This isn’t a political commentary piece. There are people far more qualified to write those who have done so here, here, here and here.

Subscribe now

But I will say this. Despite some much-needed (potential) wins for first-home buyers - a proposed reform that cuts funding to some of our most vulnerable in the NDIS, leaves major gaps in childcare and gender equality measures and incentivises founders to leave our shores, all while leaving multi-billion dollar gas companies unscathed, doesn’t exactly unite or inspire a nation.

And it’s set, of course, against a global backdrop of political, economic and workforce instability - to put it lightly.

The people are tired. The people are anxious. The people - everywhere, actually - are checking out.

Gallup’s recent State of the Global Workplace Report found only 20% of employees were engaged globally in 2025. Forbes reported more than 75% of consumers are worried about the impact that AI has on the ability to trust information, and this global report found 69% of employees expect AI to cause layoffs at their company within three years, and 49% fear personal job loss.

Sounds bleak, I know, but it may not be all bad. In fact, the ‘collapse’ could be leading us somewhere quite good - according to writer, activist, podcaster and creator of This is Precious Substack - Sarah Wilson (who, by the way, lives in Paris. More on that shortly).

“We’re at a fork in the road moment,” she told host of Marie Claire’s You’re Gonna Want To Hear This podcast Georgie McCourt.

“The global financial economy has been leveraged off the [false] belief there is an infinite amount of fossil fuels… [and] AI is threatening white-collar jobs for the first time in history.”

Every time Sarah returns to visit Australia, she notices the large focus on property ownership and general consumerism.

For the last few years, Sarah has lived in a ‘tiny apartment’ in Paris on an artist’s visa (a multi-year residency pathway designed for non-EU artists, writers, and performers to live and work there legally - and honestly, très chic, sign me up).

“Living in France, there is not the same mentality [as in Australia]. There is more of a sense that you live now, and you share what resources you’ve got. My friends who are my age living in France don’t own their own home - it’s quite unusual to own your own home.”

Share

“People don’t have cars. They have very simple lives. They have one winter coat, and when that coat starts to wear out, then you get a new one. So it’s a very different mindset that I don’t think Australians are aware they’re really behind the curve on, if you know what I mean. It really is such a different mindset.”

When it comes to overconsumption and tensions on the political, technological and environmental front - Sarah believes ‘the simplification is coming, no matter what.’

À bientôt - off to read Sarah’s new book I Eat The Stars and learn more about Le Visa Artiste.

It’s funny to think I’m now (almost) the same age as Carrie in that SATC episode where nobody shows up to her birthday party.

And yes, I’m aware that show and character have since proven problematic and aged like a magazine quiz on 'How to Keep Your Man'... but I watched it at the highly impressionable age of 13 and it left, well, an impression.

To be clear, I don’t have hang-ups about getting older, per se.

What got me most about that episode was how all of her friends (all of them!) were somehow busy, caught up, or preoccupied. My tween brain – bless it – couldn’t comprehend how adults could be so out of sync with their core people.

Alas. I get it now.

Full disclosure here – I’m lucky enough to have a big and geographically broad circle of friends. I very intentionally spent my twenties soaking up as many diverse experiences as I could, which saw me live in California, London, Amsterdam, Melbourne and Sydney within the space of 10 years.

Along the way, I added many 'lifers’ to my social network, while maintaining my high-school friendships back in Brisbane, where I grew up.

As a result, my core people consist of those I’ve known since before I was watching Carrie cry on her birthday, and those I’ve deeply connected with at various stages of my own growth – big travel phases, stressful work phases, heavy drinking phases, health-focused phases… you get it.

So now, at what’s proving to be the transitionary age of 34, the people in my life and I are experiencing it at quite literally every end of the spectrum.

I don’t own a home (though we’re working on it). Some of my friends own two – or more - while others have had to move back in with their parents because they can’t afford to rent, or sell the one they had, or decided not to bother trying to own a home at all.

I don’t have children (though we’re working on that, too). Some of my friends have three – or more – while others are desperately trying to, or grieving not being able to, or grappling with whether they want them, or happily not having them, or not thinking about it at all.

I’m not married (though we’re engaged). Some of my friends are celebrating seven year wedding anniversaries, while others are going through divorce, or recovering from affairs, or opening their relationships, or exploring their sexuality, or in the trenches of the absolute wild west that is dating in your thirties.

I’ve got friends dedicated to carving corporate careers, friends desperate to get out of theirs, friends starting new businesses, friends leaving the workforce entirely, and friends who just want to travel and have a good time.

In other words, I have friends experiencing pretty much every season of life – despite being (pretty much) the same age.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being surrounded by such a mix, it’s this: there is no single timeline. No ‘best’ progression of events. No universal milestone map that tells you where you should be by now – despite what culture may have us believe.

It’s easy to look at someone in a season you think you want to be in and assume it’s better than whatever yours may be. But no season is superior - they’re just different.

Some of the friends with multiple children who seem to have it all together are exhausted and fighting battles I can only try to imagine, let alone truly understand. Some of the friends who appear fully free and are travelling the world are fighting the feeling they should be ‘further ahead’ in some arbitrary way. Some of the friends in picture-perfect relationships are breaking down behind doors.

Some people are deeply struggling with motherhood while others are deeply struggling with not experiencing it - and some are enduring the archaic yet persistent stigma that comes with opting out of procreating entirely (seriously, why is that still a thing?). Some are thriving in their careers but scared to explore who they are without it. Everyone, in some way, is craving or missing something – and probably hoping their next season will provide it.

But do you know what compounds the challenge of not ~loving~ the life stage you’re in? Fighting it. Resisting where you are, wishing you were somewhere else, comparing your toughest moments to someone’s highlight reel, holding yourself to someone else’s measure of progress.

Personally, I’m in a phase of shedding parts of myself that once served me (very well), but don’t quite fit anymore. It’s scary, it’s uncomfortable, but on some level I know it’s necessary. So now, I’m learning to just embrace the season I’m in. Not rush through it. Not compare it. Just be in it, fully.

Some days, that feels easy – almost fun, in fact. But others, it’s a real challenge. And on those days, I remind myself of a few things…

Firstly, that it’s all temporary. It’s so easy to get caught up in the specifics of right now, of things I haven’t done yet, or the things I think I should have by now. But when I take a step back, I realise how impermanent each season really is. Five years ago, I thought about things that barely cross my mind now. And five years from today, this moment will be just another chapter - one I don’t want to look back on and realise I wished away.

I’ve also learned to audit my inputs. If scrolling through Instagram makes me feel ‘behind’, I take a break. If certain conversations leave me doubting myself, I have fewer of them. It’s easy to get caught up in what everyone else is doing, but the more I focus on my own timeline instead of everyone else’s, the more I realise I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be – and just how freeing that actually is.

In seasons I feel more restless or impatient in than others, I try to find something to appreciate. Maybe it’s the freedom I have. Maybe it’s the lessons I’m learning - resilience, patience, trust. There’s always something good if you look for it.

The reality is, everyone is making it up as they go. Even the people who look like they have it all figured out. Everyone’s just doing their best with what they have, trying to make sense of their own season. There is no pre-ordained destination - so there is no ‘behind’.

Besides, if everyone were doing the same thing at the same time it would be boring – and crowded – anyway. Maybe we’re meant to be slightly out of sync with our core people, so there’s always someone with the capacity to support us through the inevitable challenges, to remind us that no season lasts forever, and help each other grow.

So, here’s to whatever season you’re in – with all its challenges, beauty and possibility – and may your favourite people always show up to your birthday party.

What season are you in? Have you ever struggled to not get caught up in the ‘should’s’ - or embrace we’re you’re at? Let’s chat below…

The sands beneath social media are shifting.

At first I thought it was just me. That I was perhaps a little bored, a little disenfranchised, with the same(ish) content on my feed. I found Instagram easier and easier to stop scrolling. I managed to avoid TikTok rabbit holes entirely (merely the millennial in me? perhaps).

