I Was Trained to Sound Certain. Substack Taught Me to Sound Real

The world doesn’t need another expert. It needs someone who’s still becoming—out loud.

In this rare and intimate conversation, a seasoned psychoanalyst opens the door to his dual life as both clinician and writer, revealing what it means to publish while still in process. With clinical depth and personal honesty, he explores courage not as a performance, but as a practice—one built on reflection, restraint, and the radical act of telling the truth, even when it’s unfinished. Meet

Dr. Bronce Rice

Dr. Bronce Rice

Q: Tell us a little bit about your background

Hi Magdalena, thank you for having me here. I’m pleased to have the opportunity to introduce myself to your esteemed community.

I’m a psychoanalyst and psychologist in private practice for the past 25 years. I did my psychoanalytic training at the Western New England Institute for Psychoanalysis (WNEIP) in New Haven, Connecticut, where I have taught courses on psychoanalytic theory and technique, and did my postdoctoral training at Yale University, the University of Michigan and the Detroit Psychiatric Institute.

In my clinical practice, I help individuals examine their well-being and understand their behavior patterns including their thoughts and beliefs they have about themselves and the world around them. I find we humans are creatures of habit and repetition and it’s not a question of if we are going to repeat ourselves but a question of what and why we are repeating what we are and whether or not what we repeat is good for us or not.

Q: Beyond the act of hitting "publish," what's the most courageous thing you've done as a writer on Substack?

That’s a great question, especially for me, because I feel like I’m still learning how to live the answer out here on Substack. Beyond simply hitting publish, I’d say the most courageous thing I’ve done as a writer is choosing to try to write from a place of both personal and clinical honesty without defaulting to ready made answers or universal formulas. The truth is, I’m still figuring out, and working through, the very things I’m inviting others to explore alongside me. I’m in my own therapy doing this work which gives the whole process a kind of meta quality for me.

Much of what I write invites readers to question inherited beliefs, confront internalized narratives and engage in the slow often uncomfortable process of self-exploration and reflection. It’s not always tidy, quick or a popular way to move through life. It requires a willingness to sit with nuance, explore complexity and resist the pressure to offer quick fixes in a world that often favors them over deeper less visible paths to growth.

But perhaps the bravest part has been trusting that there’s an audience not just for insight but for truth-telling that meets people where they actually are—messy, searching and still figuring it out. Just like I am trying to do.

That self-trust—to speak into that space with sincerity

has been a real act of courage for me.

In many ways, Substack has become a kind of holding space for exploration that I did not intend or understand prior. And I’d like to believe that through our shared vulnerability, curiosity and courage, it’s something we’re all trying to cultivate together here.

Q: Many people dream of writing but fear judgment or failure. What advice would you give to those who are hesitant to share their voice on Substack?

As a psychotherapist, I often remind people that fear of judgment is a deeply human response that we all experience sooner or later in our lives–bar none! Meaning, to some degree it’s normal and is there for a reason that we can come to understand in our own time and in our own quirky and personal ways.

We’re wired for belonging, and sharing our voice, especially in writing can feel like an anxiety producing experience. It taps into old fears: Will I be misunderstood, rejected or seen as not enough? That’s not just any old anxiety as it’s often tied to a nervous system response rooted in our early relational experiences.

So my advice is this: don’t wait until the fear goes away. Share anyway but do it at a pace and depth that feels manageable for you–and that will be different for all of us. Perhaps, think of writing on Substack as an explorative process that you are building out like a skill. Or maybe you can think of it less as performing and more as connecting. You don’t have to go about proving something here per se but more express something within yourself that matters. And that expression doesn’t have to be polished or figured out completely to be meaningful.

Try starting small, be real and trust that the people who are meant to resonate with your voice will find their way to it in their own good time–or not. The point is to explore being who you are here and don’t worry so much about what I or anybody else thinks. After all, we’re all just trying to figure things out in life.

Q: In your opinion, what's the most courageous thing a reader can do after engaging with your work?

In both my professional and personal experience, one of the most courageous things a reader can do after engaging with my work is to pause and genuinely ask themselves, “What here, if anything, actually applies to me?” Not in some high-minded, theoretical way but more in the quieter, lived out reality of their day-to-day life.

My hope is that my work resonates not just intellectually but in a way that invites people to sit down with themselves and begin a few honest, important conversations about how and why they’re choosing to live the way they are.

It takes real courage to reflect honestly, to question our inherited beliefs, to explore uncomfortable patterns of thought and behavior and to begin the slow, intentional process of designing a life that feels more aligned with healthy, mature and sustainable ways of being. Often, that means stepping away from familiar scripts and facing parts of ourselves we’ve long avoided—not to judge mind you, but to better understand with care and kindness.

