About a year ago, I started a blog. Not a Substack newsletter or a Medium profile, but an old-fashioned WordPress website where I published blog posts. I spent about a month nitpicking color palettes and testing out fonts, and then wrote three posts, so my homepage looked full. I didn’t want people visiting an empty website. What’s the point in that?
When I finally worked up the courage to announce it on LinkedIn and Instagram, I felt annoyingly vulnerable. Everyone suddenly had access to my brain’s inner workings in real time.
I didn’t like that.
I spent the rest of my summer applying to ghost job postings and dreaded waking up. I turned to writing to clear my head, but my sentences were littered with complaints and perpetual whininess. I cringed at how I came off and thought that anyone who read my words would die of boredom and secondhand embarrassment. After all, how could I write something entertaining when my days were consumed by my job application spreadsheet, “Dear Hiring Managers,” and my TikTok For You page?
The ideas never stopped, though. During the day, I would jot down punchy headlines in my notes app, followed by bullet-pointed outlines. I would start five different Google Docs titled “idea dump” and list pop culture moments I wanted to dissect (RIP whodunit-themed Love Island season 7 article I never published).
Evidently, lack of inspiration was not the problem. I willed myself to edit and turn those choppy paragraphs into something worth publishing, but whenever I got close to a breakthrough, I stopped, telling myself no one would read it anyway, so why waste my time?
I recognize the irony here. I was scared for people to read my posts, yet I saw no point in writing if no one was reading. Make that make sense.
Eventually, I put myself on hiatus (a word that would give my 13-year-old self war flashbacks), and I decided to focus solely on job searching. If I wasn’t publishing anything, then why waste time writing for my eyes only, when I could put that energy into writing tailored cover letters and high ATS-scoring resumes?
I’ll omit the boring details and tell you it led nowhere. I had one interview for an Office Coordinator role that resulted in my resume being kept on file, and my morning alarm was the sound of rejection emails piling up in my inbox.
By this point, I had had enough. I was convinced that if I spent another day without leaving my bed, I would become encrusted there and forever be remembered as the girl who applied herself to death.
So, it was time to face my greatest fear.
I applied for a retail job in my hometown.
And worst of all…I got it.
Exactly five days after my interview, I had my first shift manning the fitting room, where I learned what go-backs were, actually found something in the backroom, and realized how insecure middle-aged women really were. My only consolation was that the role was seasonal, which honestly felt like a stretch because there was no way I would still be home in three months.
…Who’s gonna tell her?
As the new year came around, so did my worst enemy: nostalgia. It wasn’t lost on me that being in 2026 meant that I no longer graduated “this year” and that my postgrad break was now just life. Miraculously, this realization did not make me depressed and actually served as motivation to get my shit together. I accepted that my postgrad plans did not turn out as expected, and I could no longer drown in my sorrows, lamenting my existence.
I needed to start writing again.
That was always the plan.
That’s my north star.
The blog still felt intimidating, and I wanted my writing to be read by strangers, not my family and friends, who are basically forced to like it. So, with ample googling and LinkedIn sleuthing, I stumbled across freelance writing.
It was perfect! I could do what I loved, without worrying what people would think. Because if an editor thought my writing was worthy of publishing, then it had to be good.
As my pitches got accepted, I started to get my groove back. I felt validated in knowing I had good ideas and a strong voice. And more importantly, strangers were reading! Freelancing also meant that I was officially a published writer outside of college publications, making me feel like a real writer.
By March, things seemed to be working out. My retail job gave me friends and an income, and since it was part-time, I could use the rest of my time to pitch and write. So, my Google spreadsheet welcomed a new addition: a tab called “FREELANCE LYFE”.
I scoured Instagram for online magazines accepting submissions and even volunteer staff positions. My focus shifted from finding a full-time job to getting pitches accepted, which I somehow thought would be easier.
While definitely less draining than finding a full-time job, pitching took up a lot of my time. I still had to research to make sure my idea was a good fit and that my pitch was timely. However, not timely enough that if I didn’t receive a response in two weeks, I couldn’t use it elsewhere.
Slowly but surely, my rose colored lenses slipped off to the point where I questioned if I should even pursue writing. If it was this hard for me, then maybe I just shouldn’t be a writer.
I abandoned my blog for fear of being perceived and having to promote it. My ideas outnumbered my drafts, proving I can start the race; I just can’t reach the finish line. And now I’d overwhelmed myself sending short paragraphs to editors who could get back to me in weeks if not months, defeating the entire purpose of writing whenever I wanted.
It’s now May, and as you can see, I’ve led myself to Substack. A safe haven, or a platform I’ll abandon once I inevitably find something wrong with it? Place your bets now, folks!
In all seriousness, I’d like this to work out. I’m placing absolutely no pressure on this, putting no effort in other than posting whenever I feel inspired. Maybe this can be my exposure therapy, knowing that past hookups and girls I’m no longer friends with might come across my deranged ramblings. But on the bright side, I’m on my own publishing schedule, I’m not overthinking every single idea, and I’m hitting publish. And for now, that’s all I really need.