My 8 rules for writing so well that people think I’m reading their minds

It is late, and I am still staring at a post that refuses to come together.

I keep moving sentences around, rewriting the opening and trying to rescue an idea that felt promising two hours ago. Now, it feels pointless.

What am I even doing?

Why the hell am I staying awake to write something that people may scroll past tomorrow without a second thought?

Maybe I should give up for tonight. Maybe I should close the laptop and read a good book, something that restores me instead of sitting here becoming more frustrated with every sentence.

And then the doubt becomes bigger than this one post.

Maybe I am not as good a writer as I thought. Maybe I have run out of useful things to say. Maybe none of this effort is leading anywhere.

I don’t just want to abandon the post.
In that moment, I want to abandon the whole thing.

You might be feeling the same. I understand that. I can feel you. That’s why I wrote this post, just to get you out of this mindset and give you practical tips.

Over the years, I have come up with eight rules that help me create posts that make readers feel as if I am reading their minds.

I don’t write from a pedestal, pretending I have everything figured out. I write about the confusion, self-doubt, false starts and moments when I want to give up, because these are the experiences my readers are having too.

When I describe my struggle, readers recognise themselves in it. They think, I thought I was the only one who felt like this. That moment of recognition creates a connection.

I am no longer simply giving them advice; I am sitting beside them, showing them that I understand.

Before I start writing, I ask myself:

What are they worrying about right now?
What question keeps circling in their mind?
What are they afraid might be true?

I don’t begin with what I want to teach. I begin with what they are already thinking.

I put their private doubts, frustrations and desires into words: Why is no one reading my work? Am I wasting my time? Maybe I’m not good enough. What if I never make this work?

When readers see their own thoughts on the page, they feel immediately understood.

They keep reading because I am not dragging them into a conversation they don’t care about. I am joining one they are already having.

People often describe the symptom because they cannot yet see the real problem underneath it.

My job as a writer is to help them recognise what is actually holding them back.

For example, you may think, I don’t know what to write about. But you don’t have an ideas problem. You have a positioning problem. You haven’t decided who you are writing for, what you want to be known for or which problem your work will help them solve. Without that clarity, every possible topic seems equally relevant and equally wrong.

When I give the problem its correct name, something clicks for the reader.

They finally understand why all their previous efforts haven’t worked. That is when they think, She has put into words exactly what I have been experiencing.

I don’t simply write, You may be struggling to grow your audience. That may be true, but it is too broad to make anyone feel deeply understood.

Instead, I describe the moment they publish a post they spent five hours writing, check the statistics ten minutes later, and find that only three people have opened it.

I describe them refreshing the page throughout the day, hoping the numbers will change, while watching someone else’s hurried post receive hundreds of likes and comments.

Specific moments make a problem feel real. The reader can see themselves sitting at that desk, staring at those disappointing numbers. They stop thinking, This article might be for someone like me, and start thinking, This woman has been watching my life.

Many writers say they want to share their ideas, help people and make an impact. But underneath that noble ambition, they also want attention.

They want recognition.

They want people to admire their work, pay for their knowledge and see them as someone worth listening to.

Most are uncomfortable saying that aloud.

I have admitted this in my own writing. I have written about spending years publishing on Substack without understanding positioning. I wasn’t writing only for the joy of writing. I wanted people to read my work, subscribe, respond and eventually buy from me and it hurt when they didn’t. I also admitted that writing more wasn’t solving the problem because readers couldn’t tell what I stood for.

When I confess the ambition, disappointment or jealousy hiding beneath the respectable explanation, readers recognise their own secret thoughts.

They may never have said, I don’t just want to write; I want to be noticed, but when I say it for them, they feel relieved rather than judged. That honesty is what makes them trust me.

My readers don’t sit at their desks thinking, I need to optimise my content strategy and strengthen my audience-conversion pathway.

They think, I don’t know what to write. Nobody is reading my posts. Why aren’t people subscribing? How do I make money from this?

Those are the words I use because those are the words already running through their minds. I collect them from comments, emails, coaching calls and conversations.

When readers tell me they feel invisible, confused, overwhelmed or unsure what they should be known for, I don’t translate their words into business jargon. I give those words back to them.

Clear language makes people feel understood. Clever language often makes them feel that I am trying to prove how much I know.

I don’t want readers to admire my vocabulary; I want them to recognise their own experience, understand my message and know what to do next.

My readers often arrive with a tangled collection of problems: they don’t know what to write, their audience isn’t growing, nobody remembers what they do, and they have no idea how to make money from their work.

Everything feels disconnected and overwhelming.

I help them see the thread connecting those problems. For example: You don’t need more content ideas. You need a clear position. Once you know who you are helping, which problem you solve and what outcome you help them achieve, you know what to write about.

Your readers understand why they should follow you, and your paid offer becomes much easier to create.

People feel that I am reading their minds because I organise thoughts they haven’t been able to organise themselves. I take the mess inside their heads, give it a simple explanation and show them the next step.

Clarity makes them feel understood, but it also makes them feel capable of moving forward.

Naming their pain is important, but I don’t want to leave them trapped inside it. If I describe their struggle perfectly but offer no way forward, they may feel understood, but they will also feel discouraged.

I show them that their problem is solvable. If nobody is reading their posts, it doesn’t mean they are a bad writer. They may simply need clearer positioning, a stronger opening or a more specific problem to write about. That gives them something practical to change instead of another reason to doubt themselves.

The best writing creates two moments of recognition: That is exactly how I feel, followed by, Now I know what to do.

When readers experience both, they don’t just finish the post. They remember it, act on it and often reach out because they trust me to help them take the next step.

When people tell me, “It feels as if you are reading my mind,” it isn’t because I have discovered some mysterious writing talent. It is because I pay attention to what they say, what they avoid saying and what they may not yet know how to put into words.

Good writing is not about sounding clever. It is about making the reader feel recognised.

I share my struggles, enter the conversation inside their head, describe the moments they are living through and name the real problem beneath their frustration. Then I give them the clarity and hope to move forward.

The next time you sit down to write and nothing comes together, stop asking, What impressive thing can I say? Ask instead: What is my reader feeling right now—and how can I help them feel less alone?

Start there.

That is how you write something that makes people pause and think, How did she know?

That’s all from me today.

As always, thanks for reading.