But then The Financial Times reported social media usage is declining (slowly, yes - but steadily, also yes) mostly amongst Gen Z and millennials, The New Yorker declared it’s cool to have no followers now and Vogue named ‘unplugging’ luxury’s most valuable currency.

And then I noticed the global appetite for pre-internet nostalgia – the overnight success of a brand selling physical landline phones, the resurgence of phone-free parties and cafes, and the virality of posts like this one →

At industry events I meet content creators whose engagement is significantly down. I hear anecdotes from parents that their Gen Z teens have deleted social media, or switched to a ‘dumb phone’ – one that simply makes and receives calls and sends texts.

We come away feeling worse, not better. Drained, not energised. Overwhelmed, not inspired to act.

Subscribe now

Of course, social media still has its hooks in us. Daily screen time has far from plummeted, and social media is stitched into business, culture, commerce and community. We still love a good meme and to see what our favourite creators, founders and/or podcasters are up to.

But it does feel like we’re entering a new era, doesn’t it? There’s an appetite for long-form thought provocation again, even if we have to retrain our attention spans to stay until the end. And the nature of those hooks is changing; social media is regressing to a more mainstream media model, more like tv – a place you know you expect to be entertained and sold to, but not a place you’ll feel seen, connected – or like you necessarily belong in.

There’s a sense of visibility fatigue, too. After a decade of living as though visibility was the truest measure of success – posting, broadcasting, signalling, constantly proving our existence – the pendulum is swinging.

Luxury always runs to whatever becomes scarce, and right now the scarce thing isn’t more exposure, it’s the option to step back with intentional invisibility. Not disappearing entirely, but being selective about what you show, how often you speak, who gets access.

And it’s not a universal privilege – there are people who can’t afford to opt-out of the visibility economy – but for those who can, it’s fast becoming the new cultural signal. A kind of flex that says: I don’t need to be everywhere or have a significant following. I don’t need the algorithm and/or random people on the internet to validate me.

Share

It tracks with the ‘dead internet theory’ – that idea that feeds are increasingly hollowed out by corporate optimisation, recycled content, AI sludge, bots commenting on bots. And the subsequent rise of ‘posting zero’: people choosing deliberate silence, or posting nothing at all, because withholding feels truer (or at least less extractive) than performing on demand (and in a sea of bots and fatigued users, who are we even signalling to, anyway?).

You can see why it’s seductive. Brands have spent years yelling, trend-hitching, moment-marketing themselves into exhaustion. Business-builders have had to become content creators against their will (and skillset). This cultural moment invites the opposite: being more selective, quieter, more intentional. It’s permission to pull back, and exercise scarcity as self-respect.

As someone without a significant social following (whose work has already been impacted by AI) I find this shift exciting – for the sake of humanity, critical thought, human connection, etc. But for anyone whose business has been tethered to engagement metrics, reach, public proof and/or anyone who wants to build a brand in this era, it does spark a harder question: What next?

There’s much speculation. Newsletters, Substack, long-form podcasts, in person events, smaller communities. And yes, those mechanics will shift. They always do (and already are).

But what happens to social clout if follower counts lose their meaning? If the markers of ‘success’ we’ve become accustomed to over the last decade become invisible?

Because you can’t see how many opens or click-through’s someone’s newsletter had. You can’t know how many people made it to the end of a two-hour podcast. There’s no public scoreboard for whether someone’s ideas are landing.

Subscribe now

So what becomes the signal?

Maybe clout shifts back to things that resist quantification – discernment, originality, thought leadership that actually moves people, not just attracts glances. Maybe it’s who gets invited into the room, who’s asked to collaborate, who other founders name when someone needs help, who is quietly hired behind the scenes.

It’s easy to look authoritative when every metric is public. Harder when merit becomes opaque again.

And if social media is sliding toward the ‘television model’ – something you consume for ambient entertainment, ads, dopamine, not a place to feel known or to belong – then perhaps the hierarchy migrates offline. Back to people who can think on their feet, read a room, articulate clearly, hold attention, make others feel seen. To smaller communities, niche circles, and warm introductions that matter more than a blue tick ever did.

It’s ironic, really: the more frictionless and surface-level the platforms become, the more value starts to gather anywhere that requires actual depth, presence, or stamina.

The feeds will still roll, of course – with who (or what) remains to be seen. But the real leverage – the trust, the invitations, the referrals, the influence – might start living elsewhere.

And I’d be into that, personally.

If you’re a self-employed or founder-curious woman, you might be interested in The Solo Co — a community and education platform to help you build what’s been calling. For 1:1 work, strategy or brand support you can find me here.

Through my 21-year-old lens, these women looked stylish, determined and important. I idolised them.

Almost 14 years later, after carving the career that idealistic 21-year-old was dreaming of, I see that scene quite differently. But more on that later, because said idealistic 21-year-old was about to start an internship with Cosmopolitan magazine in Sydney, Australia.

A child of the 90s and early 2000s, I was (back then, quite ignorantly) riding second and third wave feminism into the workforce. With ambitions and expectations shaped by the likes of Carrie Bradshaw, Samantha Jones, Andi Anderson, Miranda Prirestly and Jenna Rink, I grew up glorifying busy women with walk-in wardrobes.

Fuelled by skinny cappuccinos, diet coke, and cortisol, they used their ovens as storage, drank cocktails every night, and seemed immune to the need for sleep or basic nutrition.

And for most of my twenties, I thought I was, too.

I spent much of that Cosmopolitan internship in awe of the young women in the office. They were rushing in and out, interviewing celebrities, going to chic events, and often too busy to leave their desks or have lunch (so important! So impressive!).

After it finished, I went on to write freelance (for Cosmo, and others) while working in the high-octane world of consumer PR in London. I had the fancy office with high ceilings and echo-y marble floors. I was flown to Berlin and Prague to host fancy events and stay in high-end hotels. I met and worked with celebrities. I swapped lunch for deadlines and never – like, ever – cooked or ate at home.

I had big global accounts, managed people older than me and – on paper – was absolutely killing it. Everyone back home kept telling me so.

I was also averaging about five hours sleep a night, working 10-12 hours a day, eating terribly, extremely stressed, and deeply unfulfilled. Needing to pee was a major inconvenience, because it pulled me away from my desk for six minutes.

Sound familiar, dear reader?

One day, after an urgent client request for something utterly trivial (an announcement about shampoo, if memory serves) gave my body the physiological reaction of being chased by a bear, I stopped to survey my surroundings.

Beside me, women were glued to their desks, where they would be for another 10 or so hours without taking a proper break. Past them, women were glued to their phones, pacing frantically around the office as they answered a million requests and told their families they wouldn’t make it home for dinner.

In a moment of clarity, I realised I didn’t actually aspire to be like any of them – in any way. And a few days later, I quit.

It took me years and a lot of striving and stress to realise that defining myself by my job title was not it for me - not at all, actually. And it turns out, much of the world agrees.

Gen Z, watching millennials work themselves into the ground, seem far less convinced that career success is the sole metric of a meaningful life. Meanwhile, even some of the most visible ‘lean in’ leaders have subtly stepped back - pivoting toward softer messaging, work-life balance, or simply… disappearing from public view.

Yet in its place, we’ve seen another extreme rise - feeds now filled with the anti-girlboss movement: tradwives romanticising 1950s gender roles, self-proclaimed anti-feminists rejecting career ambition entirely, amongst a wave of ‘cozzie livs’ content proclaiming that it’s all pointless because a good life is unattainable, anyway.

If ‘leaning in’ no longer serves us, but ‘leaning out’ doesn’t sit right either - where, exactly, do we land?

Culturally, we’re in a transitional moment - one where we’re collectively trying to unlearn the toxic aspects of grind culture without throwing ambition out the window entirely.

