about sad friendships, self-worth, not having it all figured out.

But I was just… done. Done with presenting the most hireable version of myself.

Hey I’m Imi! I’m an enthusiastic, dynamic strategist! I’m passionate about the intersection of tech and brands. Looking for a fast-paced environment.

The truth? I was sick of performing. I’d spent months tweaking my CV, rewriting my bio, having proactive chats, trying to mimic lists of the “top strategist portfolios.”
I just snapped.

I thought:
What the hell.
I love writing. I’m good at it. I write about stuff that matters to me. I want to do more of it. So why am I hiding it?

I hit publish. Then I panicked. Then I ran away.

A few weeks later, I checked the stats: around 43 people had clicked the link.

Not loads. But enough to make my stomach lurch.
Oh God. They’ve seen my post titles. They know I write personal stuff.
What if they read that piece around being sad about friendships. What if they realise I don’t have my life figured out? Ok, now they definitely know I was made redundant.

This is a disaster, I thought. The shame and embarrassment swept over me.

But later that day, a slow shift started to happen. My panic was gradually taken over by curiosity.
Wait a second... 43 people clicked. That’s kind of wild. Kind of terrifying. But also kind of brilliant?

For anyone to click it shows they were curious, intrigued.
I’m kind of on board with that.

And yes, maybe some thought I was unprofessional. Or weird.
But you know what? I am kind of weird. And I like that.

And the idea that someone out there read a piece and it made them laugh, or feel less alone, or experience a different perspective, or just distracted them from their workday? That gives me this manic little grin when I think about it.

Because here’s the thing:
I didn’t realise it at the time, but sharing that link showed a shift in me.
Not a big, dramatic shift but a slow, gradual one.

It appears that the girl (me), who was terrified of embarrassment and being judged, had actually started putting herself out there, and exposing herself to potentially very embarrassing situations.

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To summarise: I’ve started showing up as me.

Some people might roll their eyes. For goodness sake, not more of this authenticity rubbish. And to them I say: perhaps my friend, you’ve never had 5,000 spiralling thoughts before breakfast. Good for you. Must be nice, eh?

For me, showing up has looked like:

Not hiding how sensitive I am to the world
Letting go of buzzwords I thought I had to use to get a job
Not thinking I need to copy other people because I’m not good enough as I am
Not applying to jobs that don’t feel right, even if the pay is good
Not hiding that I love writing, creating, being the ideas person

This mindset is wildly different to who I was in my twenties, you see. The corporate world drew me in, the promotions, the reasonable money, the stability. I fell into the safety of it all. It was familiar, and I didn’t want to leave.

But I wasn’t quite myself.

I stayed in roles where I barely spoke in meetings, let others come up with the ideas. I quietly avoided anything that might require me to try something creative.

I never called myself creative.
I never thought I was smart enough to be the expert.
I hid in the moulds of job titles, in roles that made me feel useful but not alive.

It wasn’t all bad—I worked with great teams and had some brilliant moments. But after nearly a decade of trying to fit in, redundancy smashed through the whole performance.

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But honestly, I don’t think we should have to hide the things we love, or the parts of ourselves that make us human, just to seem more employable.
The moulds we try to squeeze into? Half the time they weren’t made for us anyway.
Maybe showing up as yourself isn’t the risky move. Maybe it’s the start of something better.

So good for me for putting myself out there. It may be small to others but it was big to me, and I can’t believe I did it.

And now I think: okay, that was kind of terrifying but fun.
What’s next?
What other terrifying things can I do?

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This is number 4 in my Redundancy Diaries, where I reflect on the highs and lows of losing your job, wanting to change careers but not sure what to, and generally not knowing what the heck you’re doing 99% of the time. It’s been a wild journey so far have a read here for the whole series!