F*ck the algorithm…

It’s been a tough few weeks I’m not going to lie. Not helped by the overwhelming guilt of letting my Substack slide into the black hole that has consumed whole parts of my life amidst the chaos.

Those of you who’ve followed me for a while will know this has been brewing. It has been a tough year, one of my toughest. And the impact has been felt across all parts of my life, especially my routines.

First went the exercise.

Then the healthy(ish) eating,

the morning routine,

then any other semblance of steady, that had previously glued the quickly diverging parts of my world together.

Finally, went the optimism that I could keep holding it all together, and with that last slither of hope, went my Substack.

Down they all went. As if tied by an invisible thread, the weight of each leading to the inevitable toppling of the next, as they each tumbled slowly and steadily into the vortex of my own self pity.

I did start one article amidst it all, a couple of weeks ago now. A hard fought battle with words. I desperately tried and repeatedly failed, to succinctly explain why I was absent. To convey that, despite all of it, part of the reason I was struggling to keep up with the written word, was because the vehicle for sharing had become more like a ball and chain around my neck. That my once enjoyable, teeny corner of the internet, had, over the space of a few months, transformed from a gift into a weight too heavy to carry in hard times.

The editorial calendar.

The headlines.

The algorithm.

The notes.

The constant pressure to find smart, witty, engaging shit to say that would appeal to the masses, whilst somehow maintaining my integrity (bleugh!).

The heavy weight and expectation of paid readers (which was probably only in my head, but sadly in the same place where I spend most of my time, so felt heavy whether real or not). These wonderful people who had put their faith in me, believed in my writing, and who I endlessly worry I am letting down.

I feel like I’ve turned something I had loved, with which we had a beautiful, reciprocal relationship… into a monster.

A burden.

And when already struggling to keep my head above water, it was enough to pull me under.

I had only one choice, to drop the weight and swim to the surface.

Look you know I love a bit of melodrama, but surely I’m not entirely alone here?

Not alone in feeling that the weight of that extra ‘thing’. You know, the one you do just for the love, just for you? That thing that can quickly swing from a creative, joyful outlet, to another item on the to do list.

Another thing to feel guilty about.

Another thing you failed to do.

Another thing you got wrong.

Another thing you didn’t do right.

Another thing you used to let yourself down (again).

So where do we go from here? Honestly, right now I’m not sure. I’m still too deeply buried by the other things in my life to come up for air. Certainly to surface for long enough to find the creativity and energy to plan and get excited, long enough to undo the mess.

But here’s what I do l know, after weeks of (at times heavy) reflection:

Fuck the Substack algorithm - my posts did better when it never even occurred to me to try and please it. I’m ready to bring back the long rambling headlines, honest topics and general nonsense that so many of you enjoyed (even if not algorithm approved).

Fuck my editorial calendar - I’m too ADHD for that shit. It’s draining me and my creativity and getting in the way of what I like writing and you like reading most - random musings from my life, however they show up, and based on what I really really want to write to you about at the time. Posts crafted in the furious passion, embarrassment, frustration, excitement (and boredom) of the moment.

Fuck the pressure of charging - I’ve paused it. Not necessarily forever, just for now whilst I figure out exactly how to move forward. It’s likely to be with greater honesty, more passion and less rigidity in my promise, if I keep a paid offer at all (I will of course keep you updated).

Fuck the pressure - as above. less rules, more connection, passion, and curiosity are the order for the future. More of that vulnerable and honest take many of you came here for.

Fuck notes - maybe not forever. But certainly for now. If people find my words and want to subscribe, that’s amazing. If me not posting on notes three times a day means many never do, maybe I’m ok with that.

I can’t lie, I honestly don’t know what the future holds for my little Substack, but I do know that writing fuck it a bunch of times has made me feel better than I’ve felt in days!

The future may appear to be to give less fucks, but one thing I can promise is that that won’t be in the language department. And maybe whilst I start to rebuild after this insane period of my life, maybe the ‘Fuck It’ approach will be the temporary glue that holds me together, whilst I dig the rest of my life back out of the vortex.