And let’s be clear – leaning in is still very much a thing in many (mostly male dominated) industries, just as the gender pay gap remains a major issue (also in mostly male dominated industries). And if you’re someone who *does* derive a great deal of purpose, fulfilment and identity from your work without too much sacrifice – more power to you.

But for many, there’s a growing desire to build meaningful careers – just not at the expense of our health, relationships, and overall sense of self. We want to feel fulfilled by our work, but not consumed by it. And we want autonomy -over our time, our energy, and what success actually means to us.

For some, that means redefining ambition altogether. It’s no longer about climbing a rigid corporate ladder but about designing a life and career that actually works for you. Maybe that looks like freelancing or entrepreneurship, maybe it’s setting boundaries within a traditional job, or maybe it’s a mix of both.

But before we can redefine success on our own terms, we have to acknowledge that the ability to step back, set boundaries, or choose a different path is, in itself, a privilege. Recognising this privilege doesn’t mean we can’t opt out of harmful cycles - it means we must do so with awareness, ensuring we’re not perpetuating the same exclusivity that kept many locked out in the first place.

And this doesn’t just mean shifting how we work - it also means rethinking what we work for. Many of us have spent years caught on the hamster wheel of overconsumption, chasing lifestyles that require constant earning just to sustain. Recognising that the pursuit of ‘more’ isn’t necessarily ‘it’ is only the first step; the harder part may be accepting that opting out of that mindset might mean dialling down our lifestyles, re-evaluating what we actually need, and finding fulfilment beyond material markers of success.

Instead of fixating on an end point - some imagined version of ‘having it all’ that demands we do it all - what if we treated ambition as an experiment? A process of trying, tweaking, evolving. A chance to play, to redefine, to build something that aligns with our values, not just external expectations?

Perhaps the key is shifting from external markers of success to internal ones. Not chasing titles, followers, or endless productivity, but instead, measuring success by how we feel - energetic, engaged, healthy, at ease. By how much space we have for creativity, connection, and presence in our own lives.

Perhaps it’s not so much about rejecting ambition, but reorienting it. Because a life built on constant exhaustion is unsustainable. But a life without drive, purpose, or meaningful work? That doesn’t feel quite right either.

So where do we go from here?

I don’t have a single answer. Maybe none of us do. But perhaps it’s not about finding the perfect roadmap, it’s finally allowing ourselves to chart our own.

Have you ever felt caught between ambition and burnout? What does success look like for you now? Let’s chat below…

Meanwhile, we mere mortals are trying to upskill alongside AI’s rapidity, while harbouring the feeling that we’re just helping to build our own replacement(s).

Before I continue, let me be clear: I’m not anti-AI in its entirety. I know it has incredible potential to be a much-needed force for good in the world — particularly in the realms of healthcare, education and climate science.

But we all know this, right? It’s not the good stuff that sparks existential dread.

And it’s certainly not the good stuff that drove hundreds of highly esteemed public figures — including Barack Obama, Sir Richard Branson, and the world’s-most cited AI scientist Yoshua Bengio — to call for a global prohibition on building superintelligence. (You can sign the petition too, btw - right here).

Superintelligence, for the uninitiated, is “AI that outperforms humans across all cognitive tasks,” in the words of Time Magazine, and the poser of an “urgent, extinction-level threat”.

Terrifying, I know. (Here’s that link to the petition again ;)).

Some experts estimate it’s as close as five years away, while others place it at 10-15.

Either way, the case for hitting the pause button certainly weights heavier than the case for charging ahead. Superintelligence has been compared to nuclear warfare for its potential to wipe the world out; but the fear of being the country left behind seems to be driving its rapid development.

It’s like we’re racing toward the edge of something irreversible, and the people steering the ship weren’t elected — they just built the ship and decided they owned the ocean too.

Share The Living Lab

A recent study by the Pew Research Center concluded “Americans are much more concerned than excited about the increased use of AI in daily life, with a majority saying they want more control over how AI is used in their lives.”

So, where does that leave us?

For me, somewhere between cautious optimism and conscious rebellion. We can’t control the billionaires or the algorithms, but we can control how we use the tools in our hands. We can insist on creativity that uplifts, tech that serves, and a future that still feels human.

Maybe the antidote to existential dread isn’t fear — it’s intentional creation.

There’s a business case for it, too.

Some of the world’s biggest brands are already tapping into the collective unease around AI — and winning hearts (and headlines) in the process. Heineken’s tongue-in-cheek “The best way to make a friend is over a beer” campaign mocked the idea of AI-generated companionship by celebrating human connection. Aerie’s “Real People Only” stance doubled down on authenticity, featuring unfiltered, unretouched individuals at a time when digital perfection dominates. And Polaroid’s reminder that “AI can’t generate sand between your toes” made a simple but powerful point.

The message is clear: humanity (still) sells.

Because as the world becomes more synthetic, we crave what feels real — people, imperfection, presence. The brands that remember that will not only survive this shift; they’ll lead it.

And my (perhaps idealistic) hope is that as more people wake up to the existential risks of superintelligence — and demand accountability from the few steering the ship — progress will pause long enough for wisdom to catch up.

Maybe AI will end up like nuclear weapons: too powerful to destroy, too dangerous to use, left to gather dust while we make the most of its positive potential instead.

Thoughts? x

“It’s a really grim time… I suppose if I’d been older than five when Word War II began, I would say [this moment] is a bit like that… But since then, yes. This is much the worst time.”

That’s Dr Jane Goodall, at the seasoned age of 90, in the recently-released doco Famous Last Words (highly recommend if you haven’t seen yet btw - promise it’s not all bleak. More on that later).

Subscribe now

She’d just been asked if, in all her years of activism, this was the darkest or most dangerous era she’d experienced.

Her affirmative yes really struck me, for obvious reasons. And I don’t need to rattle off the political, economic and environmental factors wreaking havoc on our hope right now. Your feed is doing enough of that, I’m sure.

But Dr Goodall’s words confirmed something I’ve been wondering lately; whether we’re living through one of — if not *the most* — pivotal (and unnerving) moments in history.

The mix of political tension, economic uncertainty, environmental collapse and AI upheaval feels unprecedented — at least in my lifetime. Then again, at 35, I don’t have all that much to compare it to. The world’s always been unstable — maybe I’m just old enough now to finally grasp that.

But according to Dr Goodall, my initial suspicions were correct. And hearing her say so stirred something both unfamiliar and surprising in me. There was sadness and a bit of fear, of course — but mostly it was something else. Something ~flatter~, and far less mobilising.

Mostly, it was apathy.

For a while, certain ideas have been niggling at me to be brought to fruition. A business to build, a social content strategy to experiment with.

But lately another thought’s been niggling: If AI is coming for us all the way the doomsayers are predicting, what’s the point?

Turns out, it’s not just me. There’s a term for this psychological state: learned helplessness. It’s what happens when we’re hit with so many forces outside our control that we start to believe effort itself is pointless.

Grim, I know. But bear with — because I’m on a mission to turn this sh*t around.

The truth is, nobody really knows how these unprecedented factors are going to play out. The AI optimists might have it, or we might actually stop the rapid advancement before its too late (over 850 prominent public figures including Richard Branson and Barack Obama recently signed a statement calling for a pause in the development of super intelligence).

Of course, it’s also possible that the doomsayers are correct. But, even in that scenario, as I see it there are two options: We let the worst get the best of us, spiral into inactivity and let our ‘final’ days pass us by without giving our big ideas, hopes and dreams a crack… OR, we decide to go all in and simply *see* what happens, because trying (and potentially failing) is still better than succumbing to fear and forever wondering ‘what if?’.

Personally, I’d prefer the latter.

And as it turns out, Dr Goodall agrees. When asked what she’d like to say to those navigating these times, her response was:

Share

Her wise words of empowerment didn’t end there. At the end of the interview, Dr Goodall is asked to share her final words with the viewers. Rather than paraphrasing the below, I think it’s best to end on it. She knows a thing or two, after all.

