The Living Breath of Writing: Why I Keep Blogging Every Day

The Living Breath of Writing: Why I Keep Blogging Every Day

Writing every day is not an easy task. There are times when I don’t have the time to write, and times when I simply don’t have the energy. Sometimes I even feel a deep sense of emptiness, so strong that I don’t want to write anymore — a kind of burnout. Many people give up their blogs during the first six months, when there’s little to no reaction from readers. Even after that, keeping it up consistently for more than three years is rare.

A blog is not a fancy marketplace. If you want fast results or a quick path to success, then Instagram, Shorts, YouTube, or podcasts might be better options. If you are naturally charismatic and can attract an audience after just a few appearances, those platforms can be great. There are many paths in this world. But work that depends on popularity and speed comes with tremendous pressure, stress, and risk. That’s why so many people rush in and then drop out before even reaching the halfway point. Why does this happen? It’s a matter of perseverance.

Whatever you do, what truly matters is to keep doing it — no matter what anyone says. Yet that’s easier said than done. So I decided to find joy in the process itself, and I still do. I probably always will. Over time, I stopped caring about AdSense income, compliments, or external recognition. I know I’ll keep writing and painting even without them. That’s something I understand deeply about myself.

When I first opened my blog, I wanted to achieve something with it. I envied the success stories of “power bloggers” and wanted to become one myself. But the truth is, I created my blog to have a living business card — a place to showcase my work and achievements in real time. Facebook and Instagram didn’t feel like mine; they were more like shared offices. The blog, however, was entirely my own space — a place where everything I did could accumulate in one spot. It gave me a sense of stability, of something alive — like the koi fish I often paint.
When my AdSense account was finally approved, I was thrilled. Seeing ads appear next to my writing and checking the dashboard felt exciting — almost like watching the stock market. Writing suddenly had a new kind of momentum. But blogging, I realized, is a fierce battle with oneself. I had to build my own engine, attach it to my body, and keep running. When it broke, I had to repair it myself. People asked why I bothered, why I chose such a difficult path. Sometimes I asked myself the same question.

I looked at people who don’t have blogs — those who don’t struggle with daily routines or constant deadlines. While I sit at my desk late at night or early in the morning fighting to write, they might be relaxing with a cup of coffee. I used to envy that kind of peace. I wondered, Why am I doing this to myself? But then I would remember all the things my blog has given me.
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It truly has become my living portfolio. Through it, I’ve found opportunities and confidence. I blended my identity through blogging, earned good grades in graduate school, and connected with people all over the world. I learned to deal with online scammers, manage and refine my content, improve my writing, and even publish children’s books. The blog helped me organize my thoughts and express them clearly. Most of all, I no longer need to beg for visibility or promotion on other platforms — I know that when I post something here, the world can see it.
That knowledge makes me stronger. This sense of connection to the world — perhaps that’s why I started graduate school and opened my blog in the first place. Over time, it became a channel through which I could share every struggle, joy, pain, and passion I’ve experienced as both a person and an artist. And that channel has helped others, too. When I receive a message or comment from someone saying my writing inspired or comforted them, I feel genuinely happy.
I, too, have often been guided by the words of other bloggers during difficult times. The world works in cycles like that. And so, my blog has become my life — my breath. I write every day as naturally as I breathe, and when I hit “publish,” I feel a deep sense of joy.

​Writing daily is a quiet act of perseverance. In this reflective essay, I share the struggles, burnout, and quiet rewards of blogging — how it became my living portfolio, my connection to the world, and the rhythm of my life.