Confessions of a Self-tortured Writer
In Search of Gumption, Again.
Morning walks in the idyllic Marin hills.
Sometimes I climb the old oak tree next to where I live and let her carry me.
Kenyan Arabica coffee from Trader Joe’s.
I brew it in a French press and work on my book. These days I’m busy rewriting my novel (Rafiki) to prepare it for….whatever is next.
Daily rejections from editors for my nonfiction book The Human Way.
Some days, the rejections break my spirit. Other days I throw my fist in the air and say:
“I’ll show you motherfuckers! You’ll regret rejecting Omar Shaker!”
Most days, though, I just sigh. And go for a walk. Or drink more coffee.
There’s deep trauma work for immigrant leaders in the yurt at Point San Pablo Harbor and at my SF clinic. Biomarker analysis. Virtual coaching. A growing team behind The Human Dash — which now covers my cost of living. (Try the assessment in the link if you're curious. Please refer people who need support while going through a life transition.)
Long, generous dinners and chats with Pilar, whom I live with. We joke that I’m her adopted son — but truly, I haven’t felt this kind of kinship and belonging since I left my family’s home in Cairo.
I miss my family.
I miss Egypt.
I miss Lamu Island in Kenya.
I miss simple places in the world where the zeitgeist is food and love — not AI, blockchain, or even Burning Man.
I am still crying for Palestine.
How Did I Get Here?
If you’ve been here from the beginning, you know I started this blog to share my work of fiction — the Rafiki Series. Many of you read the early chapters, rooted in that magical Kenyan island. This month, I’m finalizing my seventh draft and third rewrite.
Overtime I started writing more health-related stuff on inner work. In Omar Shaker’s head — it is all the same.
As a health coach, I hold space for others. I have to be scientific. Stoic.
But when I write fiction, my characters hold space for me — to be messy, manic, and un-contained. Writing Rafiki has been the most healing thing I’ve ever done.
My obsession with writing opened me to the world. I became a better listener. A better observer.
A more interested (and therefore interesting) human.
Then, as you saw, my identity began to fracture.
Divorce.
Destitution.
Dissolution.
Death of the old me.
Dun-Dun-Duuuun!
A Split in My Self
Looking at my projects and identities, it sometimes feels like I’m being crushed under a giant boulder:
The company.
The two books.
The podcast.
This blog — with its ever-changing names and identities.
I experimented wildly here over the past 4 years:
Poems about heartbreak.
Podcast interviews.
Health essays and clinical research, as a functional medicine practitioner and trauma worker.
But as I diversified… your engagement plummeted.
Ergo, I started chasing metrics.
Likes. Subscribers. Open rates. Conversion.
I began to wonder: Was I even reaching you anymore?
Was writing here still worth the effort?
In some ways, writing a novel is easier than writing a blog post — because the novel stays behind closed doors. But a post like this? It’s exposed. It’s judged.
I’ve tortured myself over how to keep finding my voice — not just to self-express, but to bring energy to everything I’m building.
Branding can be a bitch, but it forces me to keep asking myself…
Who the Hell Am I?
Do I write here as…
The thriller fiction author, obsessed with post-colonial Kenya, drug wars, tribal Giriama, the USS Missouri, and Muslim identity in diaspora?
Omar Shaker, MD, the health coach who writes about biomarkers, longevity, and burnout in Silicon Valley?
The podcast host, sharing stories about what keeps us going through heartbreak, migration, or collapse?
Every time I sit down to write, I meet all of these personas. They’re loud. They argue.
They all want to be heard.
“I always thought being a writer is like being a beaver. The beaver’s teeth itch, so it gnaws trees to keep the itch away. For me, it’s not my teeth. It’s my consciousness. Writing is how I quiet it down.”
Renown Playwright David Mamet
My Confession
To be honest:
Sometimes I wish I would die rather than figure this all out.
It’s that haunting. That exhausting.
“How about we just die?” the beaver inside whispers.
“None of this makes sense. None of it is working. Can we stop now?”
This voice has been with me for a long time.
Why are we so scared of death anyway?
These days, I just want to cry.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe it’s normal to want to cry a little…
To want to die a little…
To be shown who we are in the face of great pain.
A client of mine — an AI leader at a major tech company — recently said:
“If I stop or rest, I’m afraid my career would die.”
That’s when I realized:
The part of me that wants to die...
just wants me to rest.
So I did.
I let the company take a backseat. Gave all my energy to clients, and the novel rewrite project.
I stopped writing here.
I drank coffee. I climbed the oak tree. I cooked dinner with Pilar. I organized events.
I turned to my fictional characters to heal me, and to my real friends to celebrate me. Stopping to celebrate my journey changed me from someone trying to get somewhere, to someone who recognizes that he has already arrived.
Being witnessed by people I love in a raw and unprocessed way reminded me of why I ever started writing here.
Finding Unity
This Substack isn’t my storefront.
It’s my messy fucking kitchen.
Today, I return to that.
Welcome. Can I get you some leftover shakshouka? Maybe some roasted walnuts? How about this half-open bottle of wine?
This blog is the only place where I try to humanize myself as I experience life.
It’s where all the parts of me — the doctor, the immigrant, the artist, the failed husband, the grieving boy — come to meet.
Announcements & What’s Next
📍 This blog is returning to its original name: In Search of Gumption. Rejoice my OG reader.
Here, I’ll write reflections, personal updates, and behind-the-scenes moments from all my endeavors — fiction, health, travel, healing. You get all of me.
📕 My fiction novel will be released under a pen name: Maori Zakaria.
Not a secret — just a brand decision. Maori Zakaria will live on TikTok, where I’ll share the Rafiki writing process, my research trips to Kenya, and character explorations.Why Tiktok? Its because this is a story about coming of age and I want to reach a younger audience with it.
👨🏽⚕️ Omar Shaker, MD will be the face of The Human Recovery Lab —
my new platform for interviews, science-backed essays, and health coaching rooted in trauma-informed longevity. This will live on my official website/blog, LinkedIn, Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
But here, in this messy kitchen, it’ll just be me.
If you wish, hit that reply button and let me know how life has been for you.
If you’re writing here on Substack, I’d love to know what your publication is about.
Say hi and tell me about it and your writing journey.
Let’s build and write together.
Omar
A messy kitchen is a lived-in kitchen :)
messy kitchen is where gumption stews
On and on my coyote brother