Ten Years of My Writing On Instagram Journey (30th December 2015 – forever)

On 30th December 2015, I posted something on Instagram without a plan.

No strategy.
No niche.
No idea what I was building.

I only knew this: I felt a nudge to put words on a picture and share it somewhere that felt alive.

Instagram, back then, was loud with photographs. Perfect angles. Food. Travel. Faces. Smiles. Filters. It wasn’t really a place for writing. At least not the kind of writing that spills quietly from your chest and doesn’t ask for attention.

And I was shy about that.

I remember hesitating before posting words on a photo-heavy platform, wondering if people would scroll past, wondering if it was silly to use Instagram like a diary, wondering if I should keep my writing to myself.

But I posted anyway.

Because sometimes the need to express is louder than the fear of being seen.

At that time, I had no idea about Insta poets. I didn’t know there was a whole world of people using captions as poems, images as vessels, and Instagram as a home for words that didn’t fit anywhere else.

I was just posting. Aimlessly. Honestly. Softly.
Because something inside me wanted to speak.

And then, slowly, something magical happened.

I found people who spoke my language.

People who felt deeply.
People who read captions twice.
People who stayed.

Instagram stopped feeling like a stage and started feeling like a room. A shared space where words could breathe. Where vulnerability wasn’t strange. Where creativity didn’t need permission.

Over time, posting turned into practice.
Practice turned into confidence.
Confidence turned into identity.

Instagram gave me something I didn’t even know I was searching for.

It gave me a name.

Meetlife240.

What started as a username slowly became a mirror. A place where I could see myself more clearly. A space that held my evolution. My softness. My chaos. My becoming.

Through this platform, I found opportunities I never imagined while typing captions late at night.

I got incredible brand collaborations.
I published books.
I turned thoughts into products.
I turned feelings into work.

But more than anything, I found myself.

I learned that my words mattered.
That my voice didn’t need to shout to be heard.
That writing didn’t have to look a certain way to be valid.

Instagram didn’t just give me reach.
It gave me reassurance.

Reassurance that the quiet urge to write wasn’t random. That the discomfort of sharing words in a visual world was actually courage in disguise. That showing up imperfectly is how identity forms.

Ten years later, I look back at that first post with so much tenderness.

She didn’t know what she was doing.
She didn’t know where this would lead.
She only knew that holding words inside felt heavier than releasing them.

And that was enough.

If there’s one thing this decade of posting has taught me, it’s this:

You don’t need clarity to begin.
You don’t need permission to create.
You don’t need an audience to be a writer.

Sometimes, all you need is a picture, a few honest words, and the courage to post anyway.

Thank you, Instagram, for holding my journey.
Thank you, Meetlife240, for becoming more than a handle.
And thank you to every person who ever paused, read, and felt something.

This was never just about content.
It was about becoming.

And I’m still writing.