I want to make sure that you all understand, that each and every one of you has a role to play. You may not know it. You may not find it. But your life matters, and you are here for a reason. And I just hope that reason will become apparent as you live through your life.

I want you to know, that whether or not you find that role you’re supposed to play - your life does matter. And every single day you live you make a difference in the world, and you get to choose the difference you make.

I want you to understand we are part of the natural world, and even today where the planet is dark — there’s still hope. Don’t lose hope. If you lose hope, you become apathetic and do nothing. Think about the actions you take each day — because multiplied a million, billion times even small actions will make for great change…

You have it in your power to make a difference. Don’t give up, there is a future for you. Do your best while you’re on this beautiful planet earth.

I do know it came after a brief phase of wanting to be an astronaut (aged 7), followed by a year of conviction that I’d become an archeologist (aged 9 - 10… and hey, there’s still time).

I suppose the common thread between those career paths is a craving for exploration. Astronauts seek adventure in extraordinary places, archeologists in extraordinary eras. But words? They open the door to expansion in both of those directions – plus the ability to express it.

As I entered my teenage years, my ambition (and expectations) were honed by the likes of Andie Anderson, Carrie Bradshaw and Miranda Priestly. While the industry transformed and cultural norms (thankfully) evolved in the years to follow, that craving for exploration – and expression – remained steadfast.

As did my desire to be a professional writer (you know, the kind that makes a living by stringing sentences together).

And if you’re still with me, beloved reader, I’m going to hazard a guess you’re familiar with that desire, too?

Perhaps you’re already writing in some capacity (if you have your own Substack, please share it in the comments below so we can get acquainted). Or perhaps you’re not writing at all, but it’s tugging – even clawing – at you to give it some attention. To actually give it a go, at the very least.

But knowing how to go about it is overwhelming, at best. Sure, writing is one thing. But getting paid to do it? That’s another thing entirely. So you toss it all in the ‘too hard’ basket, push it into the ‘maybe later’ pile — the one quietly gathering dust alongside ‘someday’ and ‘what if.’

You go back to your day-to-day life, trying to ignore that little voice telling you ‘this isn’t it’.

But if you’re honest? You know the voice is still there. And it’s not going away.

That’s how it was for me, too.

In 2017, after a highly stressful attempt at freelance writing, I scampered back to the ‘security’ of full time work in a marketing role. The company was great, the people were lovely, and the work was… ok. One year turned into three, and at the end of 2019 I was still there, but growing increasingly unfulfilled.

It wasn’t stressful, it wasn’t even dramatically misaligned. It just wasn’t what I really wanted (and if I let myself admit, knew I was meant) to do: write.

Eventually, I plucked up the courage (and the savings) to leap back into the world of full-time freelance writing – a few months before COVID-19 turned the world upside down. Thankfully though, I was able to apply what I’d learnt from that first attempt at freelancing and ride out the storm of uncertainty.

In the years to follow, I’d go on to earn over half a million dollars by stringing sentences together for some amazing brands and publications.

And now, the industry is changing again. AI is well and truly upon us, and the needs of brands and publications are shifting. Despite the fear in the market, the opportunities for savvy communicators are actually proliferating more than ever.

The challenge? Knowing how to make the most of them.

I know all-too-well what it’s like to start and grow a freelance writing business in unprecedented circumstances, and which actions make the difference between thriving and barely surviving.

I truly believe writers who equip themselves with the right skills and mindset will be among the most valuable (and highly paid) strategy-shapers tomorrow. So I'm running a free (live) workshop soon, to show you exactly what I would do if I were starting from scratch today — and how you can start building your freelance writing career in a changing world.

→ You can grab your spot here.

More soon,

Lizzie x

I told myself I was doing it for the creative freedom. For the joy of writing what I wanted, when I wanted. For the connection. And absolutely — those things are true.

But if I’m being totally honest? I also hoped it would blow up — quickly.

I saw the accounts going ~gangbusters~, talking about becoming best-sellers in three days (ok fine, three months) and thought maybe that’ll be me. I figured if I just wrote something good—something true—people would find it. Share it. Subscribe in droves.

Spoiler alert: that’s not quite how it went.

My early posts landed gently. A handful of kind comments. A slow trickle of subscribers. Encouraging feedback, yes—but not a tidal wave.

And had I expected a tidal wave, I probably would’ve labelled it a failure and quietly scrapped the whole thing.

I didn’t. Because I’ve learned a key lesson—one I come back to constantly in both business and life:

Managing your expectations isn’t about playing small. It’s about making sure you’re still around when the good stuff finally lands.

It’s not sexy. It’s not viral. But it’s what allows most people to build something meaningful.

They don’t just get lucky—they stay long enough to get lucky.

Subscribe now

Ease up on the timeline, not the dream

We hear it all the time: trust the process, be patient, don’t compare your chapter one to someone else’s chapter 20.

But what we don’t talk about enough is why managing expectations actually matters.

Because if you expect your idea to take off immediately and it doesn’t? You’re likely to feel discouraged, disheartened, maybe even a little ashamed.

And that’s when the quiet quitting starts—not the kind where you disengage from a 9–5, but the kind where you quietly pull back from your own dreams.

Where you stop showing up.
Stop sharing.
Stop believing.

Not because your idea wasn’t good—but because it didn’t happen fast enough.

But what if fast was never the point?

Sustainable > sensational

So much of the creative and entrepreneurial world is set up to reward short-term wins: the viral post, the sold-out launch, the “overnight success” story.

But if you zoom out — and look back — most of the people we admire, the ones building sustainable careers, are playing a much longer game.

They’re not banking on hype. They’re building habits.

They’re not gambling on a lucky break. They’re stacking bricks—slowly, steadily, deliberately.

And you know what? That doesn’t always look impressive in the beginning.
But it lasts.

What if this is just how long things take?

If you’re in the early or middle phase of building something—your business, your creative career, your self, even—firstly, I see you! And I’m in the same boat— and also, I know it can feel like everything’s taking too long.

But what if it’s not?

What if this is just how long things take when you’re doing them properly? Intentionally? In a way that aligns with your actual values?

Sometimes I look back on things I thought I should have figured out years ago… and I’m glad I didn’t. I wouldn’t have been ready. Or I would’ve fumbled the opportunity. Or I would’ve built something impressive-looking that I didn’t actually want to live inside.

Now, I can accept — and expect — that good things to take time.

I’ve seen enough behind the scenes to know most people are just quietly figuring it out while publicly pretending they’re not. That success often looks like showing up again when it would’ve been easier not to.

And that what looks like a “breakthrough” on the outside is usually the result of months (or years) of effort no one saw.

Subscribe now

The unexpected wins

Slow and steady doesn’t always feel good. But it often yields good.

Here’s what I’ve gained from giving my Substack time to evolve:

• A community I actually know and relate to

• Conversations I care about

• A space to explore ideas that expand me, rather than perform for an algorithm

• Connections with incredible writers around the world

• And a growing sense of clarity about the kind of life and work I want to build

None of those things came quickly — and they’re all still a work in progress! But they feel deeply worth it.

So... what’s your working theory?

Here’s mine:

The people who make it aren’t necessarily the ones who go fastest.
They’re the ones who don’t stop.

They don’t shrink their dreams.
They just take the pressure off the timeline.
They ask better questions:
Not “How can I go viral?”
But “How can I keep showing up in a way that doesn’t burn me out?”

Because consistent beats explosive.
And sustainable beats spectacular.

If it’s taking longer than you thought?
Good.
That probably means you’re doing it right.

Have you ever had to adjust your expectations in order to keep going? What’s something that took longer than you expected—but turned out to be worth it? Let’s chat below 👇

Courses. Businesses. Passion projects. Morning / meditation / fitness / cooking routines I *swore* I’d keep up.

And if I’m being honest? I’ve abandoned a lot of them, too.

