I used to think my voice as a non-fiction writer needed to sound like the authors I admired. Professional. Polished. Put-together. The kind of person who had their life figured out before they dared to teach anyone else.
Then I realized something: the teachers and writers who changed my life weren’t the ones with perfect credentials—they were the ones brave enough to write from the trenches.
If you’re a non-fiction writer—whether you’re crafting devotionals, teaching business principles, sharing life lessons, or offering practical wisdom—your voice isn’t something you need to create. It’s something you need to uncover.
The Authority Paradox
Here’s the tension every non-fiction writer faces: readers need to trust you know what you’re talking about, but they also need to see themselves in your story.
Too much authority without vulnerability sounds preachy. Too much vulnerability without authority feels like complaining. The sweet spot? Writing from the place of “I’m three steps ahead of you on this path, and I’m turning around to extend my hand.”
You don’t need to have arrived at perfection to offer guidance. You just need to be honest about where you are, where you’ve been, and what you’ve learned along the way.
Your Life as Your Curriculum
Every experience you’ve had—the good, the messy, and the downright painful—has shaped your perspective in ways no one else can replicate.
That neurodivergent brain you’ve spent years learning to work with? Someone needs to hear how you built systems that actually stick. Those years navigating a difficult season while clinging to your faith? Someone is in that season right now, desperate for hope from someone who understands. The business you built from scratch while everyone told you it wouldn’t work? Someone needs permission to try their unconventional idea.
Your unique combination of experiences, perspectives, and hard-won wisdom is your teaching credential. Not despite the messy parts—because of them.
Discovering Your Authentic Perspective
Your voice in non-fiction emerges from three essential elements working together to create something that can only come from you.
Your Lens on the World
How do you naturally see and interpret life? Some people notice patterns and systems everywhere they look. Others are drawn to stories and metaphors that illuminate truth. Some think in frameworks and step-by-step processes, while others are moved by beauty and emotion first, logic second.
Your natural way of processing information shapes how you teach. A systems-thinker will write differently from a storyteller. An analytical mind will offer different insights than an intuitive one. Neither is better—they’re just different.
Pay attention to how you explain things in conversation. The metaphors you use, the examples you reach for, the way you break down complex ideas—that’s your voice trying to emerge. When someone asks you a question, do you immediately think of a story to illustrate your point? Do you start organizing principles into numbered steps? Do you paint a picture with sensory details? That’s your lens at work, and it’s exactly how you should be writing.
Your Hard-Won Wisdom
What have you learned the hard way? What battles have you fought that left you stronger, wiser, or more equipped? The things you had to figure out through trial and error—those are your most valuable teachings. Because you understand not just the “what” but the “why it’s hard” and “here’s what actually works.”
This is where vulnerability becomes your authority. When you can say, “I tried this seventeen different ways before I figured it out,” you’re not diminishing your expertise—you’re proving it. You’ve done the work. You’ve paid the tuition of experience. That’s worth more than a hundred theoretical frameworks that look good on paper but crumble in real life.
Your Values and Convictions
What do you believe deeply enough to build your writing around? Your core values will show up in everything you write, even when you’re not explicitly talking about them. They shape what you notice, what bothers you, what excites you, and what you feel compelled to address.
For me, it’s the intersection of faith, creativity, and neurodivergence. I can’t write about productivity without acknowledging executive dysfunction. I can’t write about creativity without talking about calling. I can’t write about business without considering sabbath rest. Your values aren’t limitations—they’re the filter that makes your perspective unique.
The Vulnerability/Authority Balance
The hardest part of finding your non-fiction voice is figuring out how much to share. Share too little and you sound distant, theoretical, or like you’re reading from a textbook. Share too much and your teaching gets lost in your story, or worse, it feels like you’re processing your trauma on the page instead of offering wisdom from the other side.
Here’s my guideline: Share from scars, not open wounds.
If you’re still in the thick of a struggle, that’s probably not the time to write the definitive guide about it. But once you’ve gained distance, perspective, and hard-won insights? That’s when your story becomes a teaching tool. Before you share something vulnerable, ask yourself whether you’ve processed it enough to offer perspective rather than just pain. Can you see what you learned from this experience? Are you writing to help others or to vent? Would you be comfortable with a stranger reading this in five years?
Vulnerability in non-fiction writing isn’t about oversharing—it’s about strategic transparency that serves your reader’s growth, not just your need to be seen.
Your Teaching Style Will Emerge
When you first start writing non-fiction, you might try on different teaching styles like trying on clothes at a thrift store. Some will fit. Most won’t.
Maybe you start by imitating a writer you admire, only to realize their voice feels stiff and formal in your mouth. Or maybe you try to be funny and casual, but it comes across as trying too hard. That’s normal. That’s part of the process.
Your authentic teaching voice emerges through practice and permission. Permission to sound like yourself in conversation. Permission to use the metaphors that make sense to you. Permission to structure content the way your brain naturally organizes it. Permission to be the teacher you needed, not the teacher you think you should be.
I write like I talk to my friends over coffee—with tangents, with personal stories, with questions that don’t always have neat answers. That works for me and my readers. It might not work for you. And that’s exactly the point.
Practical Exercise: Uncover Your Voice
Here’s a three-part exercise that will help you discover what your natural teaching voice sounds like:
First, audio record yourself explaining your topic to a friend. Don’t write anything first. Just talk naturally about what you want to teach. Listen back and notice what phrases you use repeatedly, what metaphors come naturally, how you structure explanations, and where your energy rises. That recording will reveal more about your authentic voice than any amount of trying to sound “professional.”
Second, write three paragraphs about your topic in three different styles: as if you’re writing to your best friend, as if you’re teaching a college class, and as if you’re writing a letter to your younger self. Which one feels most natural? Which one would you actually want to read? That’s probably where your voice lives.
Third, identify your “teaching from” statements. Complete these sentences: I teach about [topic] from the perspective of [your unique lens]. My life experiences with [specific struggles or wins] shape how I understand [topic]. I write for [specific reader] who is in [specific situation] and needs [specific encouragement or strategy]. The clearer you are on these, the more confidently your voice will emerge.
The Permission You Need
You don’t need permission to write non-fiction. But I’ll offer it anyway.
You don’t have to have it all figured out to help someone a few steps behind you. Your messy journey is more valuable than someone else’s polished arrival story. Your perspective—shaped by your unique combination of experiences, struggles, gifts, and growth—is needed.
The non-fiction landscape doesn’t need another voice trying to sound like everyone else. It needs your voice—authentic, hard-won, and brave enough to write from the trenches.
Your readers are waiting for someone who sounds like a real person who’s really lived through real things and come out the other side with real wisdom to share.
That someone is you.
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