It started with a buzz. The screen on my old Nokia brick lit up one dim, humid morning in Hialeah, and after blowing the powdered sugar off my fingers (I had just been sneaking a pastelito from my parents' bakery case), I flipped it open. There it was: the email. My first piece of writing—a short story about a boy growing up in a Cuban-American bakery—had officially been accepted by a local magazine. My first byline. My name. In print.

My reaction? If you’ve ever sent a risky “we need to talk” message to someone and anxiously waited for their response, you know the feeling. It was a confusing cocktail of pride, panic, and, dare I say, hunger. Hungry for more pastelitos, yes. But also hungry to see what this small victory could lead to. What was it like to see my name in print for the first time? Well, let’s just say it’s the closest I’ve ever come to a rom-com slow clap moment where a whole room cheers for you—only, in my case, the bakery customers just thought I was losing my mind when I screamed in the middle of their cafecito break.

The Spark That Started It All

Before that moment, I didn’t think much about how seriously I was taking my writing. I mean, sure, I’d been scribbling stories in the margins of my algebra notebook since I had a full head of buzzed hair (thanks, Mom’s DIY “barber” phase), but part of me wondered if anything I created would resonate beyond my own kitchen table. I grew up in a house brimming with colorful stories—from glazed-over political debates to my superstitious Tía Margarita’s endless consejos about life and love. Writing felt like an extension of those moments, but I wasn’t sure anyone outside my tight-knit Cuban American bubble would care.

Then came that fateful college workshop with the professor who smelled like chai tea and knew exactly how to roast your work without making you cry in the quad. “You’ve got something raw here,” she had said about my story. “Bake it until it’s golden.” Yes, she actually said it like that. And, well…challenge accepted.

What Publishing My First Story Taught Me

Here’s the thing—they don’t warn you about the vulnerability of putting your name on something for the world to critique. It’s like trying on a bold new outfit to impress your crush: exciting, but you’re hyper-aware of every seam. Holding that magazine felt like holding my heart in my hands. Would readers connect with my characters or shrug them off like dry toast? Would anyone laugh at the part where Lázaro (loosely inspired by my abuelito) lost a domino match and cursed the table like it stole his rent money?

Spoiler: some people didn’t get it. But many others did. And here’s the magic in that—getting it out there, flaws and all, reminded me that perfection is overrated. The heart of storytelling—and honestly, connection of any kind—is authenticity. Sharing your truths brings people closer to you, even if there are typos along the way. I still think about this when my friends rant to me about first-date jitters or pre-wedding cold feet. Vulnerability is terrifying, but it’s also the only way anything real can happen.

Bearing Your Soul on Paper Is Like Being in a Relationship

Here’s a confession: writing (especially your first published piece) feels an awful lot like falling in love. The intensity. The over-analysis. Wondering, “Will they like me? Am I enough?” I mean, doesn’t that describe putting yourself into any meaningful relationship—whether it’s with another person or with your creative self?

Let’s break it down:

  • The Honeymoon Phase: Writing the piece felt good. Like, too good. The words poured out like melted butter on Cuban toast. I thought, “Wow. I’m unstoppable. I could write a whole novel tonight!” (Spoiler: I didn’t. Instead, I burned out at 2 a.m. and decided that, yes, I would eat an entire bag of plantain chips in bed.)

  • The Doubt Spiral: Submitting my story felt worse than handing someone my diary. “What was I thinking sending this out? I used the word ‘hueco’ twice in one paragraph—what if the editor hates me forever?” Sound familiar? Like when you text someone first and spend the next four hours triple-checking your tone for desperation? Yeah, that feeling.

  • The Connection Payoff: When my piece got accepted, it didn’t just feel good for me—it felt good for everyone who poured their love into me over the years. There’s nothing more validating than being seen for who you are, quirks and cultural references and all. That’s why we write, isn’t it? It’s also why we date, make friends, and build families.

Publishing something for the first time—or opening up in any way—asks you to fully show up and take a wild leap of faith. Vulnerability is the leap. And it’s still the best feeling in the world when it pays off.

Lessons for Everyone: Go Ahead, Take the Leap

You might not be a writer, but we all face opportunities to put ourselves out there. Maybe yours involves sharing your feelings with someone new, or committing to a big, intimidating choice, or even just raising your hand to claim your own voice at the table. That first byline taught me a couple of things that I think anyone, anywhere, could take into their own messy, beautiful journeys:

  1. Say yes to the risk. Whether it’s sending an article to an editor, asking someone interesting out for coffee, or starting that creative project you’ve stayed “too busy” to get to, the magic happens when you move past your doubts.

  2. Stop aiming for perfect; aim for real. Nobody connects to perfect. People relate to the awkward, the heartfelt, the crumbly pieces of you that might not fit the mold but are so utterly you.

  3. Celebrate even the smallest wins. Seriously, pop some sparkling water (or, in my case, extra café con leche) when something good happens. Life can be heavy—any reason to cheer is a good one.

The Byline, The Legacy

It’s funny to think about how it all started. That first story? It wasn’t groundbreaking by any literary standard. But it was mine. It set me on a path where storytelling became more than a hobby—it became how I connect with the world. Every word since then—whether it’s fiction, non-fiction, or these little essays about dating and relationships—has been a form of reaching out. And isn’t that what every great connection is about? Reaching for someone, saying, “Hey, I think you might get me.”

So, the next time you’re tempted to second-guess yourself or hesitate before you hit send, remember this: life’s like a good piece of pastelito dough. You won’t know how flaky and delicious it can be until you let the heat transform it. Put yourself out there. Take the leap.

Who knows? Your big byline moment—or whatever version of that exists in your own life—might just be around the corner.