You know that feeling when you're at a networking event, and someone asks what you do for work? I used to say "UX writer" and watch their face go through this predictable sequence: polite smile, slight confusion, then the inevitable "Oh, so you write copy?"
And honestly? For the longest time, I thought that's all there was to it too.
The Surface Layer (Where Most of Us Start)
When I first stumbled into UX writing — and I do mean stumbled, because let's be real, most of us didn't grow up dreaming of microcopy — the conversations were always the same. Voice and tone. Brand consistency. Getting stakeholders on board with your word choices.
These aren't trivial things, don't get me wrong. I spent countless hours in meetings defending why one copy is better than another, or explaining why our error messages shouldn't sound like we're scolding a toddler. I became fluent in the martial arts of corporate tai chi (stakeholder alignment), learning to navigate the delicate dance between product managers who wanted everything to be "clear and concise" and marketing teams who insisted every button needed to "drive engagement."
But here's what I wish someone had told me during those early days, when I was drowning in style guide discussions and fighting for consistent terminology: This is just the beginning.
My Eureka Moment
I remember the exact moment I realized UX writing had depths I hadn't even imagined. I was working on a project for a client — nothing glamorous, just trying to make the ui copy for a registration less stiff — when my client (as an accessibility specialist) pulled me aside.
Have you thought about how this reads with a screen reader?
She asked, pointing to a seemingly innocent progress indicator.
I hadn't. Not really.
That conversation opened a door I didn't even know existed. Suddenly, I wasn't just thinking about words that sounded good or matched with brand voice. I was thinking about words that worked — really worked — for everyone who might encounter them.
My (Technical) Eureka Moment
Here's something they don't tell you in those "Introduction to UX Writing" articles: the deeper you go, the more technical it gets. And I don't mean technical in a scary, intimidating way. I mean technical in a beautiful, problem-solving way.
You start learning about information architecture and how your content choices can make or break navigation patterns. You dive into WCAG guidelines and discover that writing accessibly isn't just about avoiding jargon, it's about understanding cognitive load, reading levels, and how different assistive technologies interpret your carefully crafted microcopy.
I started asking questions I'd never thought to ask before:
- How does this button label sound when announced by voice control software?
- What happens to our onboarding flow for users with dyslexia?
- Are we creating unnecessary cognitive burden with this particular phrasing?
Each question led to ten more, and suddenly I wasn't just a word person anymore.
Am I... become a systems thinker?
Breaking Free from the Same Old Conversations
Well I want to be honest.
Can I be honest with you about something? There's this conversation that happens over and over in our field, and it used to exhaust me.
You know the one:
What's the difference between copywriting, content writing, and UX writing?
I'd see it pop up in LinkedIn threads, Twitter discussions, Slack communities. The same definitions, the same examples, the same well-meaning attempts to draw clear boundaries around what we do. And while I understand why these conversations exist — clarity is important, especially for a relatively new field — I started feeling like we were spending so much energy defining ourselves that we forgot to push ourselves forward.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not dismissing the importance of understanding our role. But imagine if web developers spent most of their professional discussions debating whether they were "front-end developers" or "UI developers" instead of exploring new frameworks, accessibility techniques, or performance optimizations.
While we were busy drawing lines between disciplines, the real opportunities were waiting in the intersections.
The Liberation of Going Deeper
While other UX writers were debating whether to use sentence case or title case in buttons (important, but not earth-shattering), I was geeking out over semantic HTML and ARIA labels. While design Twitter was arguing about the latest prototyping tool, I was reading any essays about cognitive accessibility and any interesting topics from newsletters I subscribed to.
It felt like I was speaking a different language sometimes. Bring up WCAG 2.1 success criteria in a casual UX writing discussion, and watch how quickly the conversation shifts back to more comfortable territory.
But here's what I learned that discomfort means you're growing. When you start feeling like the conversations around you aren't quite hitting the mark anymore, it's not because you've become difficult or overly complicated. It's because you've seen what's possible when UX writing is more than just finding the right words.
What "Going Deeper" Actually Looks Like?
So what does it mean, practically, to go beyond the surface in UX writing?
It means understanding that your content doesn't exist in a vacuum. Every word choice you make ripples through the entire user experience. That error message you're crafting? It needs to work seamlessly with the visual design, respect the technical constraints of the platform, and remain helpful whether someone's reading it on a screen or hearing it through assistive technology.
It means getting comfortable with uncomfortable questions.
- Why does this particular phrasing work better for users with ADHD?
- How can we structure this information to reduce cognitive load without dumbing it down?
- What happens to our carefully planned content strategy when users approach it in ways we never anticipated?
It means becoming fluent in the languages of our collaborators. You start learning enough about front-end development to understand implementation constraints. You dive into user research methods so you can test your content assumptions. You study accessibility not as a compliance checkbox, but as a fundamental design principle.
The Compound Effect
The beautiful thing about going deeper is that everything will start to connect in ways you never expected. Understanding accessibility makes you a better writer overall, because inclusive design principles force you to be clearer, more purposeful, and more empathetic. Learning about information architecture transforms how you approach content strategy. Getting comfortable with technical constraints actually increases your creative options, because you understand what's possible within the system you're working with.
I've watched UX writers transform from word-focused contributors to strategic partners who can speak confidently about user flows, technical feasibility, and inclusive design. The difference isn't just in their skill set, it's in how they approach problems.
A Gentle Push Forward
If you're reading this and feeling that familiar itch, that sense that there's more to UX writing than what you're currently doing, trust that instinct.
Maybe you're tired of surface-level conversations about voice and tone. Maybe you're curious about the technical side but feel intimidated by the learning curve. Maybe you've started noticing accessibility issues in products you use and wondering how your words could help solve them.
Whatever brought you here, know that the path forward isn't as daunting as it might seem. You don't need to become a developer or an accessibility expert overnight. You just need to start asking different questions and following where they lead.
Pick one area that intrigues you. Maybe it's learning about screen reader technology. Maybe it's understanding how content management systems actually work. Maybe it's diving into cognitive accessibility research. Start there, and let curiosity be your guide.
The Vast View from Here
Looking up, I realize that everything I thought I knew about UX writing when I started was true, it just wasn't complete. Voice and tone matter. Stakeholder alignment is crucial. Brand consistency has real value. But underneath all of that is something richer and more complex. There's a discipline that connects content to technology, accessibility to strategy, words to the entire human experience of using digital products. The conversation doesn't have to end with finding the right tone of voice. In fact, that's where the really interesting work begins.
So if you're feeling stuck, if you're looking for areas to grow, if you're wondering what comes next in your UX writing journey — there's a whole world waiting below the surface. The water's deeper than you think, and the view from down here is incredible.