Not because I didn’t care, or because I lacked talent, or because I wasn’t willing to work for it—but because I, like so many others, had internalised a lie.

A lie that tells us that motivation is the key to success. That if you really want something, you should just be able to push through, to grind, to force your way forward on nothing but willpower and a vision board.

And for a while, I believed it. (Disclaimer: We still love a vision board).

Subscribe now

When willpower isn’t enough

The thing about motivation? Not unlike inspiration, she can be a fickle minx. Some days, she’s there, bright and buzzing. Other days, she’s elusive — vanishing like mist, leaving nothing but a pile of unfinished drafts, half-hearted attempts, and a gnawing sense of guilt in her wake.

I used to take this as evidence that maybe I wasn’t cut out for certain things. That the people who made it—who kept going, who finished what they started—were just wired differently.

But I know better now.

Because the people who stick with things? The ones who build the careers, finish the books, run the marathons, or simply stay consistent in whatever they’ve committed to?

They don’t rely solely on willpower or motivation. They set themselves up for success with better systems.

Why we struggle to stay consistent

I know, I know… ‘systems’ isn’t exactly a sexy word (or maybe for you it is? In which case, slay).

Anyway, most of us assume that if we quit or abandon something, it means we weren’t meant for it. Or worse - we get super hard on ourselves and assume it means we’re not good/motivated/disciplined enough for xyz.

But the real reasons we don’t stick with things usually have nothing to do with talent, passion, or capability. More often, it’s because:

• We make it harder than it needs to be. If your success depends on you waking up every day and summoning motivation from thin air, you’re setting yourself up to fail. The trick? Make showing up so easy that resistance has no chance.

• We assume slow progress means failure. If something doesn’t deliver instant results, we get discouraged and quit too soon. But slow progress is still progress—and often, it’s the only kind that lasts.

• We don’t remove decision fatigue. The hardest part of anything is starting. If you rely on choosing to do something every day, your brain will eventually vote no. But if you set up a structure where the next step is obvious, you remove the friction.

• We try to force ourselves into someone else’s system. What works for that bro in your TikTok feed won’t necessarily work for you. The trick is to build a system based on your strengths, your habits, and what actually feels good to you.

The key to sticking with it

Instead of chasing motivation, I’ve learned to do this:

• Make the next step effortless. Want to write more? Don’t aim for 1,000 words a day—start with 100. Want to get fitter? Walk for five minutes. Let momentum do the heavy lifting.

• Track progress in a way that keeps you engaged. If your only measure of success is the final result, you’re more likely to quit. Instead, track how often you show up—not just what you produce.

• Build a system that fits you. This is the real game-changer. When you actually understand your patterns—what energises you, what drains you, where you naturally thrive—it becomes infinitely easier to stay consistent.

And honestly? This is what I wish I’d known years ago.

I spent a long time trying to force myself into systems that didn’t fit. Trying to white-knuckle my way through things when all I really needed was a better structure—one that worked with me instead of against me.

That’s why I’ve been experimenting with new ways to track habits, stay accountable, and build momentum in a way that actually lasts. If you’ve ever struggled with this, I put together this self-empowerment system to help you understand what actually makes you tick. No forcing. No guilt. Just a way to stick with what matters in a way that feels good.

Here’s what I know for sure:

• The ability to stay consistent isn’t something you’re born with. It’s something you build.

• It’s not about pushing harder—it’s about making it easier to show up.

• And most importantly, there is no one ‘right’ way to do anything. The only thing that matters is what actually works for you.

So if you’ve ever felt like you just don’t have the discipline, the motivation, or the thing that makes other people stick with it—maybe it’s not about willpower at all.

Maybe you just need a system that finally fits.

I’d love to hear—what’s one thing you’ve struggled to stay consistent with?

Let’s talk below.

Subscribe now

I was living in Melbourne, Australia, working full-time in a global marketing team. My employer was (and still is) a great company, but I was deeply unfulfilled in my role. I missed writing for expression rather than agenda… perhaps you can relate?

My housemate, an investment analyst, had heard of this new startup that allowed writers to just write, and strongly encouraged me to check it out. I remember going to the website, staring blankly at the screen, and thinking: What do I have to say? And if I do think of something, who would even care?

I closed the window and didn’t think (or honestly, hear) of Substack again until 2021.

By then, I’d left that role and had been a full-time freelance writer for a couple of years. I loved my clients and the work I was doing, but once again, I found myself craving creative expression—something that wasn’t shaped by a brief or bound by client expectations.

This time, I got closer. I created an account, and even a publication… but again, hit a wall when it came to the writing part. I’d spent so many years defining and writing in other voices, I’d lost touch with my own.

Another three years went by, and the call to join Substack got louder again (from multiple external sources, too). This time, I finally listened - and The Living Lab was born.

It’s been six months since I sent my first post to just under 500 subscribers haphazardly accumulated on a different platform. In that time, I’ve published 62 posts (including 21 ‘Make it a good Monday’ newsletters, four posts I’d written previously and pre-loaded before sending my first post, and seven article snippets from previously published pieces), gained over 2,000 subscribers and almost 20 paid subscribers.

I’ve also changed the name of my publication and expanded its genre to include thought pieces and cultural takes as well as tips for writers and creatives – mostly because those are things I love to write about. Fortunately, you all seem to enjoy reading them, too.

There are a lot of posts out there about how to become a Substack bestseller as fast as possible, so please take this as my full disclaimer that this isn’t one of them (clearly, gaining paying subs hasn’t been a huge priority for me). What you will find, is a completely honest review of everything I’ve learned and experienced on this platform in those six months - and what I’ll be implementing and experimenting with moving forward.

I decided against putting this one behind a paywall for now, but if you enjoy this publication and wish to support it, you can do so below. <3 Please know I adore and deeply appreciate you all, regardless.

Subscribe now

Here are seven things I’ve learned about Substack in six months…

1. This is a genuinely supportive community.

Like any platform, Substack has its downsides and the occasional troll. But spend some time in Notes or the comments of any popular publication, and you’ll notice something rare: people are overwhelmingly kind. Most of us are here because we’re fatigued by traditional social media and craving thoughtful, long-form content and real connection.

It’s refreshing. Readers actually engage, writers lift each other up, and the energy is more open-minded than polarising, fear-mongering and cancel-culture-esque. I spend time here and come away feeling creative and inspired, rather than drained and brain-fried (as I often do on Instagram or TikTok). And that’s nice, you know?

2. Notes can be overwhelming—but they’re great for visibility.

The Notes feed has that same pull as other social media. The infinite scroll. The dopamine hit. The repetition. It’s easy to get sucked in, which is why I’ve experimented with keeping the app off my phone to focus on writing rather than consuming (I also love the way Substack looks on desktop)! But when used intentionally, Notes can be incredibly powerful. Two of mine went viral in January (I wrote about that here), and the subscriber spike was immediate (see graph below).

If you’re looking to grow your audience, engaging with Notes—without letting it become a distraction—can be a really powerful thing to do. It’s also the gateway to some incredible publications! I recommend time blocking your day or having set parameters (ie I’ll read and respond to x amount of posts) to ensure you don’t fall into unhelpful habits. Protect your creative time, always.

3. Showing up here feels like a pleasure, not a chore.

After years of circling Substack, when I finally committed, I decided to do it properly—two posts a week, plus regular Notes. And you know what? Writing here has felt easy, in a this-is-what-I-actually-want-to-be-doing way. Unlike other platforms, where consistency can feel like an obligation at best, Substack feels like an exhale to me. I don’t have to dance on TikTok, or spend time trying to make something look aesthetic in Canva. It can just me, my words, and an audience that genuinely wants to read them.

That said, if you’ve been here a while you’ll know I’m not militant about scheduling. Make It a Good Monday has been known to land on a Tuesday in Aus time, and my second weekly newsletter could appear anytime between Thursday and Sunday. I’d love to say this is a strategic open-rate experiment, but honestly? I’m just fitting it around my copywriting and brand strategy business (and if my Substack income was competing with my client income, I’d be on here far more often)!

