So there I was, staring at my blog analytics like they held the secrets of the universe. Two views. That’s it. Two whole people had read my latest post about mindfulness and career transitions.
I knew exactly who they were too. One was definitely my mum (the comment about how proud she was kind of gave it away), and the other was probably my mate who I’d texted the link to after a few beers.
Not exactly the viral sensation I’d imagined when I hit publish, right?
If you’re reading this, chances are you’ve been there. Maybe you’re there right now, wondering if it’s even worth continuing when your readership could fit in a Mini Cooper. Trust me, I get it. The early days of blogging can feel like shouting into the void, except the void occasionally texts you back to say you forgot a comma.
But here’s what I’ve learned after years of writing: those two readers might just be the best thing that ever happened to your blog.
Why small beginnings are actually a gift
Think about it. When you’re writing for two people (even if one of them changed your diapers), you’ve got the perfect testing ground. No pressure, no judgment from strangers, just you figuring out your voice.
I remember those early posts where I tried to sound like some academic professor, throwing around jargon like confetti. My mum’s confused emoji responses taught me more about clear writing than any course could have. When your readership is tiny, every piece of feedback is gold.
Plus, there’s something liberating about writing when nobody’s really watching. You can experiment, make mistakes, find your rhythm. It’s like learning to dance in your bedroom before hitting the club. Sure, the audience is just your reflection and maybe your cat, but you’re still moving.
Embrace the awkwardness of family readers
Let’s address the elephant in the room: having your family read your work can be weird. Really weird.
You want to be authentic and share real experiences, but you also know your mum’s going to read about that time you had an existential crisis in a supermarket. Or your brother’s going to screenshot that vulnerable post and send it to the family group chat with a laughing emoji.
But here’s a secret: Gracia Kleijnen puts it perfectly: “They don’t need to know everything, and they probably care less than you think.”
Your family’s already seen you at your worst (remember that haircut in high school?). A blog post about productivity tips isn’t going to shock them. And if you’re worried about oversharing, remember that you control the narrative. You decide what stories to tell and how deep to go.
Turn those two readers into your secret weapon
Instead of seeing your tiny readership as a failure, flip the script. Those two loyal readers? They’re your focus group, your cheerleaders, and your reality check all rolled into one.
Ask them questions. What did they think of your latest post? Was anything confusing? What would they like to read about next? My mum’s feedback in those early days was surprisingly insightful. She’d point out when I was being pretentious or when a metaphor didn’t land.
And that friend who reads your stuff? They’re probably more honest than a hundred anonymous readers would be. They’ll tell you when you’re boring, when you’re brilliant, and when you’re trying too hard.
Use this time to experiment with different topics and styles. Write that weird post about how Buddhism relates to cooking. Share that story about failing spectacularly at something. With only two readers, the stakes are beautifully low.
Focus on the craft, not the numbers
Here’s something nobody tells you: writing for two people forces you to focus on what actually matters – getting better at writing.
When you’re not obsessing over analytics, SEO, or going viral, you can concentrate on crafting sentences that sing, finding your unique voice, and actually enjoying the process. Some of my best posts came from this period when I wasn’t trying to impress anyone except maybe my mum.
I started treating writing as a daily discipline, showing up whether I felt inspired or not. Some days I’d write about big philosophical concepts I was exploring. Other days, I’d just document a simple observation from my morning run. The consistency mattered more than the topic.
In my book Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, I talk about the importance of detachment from outcomes. This principle applies perfectly to blogging. Write because you love writing, not because you’re chasing numbers.
Build momentum through consistency
You know what’s more impressive than having thousands of readers? Showing up consistently when you only have two.
Set a schedule and stick to it. Maybe it’s once a week, maybe it’s three times. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you keep publishing, keep improving, keep pushing forward even when it feels like nobody’s listening.
This consistency does two things. First, it builds your skills faster than any course or workshop could. Second, it creates a body of work. When new readers eventually find you (and they will), they’ll have a backlog of content to explore. They’ll see someone who didn’t give up when things were tough.
Remember why you started
Take a moment and think back to why you started blogging in the first place. Was it really for the fame and fortune? Or was it something else?
Maybe you wanted to share your ideas, help people, or simply have a creative outlet. Maybe you needed a space to process your thoughts or document your journey. None of these reasons require a massive audience.
Some of the most meaningful connections I’ve made through writing came from those early posts that barely anyone read. One reader reached out about a piece on mindfulness that helped them through a tough time. Another shared how a career post gave them courage to make a change. These interactions mean more than any viral post ever could.
Final words
So your blog has two readers and one of them gave birth to you. So what?
Every successful blogger started exactly where you are now. They all had their first post that nobody read, their awkward phase where they didn’t know what they were doing, their moments of doubt when they wondered if it was worth continuing.
The difference between those who make it and those who don’t isn’t talent or luck or even having a large audience from day one. It’s showing up when it’s hard, writing when nobody’s reading, and finding joy in the process itself.
Your two readers are enough. They’re enough to teach you, encourage you, and keep you accountable. They’re enough to help you find your voice and build your confidence. They’re enough to start building something meaningful.
And hey, if nothing else, at least you’re making your mum proud. That’s got to count for something, right?
Keep writing. Keep showing up. The rest will follow.