It’s one thing to read something that resonates. It’s another to let it reshape how you think, relate and move through the world. And in a culture that constantly pulls us toward distraction and performance, turning inward with curiosity and care may be one of the bravest things we can ever do for ourselves.

Q: Vulnerability is often a key component of courage. How do you balance being vulnerable with maintaining healthy boundaries as a writer in such a public space?

As a psychotherapist, I think often about what it means to model emotional openness while still maintaining a sense of internal safety for both myself and my readers. Vulnerability, in my view, is central to courage, especially in writing that aims to be meaningful, real and capable of connecting us to the best parts of ourselves. Thus, for me, vulnerability isn’t about oversharing but more about learning to be honest without becoming uncontained.

I try to write from a place of lived experience and reflective insight rather than from raw or unprocessed emotion. If I’m still actively working through something, I’ll usually pause before sharing it publicly not to hide it but to respect its weight and complexity and often to explore it more deeply in my own therapy first. That pause is part of how I think about maintaining healthy boundaries.

I’ve also found that vulnerability, when offered with intention, not for validation or catharsis, but in service of connection, clarity and shared humanity is where the most meaningful writing tends to live. Keeping this distinction in mind helps me show up more authentically while still honoring my emotional limits.

Q: Courage often involves taking risks. What's the biggest risk you've taken in sharing your writing or building your Substack community?

I think the biggest risk, or perhaps biggest felt uncomfort, I’ve taken is sharing my work before it feels fully formed. To share it before I have a fully crystallized framework for exploring mental health in a public space. As both a clinician and a writer, there's a natural desire to wait until everything is airtight, polished and perfectly supported by theory or evidence. But over time most of us come to realize that real life, and real healing, rarely if ever happens that way.

Writing with nuance about mental and emotional health can feel especially risky in a digital world that often rewards simplicity, certainty and quick solutions. But I try to trust that depth, honesty and a willingness to think out loud in real time will resonate more meaningfully with people here on Substack even if that approach leads to a slower, but hopefully, more organic growth.

For all of us, it’s a risk to show up as someone still in process but I believe that’s where much of the spark of real life unfolds, beneath the surface of the ordinary, in the space of self-exploration and reflection.

Q: What advice would you give to other thought leaders who feel stuck or unfulfilled but are hesitant to take the leap and reinvent themselves?

I’d remind them, and myself, that feeling stuck or unfulfilled is a normal part of life—but if it lingers too long, it can be our psyche’s way of saying, “Something essential is being overlooked or outgrown.” Reinvention doesn’t always require a dramatic leap; often, it begins with a quiet, honest inventory of what no longer fits and what is quietly asking to emerge. It’s a similar kind of conversation with ourselves I referred to earlier.

As a therapist, I’ve seen that many people delay change not because they lack insight but because they fear the identity disruption that growth often requires. Reinventing ourselves requires loosening our grip on roles, stories or strategies that may have once served us well. Our ability to do this speaks to our capacity to mature especially in relation to the ways we were brought up and conditioned to survive.

So my advice would be this: start by getting curious. Curiosity is often far more helpful than rushing to be decisive. Pay attention to the parts of yourself that feel restless or unseen. Begin where the aliveness is—not where the certainty is. And trust that reinvention is less about becoming someone new and more about becoming more fully yourself—more alive within yourself, if you can find your way back to that place within you.

Q: If you could go back and tell your pre-Substack self one thing about the journey ahead, what would it be?

You’re asking some great questions, Magdalena and they really get to the heart of the process I’ve been trying to wrestle with. I’d probably say to my pre-Substack self: Trust the slower pace. Trust your voice even when it feels unfinished. And it’s okay to miss a few days or take time off just to be with yourself and your thoughts.

When I first started on Substack, I thought I needed to have everything figured out before I could share anything. Honestly, I still wrestle with that thought from time to time. But what I’ve come to learn is that real connection often comes from being willing to think out loud with care and to write from a place of curiosity and kindness not from a need to sound certain or that I have it all figured out.

This platform has reminded me that thoughtful writing, like a meaningful life, calls for a type of presence of being. A kind of openness and inner spaciousness that allows ideas to breathe as they form.

So, I’d tell my earlier self: You don’t have to rush, be perfect or package yourself up in just the right way. Just keep showing up with honesty, as best you can, and let the work evolve as you do and for God sake be kind to yourself–it matters! That’s more than enough for a type of living that suits you better. 😊

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Dr. Bronce Rice

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