3 Stages of Finding Your Circle
The Raw Truth About Writing Alone
There’s something terrifying about sharing a song before it’s polished. It’s not just because it might be rough around the edges, but because it’s you on the page. The lyrics you wrote on your bedroom floor at 2AM. The melody that came out of nowhere but somehow holds every feeling you couldn’t explain. There’s a reason it feels like a small risk every time you hit play in front of someone else. Songwriting is personal. That’s part of its magic. But it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking it’s supposed to be a solo act from start to finish. In reality, most songs take shape not just in solitude, but in dialogue. Not in polished performance, but in the quiet courage of showing something before it’s done.Still, not every space is built for that kind of rawness. There’s a difference between a room full of people and a space where you feel genuinely heard. Some feedback makes you feel more like yourself. Some make you question your voice entirely. And over time, you start to notice the difference.
There’s something terrifying about sharing a song before it’s polished. It’s not just because it might be rough around the edges, but because it’s you on the page. The lyrics you wrote on your bedroom floor at 2AM. The melody that came out of nowhere but somehow holds every feeling you couldn’t explain. There’s a reason it feels like a small risk every time you hit play in front of someone else. Songwriting is personal. That’s part of its magic. But it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking it’s supposed to be a solo act from start to finish. In reality, most songs take shape not just in solitude, but in dialogue. Not in polished performance, but in the quiet courage of showing something before it’s done.Still, not every space is built for that kind of rawness. There’s a difference between a room full of people and a space where you feel genuinely heard. Some feedback makes you feel more like yourself. Some make you question your voice entirely. And over time, you start to notice the difference.
There’s a kind of relief that comes when you find or slowly gather the right circle. The ones who can sit with your half-finished line and ask questions instead of offering fixes. Who don’t expect perfection, but who still take the work seriously.
Who know that feedback doesn’t have to mean tearing something apart. Sometimes it’s just noticing what’s already glowing. It’s not always easy to be the one sharing first. Especially when the song is still finding its shape. There’s a kind of bravery in saying that you don’t know what this is yet, but still putting it out for someone else to hear. That moment of opening the door a crack can be the difference between staying stuck and suddenly seeing the song in a whole new way. And when the feedback comes, it can land a hundred different ways. Sometimes it’s clarifying. Sometimes it stings a little. Sometimes it just sits with you for a few days before something clicks. It helps to have people who ask thoughtful questions; those who don’t try to turn your song into their song. When you find them, they understand that the goal isn’t to impress or fix, but to reflect something back that maybe you couldn’t quite see on your own.
There’s also something sacred about being on the listening end. In another’s early draft, offering reflections that honor their voice instead of rewriting it reflect back what you would want. You start to realize that being part of someone’s creative process without ego teaches you more about your own work. It’s okay that not every space will feel like that. The right circles tend to form slowly, sometimes unexpectedly. Through late-night texts with other writers, through workshops where the vibe just feels right, through that one friend who always gets what you’re trying to say as you stumble over your words.
At the end of the day, the most meaningful creative feedback isn’t about critique. It’s about care. It’s about making room for someone to show up as they are, and helping them stay close to the heart of what they’re making. It’s about trust. And patience. And the quiet kind of encouragement that doesn’t rush you forward but walks beside you as you figure it out.
If you’ve been writing in your own bubble, there might be a part of you wondering what it would be like to let someone in, showing up and asking questions. All we need is one person who listens carefully and brings perspective. Songwriting is personal but it doesn’t have to be solitary. Our unfinished work doesn’t make us any less of an artist. If anything, the messy pieces we must puzzle together is the most honest we can ever be.
At the end of the day, the most meaningful creative feedback isn’t about critique. It’s about care. It’s about making room for someone to show up as they are, and helping them stay close to the heart of what they’re making. It’s about trust. And patience. And the quiet kind of encouragement that doesn’t rush you forward but walks beside you as you figure it out.
If you’ve been writing in your own bubble, there might be a part of you wondering what it would be like to let someone in, showing up and asking questions. All we need is one person who listens carefully and brings perspective. Songwriting is personal but it doesn’t have to be solitary. Our unfinished work doesn’t make us any less of an artist. If anything, the messy pieces we must puzzle together is the most honest we can ever be.