Scheduling is something I plan to tighten up in the next six months—so get ready for REGULARITY, PEOPLE. On that, actually - is there a day you prefer to receive newsletters? LMK in the comments below, because the poll won’t give me enough options for days of the week (how rude).

4. But also, sustainability > consistency.

There’s a lot of advice about posting 3-4 Notes a day, engaging constantly, and treating Substack like a full-time job. There’s merit in that if you have the time and energy, for sure. I don’t do it to that extent (yet). Partly because I already run a business that needs my time to pay my bills, and partly because my personality type is better suited to variety. She’s the spice of life, after all.

I show up weekly, but I prioritise something that’s more important to (and aligned with) me than rigid consistency: sustainability. I’d rather keep a pace I can enjoy than sprint straight into burnout. The beauty of Substack is that you can run your own race - or not race at all. I’m in no rush, and I’m absolutely here for the long haul (and for all of you, of course).

5. Substack is evolving—but some things are still clunky.

Since I joined, Substack has rolled out live video (which I haven’t tried yet), voice notes (which I’m partial for Make It a Good Monday), and more features that make the platform feel dynamic. But there are still some gaps:

• No audience segmentation. If you want to send different content to different subscriber groups, you can’t (yet). I find this particularly tricky, as I have a lot of writers and a growing number of non-writer who I want to serve equally.

• Slow backend updates. It takes a while for subscriber counts—especially paid ones—to reflect in analytics.

• You can’t subscribe from the app. This is kind of wild, as I’m sure a huge amount of readers are using the app - but when you go to pay a writer, you can currently only do this from your desktop. As I mentioned earlier, I prefer the way publications look on a desktop anyway (so blog-esque! So magazine-y! tres chic) - but this seems like a pretty urgent update for them to fix so I’m sure they’ll prioritise it soon.

• Limited membership flexibility. There’s no simple way to offer multiple pricing tiers or different perks for different subscribers.

I imagine these things will improve as the platform grows, but for now, they’re worth knowing.

6. I haven’t really figured out monetisation yet.

Mostly because I haven’t really tried to. Life is expensive, the internet is loud, and asking people for money can feel… weird. But I’ve seen writers monetise in all kinds of creative ways—selling products, coaching while keeping their newsletter free, running launch months for paid subscribers, publishing sponsored brand posts.

For now, my priority is creating something that genuinely adds something to my readers' lives—whether that's practical advice to support your creative business growth, a fresh perspective that shifts or expands your thinking, or simply a moment of inspiration or encouragement you didn’t know you needed.

Some posts (like this one and this one) are exclusive to paid members, and all posts go behind the paywall after four weeks. In addition to the full archive, my paying subscribers also get 1:1 access to me for specific advice on writing and creativity. Eventually, I’ll (probably?) put more energy into monetisation, but right now, I’m focusing on making The Living Lab something that’s undisputedly worthy of support. So if there’s anything you want to see more - or less! - of here, I’m all ears (and, eyes?).

To those of you who are already supporting this publication - thank you so much. It’s truly so appreciated, and I celebrate each and every one of you - for real.

Subscribe now

If you want to monetise quickly, there’s no shortage of Substacks teaching people how to grow on Substack. Some of the writers who’ve been here a while seem to get really up in arms about this, and I get it—there’s something frustrating about seeing growth-focused newsletters take off while others pour their hearts into long-form pieces. Personally, I have no issue with it. Writers and creatives should get paid to do and make what they love, whatever that may be. Personally, I prefer reading (and writing) long-form thought pieces and cultural takes over growth tactics. That tends to be what I focus on.

7. We’re still at the beginning of the Substack boom.

Substack has had a huge surge in recent years, but it still feels like we’re at the beginning of something big—especially in Australia, where most people still have no idea what it is. And that’s exciting.

If you’ve been lurking, waiting, or talking yourself out of starting (like I did in 2018 and 2021), let this be your sign: just start.

Write for yourself.
Commit to your own version of consistency.
Ignore the stats for a while.

See what happens. Why not, eh?

Are you curious to know anything else about Substack? Are there certain topics you’d like me to explore more of? Or certain days you’d prefer to read The Living Lab? Hit me with it all below - let’s chat! x

On one hand, it’s a universally-accepted marker of excellence. As admirable as it is aspirational, we could all achieve our dreams if we were disciplined enough to persist. It’s elite athletes training relentlessly to win gold. It’s humans overcoming adverse circumstances to achieve remarkable, inspiring, life-improving, positively-impacting things. You know the ones.

But that other hand is gripping with white-knuckled obsession. Which may still be admirable, absolutely, but it’s also all-consuming – to a fault. If we’re so preoccupied by the pursuit of potential ‘greatness’ in future – by persisting – don’t we miss the magic of our present?

There’s a fine line, I suppose, between persistence as a virtue – of resilience, of trust – and persistence as a trap – a socially-celebrated mask for avoiding facing things we may need to face, from walking away from things that are better left behind us.

That line is particularly tough to straddle when we’re not even sure whether our desired outcome is possible (which, let’s face it, is often the case). In other words, when we’re sitting in the cloudy realm of uncertainty.

It's a deeply uncomfortable and often anxiety-inducing space, but one we’ve all had to spend time in. Our natural instinct is to push against it—to problem-solve our way out, to persist until things become clear. But some things don’t come with clear answers – let alone outcomes. At least not immediately.

Hustle culture tells us that persistence pays off. That if we keep working, keep trying, keep moving, we’ll get to where we want to be. And sure, we may. But what if persistence isn’t necessarily about moving forward at all costs? What if, sometimes, it looks like waiting, like trusting, like being still? Can we persist… passively? Peacefully, even?

It’s one thing to work hard for something you know is possible. It’s another to hold space for something uncertain, to keep showing up even when you’re unsure whether you’re moving toward success, running in circles, or spending time that could be better used elsewhere.

Unhelpful advice tells us to “embrace the unknown!” because “change is the only constant!”—but there’s little comfort in that when you’re worried about whether your business idea is going to pan out or send you bankrupt, or whether your roof is about to be ripped off by an impending cyclone (currently a reality for thousands of people in my hometown, Queensland, Australia).

I’ve found it more helpful to reframe uncertainty as the un-decided—in that if the worst-case scenario hasn’t happened yet, the best case is still possible.

But there’s another – lesser discussed – layer to this: self-worth.

When we tie our value to our ability to push through, to endure, to achieve, it becomes nearly impossible to let go. Because if we stop persisting, what does that say about us? Have we failed? Given up? Are we too weak and ill-disciplined to deserve our dreams? Were we never ‘good enough’ to begin with?

Share

But self-worth is not conditional on effort. There is no invisible scoreboard tallying up the times we refused to quit. And yet, we often act like there is.

This is where self-forgiveness comes in. Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is release something you once thought you had to hold onto. Sometimes, walking away isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.

So if persistence isn’t always the answer, what is?

Maybe it’s trust. Not blind, naive trust, but the kind that allows for possibility—the kind that acknowledges uncertainty and keeps going anyway. Maybe the best kind of persistence isn’t about force, but about perspective.

Perspective that even if you don’t see the full path ahead, the next step will become clear.
Perspective that letting go of one thing makes space for something better.
Perspective that not knowing the answer doesn’t mean you’re lost.

This is the hardest kind of persistence because it requires patience. It requires resisting the urge to control, to grip, to force things into being before they’re ready. It asks us to trust that not knowing doesn’t mean we’re failing—it just means we’re still in the process.

And if we can sit in that space, in that uncertainty – as deeply uncomfortable as it may be – without forcing, without needing an immediate answer… maybe magic will follow.

A radical concept, I know.

