Is Blogging Dead? (And Why I’m Still Here Anyway)

I’ve been blogging for fifteen years.

It started under an assumed name, on a blog about my life with sarcoidosis. It wasn’t supposed to be anything big—just a way to cope, to process, to reach out into the void. But it turned out a lot of people were out there, searching for the same thing I was: connection, understanding, the comfort of knowing they weren’t alone. That blog grew into something deeply meaningful. For readers. For me.

If you’ve lived with a chronic illness, you know how isolating it can be. And if you’re a writer too, you know how writing can be both lifeline and lighthouse. That blog was both for me. I shared the ups, the spirals, the resilience, the realness. People told me it helped them. Truth is, it helped me just as much—maybe more.

But eventually, I shut it down.

There were many reasons—time being one of them—but the main reason? People suck. Or at least, some of them do. Over time, the comments shifted from thoughtful and engaging to toxic and abusive. The internet, which had once felt like a space for vulnerability and truth-telling, began to feel dangerous. And when you’re already fighting for your health and your peace of mind, opening yourself up to cruelty just isn’t worth it.

Now, I write here—on my author site. This is my only real social presence. I no longer blog under a pseudonym, and I no longer try to build a community around chronic illness. But I still blog. Not because it’s trendy or lucrative, but because writing is how I stay connected to myself. And because some of you are still out there, reading.

Blogging has changed. You’ve probably noticed it too. The blogs that used to fill my WordPress reader—so many thoughtful, raw, honest voices—have thinned out. What was once a patchwork of brilliant personal stories now feels like a marketplace. Most blogs today seem to be vehicles for selling something: a course, a brand, a dream of passive income. And so many of them are authored by people with little experience, more interested in conversion rates than conversation.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to earn a living from your words. But where did the soul go?

As a writer, I miss the craft of blogging—writing that wasn’t clickbait, that wasn’t SEO-driven, that didn’t beg me to “smash that subscribe button.” And as someone who’s lived through the messiness of chronic illness, I miss hearing from others who were simply trying to get through the day, who were brave enough to write about it in real time.

Is blogging dead?

Maybe. Or maybe the noise just got louder, drowning out the quieter voices. The honest ones. The ones like yours. The ones like mine.

But if you’re still writing—and especially if you’re writing through illness, or pain, or just the weight of everyday life—I want to say: keep going. Your voice matters. It might not get shared a thousand times, and it might not earn you a dime, but it can still be medicine—for you, and maybe for someone else too.

And if you’re still reading—thank you. That means more than you know.

Blogging isn’t dead. It’s just gone underground. And we’re still here.