How To Make Concessions When Writing Confessions

What you leave out of personal essays is as important as what you leave in

In nearly every class I teach—whether it’s at NYU, Writer’s Digest, or a private workshop—someone asks me: “How honest is too honest?” That question is usually followed by another one: “But what if my family reads it?” or “Do I have to include everything?”

These are the questions writers should be asking. But the answer is complex: Contrary to popular belief, compelling personal writing isn’t about spilling your guts—it’s about shaping your truth and your story. The strongest essays live in the space between transparency and discretion. In other words, as I said in my award-winning book Writing That Gets Noticed, to reveal but also conceal isn’t cowardice. It’s craft.

In my TEDx Talk, “How to Get Noticed in Your Writing and Beyond,” I emphasize that it isn’t about writing more—it’s about writing what matters.

What does that imply? It means that we need to stop writing for validation (I felt hurt, so I’m justified), and start writing for meaning, i.e. this is why I felt this way, and this is how I reacted and why I reacted (or didn’t).

As a longtime editor, coach and podcaster I’ve seen firsthand what happens when writers confuse confession with storytelling. They may get attention—but not the kind that elevates their careers or their lives.

Is Everything Really Content?

The author and screenwriter Nora Ephron famously said, “Everything is copy.” But is it really? We are all at a moment in time where trauma is content, where TikTok confessions and Substack diary entries reward immediacy over reflection. But here’s the truth: publishing isn’t therapy. A story isn’t powerful because it’s painful, it’s powerful because it’s been shaped…and offers insight.

When you overshare keep in mind: it isn’t the same as storytelling. Oversharing means showing your rage on the page about someone without giving context on your own situation, or revealing you have a deformity or disability without explaining why it’s important for you to reveal it. In my case, I’ve written and spoken about my hearing loss in my TEDx Talk, and how it has impacted my parenting. I didn’t do it to gain sympathy—it was connected to the story. I said in my talk: “The more I clearly write and talk about what scares, me, the less power it has to shame me.” When my former student revealed her childhood selective mutism, in an essay about Irish dancing and embracing being noticed, it was a necessary part of her storytelling.

I’ve course corrected students who wanted to write about breaking the law during the pandemic, because nobody needed that kind of scrutiny. One that sticks out in my mind is a writer who was in the middle of a separation and child custody hearing and wanted to write about wanting to wreak vengeance on their unruly children. I told her not to write about it because doing it risked permanently damaging those still-forming relationships—and could have repercussions in court.