The question was posed by Liz Gilbert, of course, to myself and roughly 1,500 others seated in Sydney’s historic Town Hall. We were there in the hopes of her big magic rubbing off on us, I think. That and to complete her weekend workshop (which was presented fairly ambiguously – but who needs specificity when you’re Liz Gilbert?).

Within the first five minutes of coming on stage, she sent ripples of relief through the building.

“One word you won’t hear from me all weekend is purpose,” she warned (reassured?) us.

Liz then went on to lament our cultural ~obsession~ with finding our ‘purpose’ – this elusive, often all-consuming thing, apparently unique to us as individuals (out of 8+ billion people), prescribed to us at birth to ensure we leave a legacy, change the world and all that.

“Why is it that we’re so obsessed with changing the world?” She asked. “Why do we need to leave our mark, really?”.

Another gut punching but equally exhale-inducing question.

And of course, simply identifying this singular cosmic reason for our very being is not enough. We must also then prove it’s worth something. Preferably with a pay-check.

There’s a strong cultural (capitalist?) narrative that in order for our endeavours to be valid, they must be monetised. Oh, you think you’re a writer? Not if you haven’t been commissioned. An artist posting on Instagram? Amateur, at best.

Unless, of course, you’re a mother… that’s the one job we insist must be done for free. And if you don’t want to forge a career OR procreate? Well then, good luck to you.

How is it that our alleged purpose - this intrinsic, assigned-exclusively-to-us thing - needs permission from some external party?

It doesn’t, of course. But knowing that on a logical level and believing it on a full-body level are two different things.

One study referenced in Healthline found 91% of people have experienced purpose anxiety at some point in their life. While there are well-documented health benefits to having a sense of purpose in life, having a dogged attachment to finding and living off a singular pre-determined skillset can come at the expense of our relationships, health and general quality of life.

So how do we free ourselves of the pervasive pressure to prove our worth? How do we escape the chokehold of purpose paralysis?

Here’s what I learned.

Read more

If you’re anything like me, your focus is fragmented at best, non-existent at worst. You sit down to work and somehow end up deep in a TikTok rabbit-hole. You go to respond to an email and 20 minutes later, you’re reading a Reddit thread about the decline of modern society (it’s a dark place).

The good (bad? comforting? disconcerting?) news: You’re not alone. Don’t go shame spiralling.

Such is the sad state of our collective concentration that Netflix — a hub that garners a huge amount of attention, globally — even has a category called ‘shows you can watch while scrolling your phone’. Terrifying.

According to Johann Hari, NY Times best-selling author of Stolen Focus: Why You Can’t Pay Attention—and How to Think Deeply Again, our attention spans aren’t failing by accident. They’re being hijacked. And the more distracted we become, the harder it gets to do the kind of deep, meaningful work that actually matters.

I wrote about this for Body&Soul a few years back, and recently decided to revisit the book to see if it all rings true. Spoiler: it does.

So if your brain feels foggy, your creativity drained, and your ability to focus nonexistent, here’s what’s really going on - and how to take your attention back.

Why You Can’t Focus

Some would have us believe that distraction is a personal problem - a willpower issue. If only we were more disciplined, we’d be able to sit down and work without constantly flipping between apps and losing our train of thought before completing a task.

But Hari’s research shows that this is by design. Our inability to focus isn’t just bad habits—it’s the result of powerful external forces that profit from our distraction.

Here’s what’s quietly rewiring your brain:

1. The Multitasking Lie

You’re not good at multitasking. (None of us are.)

Yet, we jump between emails, Instagram, Slack, and actual work, thinking we’re being productive—when in reality, we’re training our brains to stay scattered. According to Hari’s research,

• The average worker is interrupted every 3 minutes

• It takes 23 minutes to fully refocus after a distraction

• Your brain burns extra energy every time you switch tasks, making you feel exhausted faster

Every time you context-switch, you’re corroding your ability to think deeply.

2. Big Tech Is Engineering Your Distraction

Your lack of focus isn’t a glitch, it’s the business model.

Social media companies aren’t just tracking your clicks; they’re building eerily accurate psychological models to predict and manipulate your behavior.

Hari explains that these platforms don’t just collect obvious data (like what you search for). They collect the tiny, seemingly meaningless details - how long you hesitate before scrolling, which posts you linger on, even the emotions in your face when looking at your screen.

• More distraction = more engagement

• More engagement = more profit for them

• Your attention is being sold to the highest bidder

As Hari puts it: "It’s not your fault you can’t focus. Your distraction is their fuel."

3. You Never Let Your Brain Breathe

Remember when waiting in line meant… waiting? Now, every spare moment gets filled with (both mental and literal) noise - scrolling, notifications, podcasts, playlists, never-ending content.

But boredom is where real thinking happens. Studies show that letting your mind wander is essential for:

• Problem-solving

• Creativity

• Deep thought

Hari’s research found that our brains need empty space to function at their best. Instead, we fill every gap with micro-stimulation—and then wonder why we feel creatively drained.

How to Reclaim Your Focus

Hari argues that fixing this problem requires big systemic changes - reforming tech policies, rethinking work structures, and pushing back against a culture of constant distraction.

But while we wait for society to catch up, here’s what you can do right now to take back your brain:

1. Block Your Own Escape Routes

If you leave the door open for distractions, your brain will take the bait. So pre-commit to focus time by:

• Using website blockers (Freedom, Cold Turkey)

• Turning off all non-essential notifications

• Deleting time-wasting apps from your home screen

• Setting your phone to grayscale mode (less visually enticing)

Hari actually locks his phone in a literal safe when he needs to focus. My phone lives on do not disturb, and when I need to get into ~deep focus~ mode to write a long-form piece, I turn it off and put it in another room to create as many barriers to ‘entry’ (aka usage) as possible.

Honestly, as soon as I do - it’s a huge relief.

2. Find Flow - Not Just “Productivity”

The best way to regain deep focus is to get absorbed in something meaningful.

Hari says, that tasks that get you into flow should be:

• Challenging, but not overwhelming

• Clear and specific (“Write one article” > “Work on writing”)

• Personally meaningful (work you actually care about, not just work for work’s sake)

Instead of fighting your attention span, work with it—find something that pulls you in naturally.

3. Make Space for Real Thinking

Instead of filling every free second with content consumption, build in white space for your brain to breathe.

• Take a walk without your phone

• Resist checking your screen in every idle moment

• Stare out the window (seriously—this is where breakthroughs happen)

Hari found that since giving his brain time to wander, his thinking is sharper and his ideas come faster.

Your Focus Is Worth Fighting For

At the heart of Stolen Focus, Hari asks:

• Do we actually value attention and focus?

• Do we want to be able to think deeply?

• Do we want this for ourselves and future generations?

Because if we do, we have to fight for it.

That means pushing back against a system designed to keep us distracted. It means reclaiming our time, our thoughts, our creativity.

Because if you don’t protect your focus, someone else will steal it.

What’s One Small Way You’ll Take Back Your Focus Today?

I highly recommend going straight to the source — Stolen Focus: Why You Can’t Pay Attention—and How to Think Deeply Again.

I’d love to know — do you think your attention span is diminishing? What’s helped you break free from the distraction trap? Let’s chat below.

If I were starting my freelance writing career today, while I’d follow the same fundamental steps, I’d incorporate a few different strategies to what I did in 2019. Strategies that focus on where the opportunity is and what works right now.

I truly believe there has never been a better time to get paid to write. And the numbers back me - at the time of writing, there are 15,000 job ads for writers on LinkedIn alone, and there are almost 400 million companies in the world. 400 million! That’s a lot of businesses who need strong copy and communications. And that doesn’t even include sole traders — which is huge market for freelance writers.

Combine that with the rise of subscription-based platforms like Substack + the doors AI is opening and the opportunities for writers are rampant. But to capitalise on them, you need to be strategic.

Let’s talk about the biggest trends shaping freelance writing in 2025—and exactly what I’d do to build a sustainable, high-paying writing career from scratch if I were starting today.

Read more

I would have been thrilled, though.

Back then, I had just handed in my resignation after coming to the undeniable realisation that I had to quit my full-time job. I also had enough savings in the bank to last me two months (just) and a whole lot of determination to do whatever I could to make this freelance writing thing work.

Or at the very least—to do whatever I could to avoid the regret of never really trying it. Because, to me, that was *far* worse than ‘failing’.

Five years, two months, one global pandemic, 60+ clients, over half a million dollars, and many (many) learnings later, I can safely say I won’t have to live with that regret. And because I’m a big advocate of celebrating *all* the milestones, I wanted to mark my half-decade-versary (it’s a thing, k?) by sharing some of the biggest lessons I’ve learned. Five of them, to be exact.

Poetic and highly original, I know.

Without further ado…

1. The biggest determinant of sustainable self-employment is your mindset.

If you’ve been in my world for a while, you’ll know I bang on about this a lot. And for good reason.

It’s going to be really hard—impossible, even—to live off your words if you don’t actually believe you can.

Why?

Because belief is what inspires you to hit ‘send’ on the big pitch. It’s what keeps you pitching when you don’t hear back the first time (or the second… or, ahem, third…you get it). It’s what pushes you to put your best foot forward—and keep walking until you get where you want to be.

Sure, strategy and skill matter. But if you don’t trust that this is possible for you, you’ll sabotage yourself before you even start.

2. Success won’t be linear. And that’s okay.

While I’ve been able to make freelancing work this time, my first attempt? Not so much. It was just that—an attempt.

I burned out. I didn’t charge enough. I had no real structure. And after 18 months, I quit and went back to full-time work.

But those mistakes? They taught me how to do it better the second time around.

Freelancing isn’t an upward-only trajectory. You’ll have months where you feel unstoppable. And months where you wonder if you should apply for jobs. You may even have months were you do apply for jobs (been there) and realise ~nothing~ is worth giving up the freedom you’ve experienced as a freelancer.

The key is knowing that every setback is a growth opportunity, ripe with learnings you can apply to do better next time.

3. Swapping time for money might be selling yourself short.

I was given some invaluable advice early on in my freelancing career: “Never charge for your time. Charge for your value.” And honestly? It took me years to really get it.

The value you provide to a client isn’t about how long it takes you—it’s about what you’re delivering.

A strategic sales page that takes you three hours to write? Still worth thousands if it makes the client six figures. A thought leadership article you can now write in half the time? That doesn’t mean it’s worth less—it means you’ve mastered your craft — and if anything, you should charge more … you big expert, you.

Hourly rates can be a helpful reference point when starting out, but over time, pricing per project is almost always better.

If you get faster at delivering high-quality work, raise your rates. Efficiency = expertise.

4. Word-of-mouth is the most powerful marketing you’ll ever do.

At least 85% of my business over the last five years has come from happy clients—either referring me, bringing me into new businesses, or coming back for more.

So, if I were starting again, I’d do this from day one:

✅ Send a templated email at the end of each project, thanking them and asking for a Google review while their enthusiasm is fresh.
✅ Collect and use testimonials—your future clients want proof.
✅ Talk about your wins (without feeling weird about it).

I know, I know—sharing nice things people say about you can feel ick at first. But it’s not about “tooting your own horn.” It’s about highlighting the great work you do and the amazing people you work with.

Still hesitating? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve booked a new client just from sharing a screenshot of a nice email.

5. Your business doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.

You don’t have to follow the formula. You don’t have to do what everyone else is doing.

Learn from others, sure. But build your business around what you enjoy and what you are best at.

My offering is a mix of my favourite things: brand strategy, feature writing, copywriting, coaching, and now Substack <3. No two days are the same—and that’s exactly how I like it.

Maybe you love making reels and get clients that way. Maybe you hate Instagram and prefer cold pitching. Maybe you want to niche down. Maybe you want variety.

Do what works for you. That’s the whole point.

🔗 FREE TRAINING: How to Get Paid to Write in 2025—get my exact framework for finding freelance work in today’s market.

Access now

Freelancing has given me more freedom, more fulfilment, and more opportunities than I ever could’ve imagined when I quit my job in 2019.

But none of it happened overnight.

It took persistence. Mindset shifts. A whole lot of figuring it out as I went. And a willingness to keep going, even when it felt uncertain, stressful or scary.

If you’re called to self-employment and are in the early stages (or even the messy middle), know this: your future self will thank you for sticking with it.

I leapt off my bed and sprinted into my housemate bestie’s room.

“BABE, THEY SAID YES. YOU’RE COMING TO SCOTLAND.”

It wasn’t the first pitch I’d sent to a tour operator offering an article in exchange for a trip, but it was the first time they’d said yes. 

I’d managed to secure a spot contributing to the Huffington Post. I wouldn’t be paid for the trip or the content, but I would get to see the Scottish Highlands for the first time, at no expense. 

And for a twenty-something travel obsessive who ~dreamed~ of swapping my words for experiences – it was the absolute jackpot. 

It was also my first ‘foot in the door’, which tends to be the most intimidating for most aspiring travel writers. 

How did I make it happen?

Pitching 👏 with 👏 persistence.

I know, I know. It’s not exactly sexy, and it’s definitely not a secret strategy. There’s no silver bullet to ‘success’ as a travel writer…. But there are a few golden rules I’ve found to be consistently true: 

1. Know your worth, and be open to invest first – Yes, your writing has value, and yes, you should *absolutely* be compensated. But when you're just starting, an unpaid gig could be a great investment. Each article and trip is a building block, adding credibility and clout to your portfolio. Like planting seeds that will eventually blossom into lush opportunities, these early experiences can open doors to paid gigs and high-profile assignments. Note: I don’t recommend writing for free for ANY publication more than once… but if it’s a 'gateway’ opportunity, in my experience — it’s worth considering.
   

2. Tailor your pitch like you’re crafting a love letter – Generic pitches get generic responses, or worse (and often), no response at all. Research each brand or publication thoroughly to make them feel seen, heard and ~safe~ in your hands. Show them you know their mission, their audience, and why your perspective is unique and valuable. Make them feel like you're writing to them and only them, and your pitch will stand out in a sea of templated requests.
   

3. Follow up, but don’t stalk – Send your pitch, then mark your calendar for a follow-up. A gentle nudge after a week or two shows you're professional and passionate. But keep it classy, and considerate! Bombarding their inbox will do more harm than good. It's about striking the perfect balance between persistence and patience.
   

4. Embrace rejection as a stepping stone – Not every pitch will be a home run, and that's okay. If you don’t hear back, don't see it as a failure. Instead, use it as a cue to refine and evolve your pitch. Keep tweaking and testing different angles, and don’t be afraid to reach out to other publications or operators. Each no brings you closer to a yes, as long as you learn and adapt along the way — and keep going.
   

5. Pitch with the reader front of mind always – Further to point two, when you’re trying to snag that press trip or article placement, always think about the end reader. What does the publication’s audience care about? What are the editor's goals? If you go in just talking about what you want, you might not get very far. But if you align your pitch to show how you can help engage their readers — like showing millennials why sustainable travel is the must-do for the future, for example — you’re much more likely to catch their interest and get that coveted yes.
   

After that trip to the Scottish Highlands, I went on to secure a trip to the Amalfi Coast, then a yoga retreat to the UK’s Lake District, then a blogger’s trip to Finland, a press trip to Iceland – and many, many more. Like anything, travel writing is accumulative, and consistency is key. 

Give these tactics a go, and watch how your approach transforms not just the responses you get, but also how you perceive and handle the pitching process itself. 

Progress over perfection for the win!

Here’s to your next adventure,

Lizzie xoxo 

Most times, I would see them and wonder: Will it ever happen to me?

I am, of course, talking about Substack notes that go ~viral~.

When I joined this platform in September 2024, I didn't really get what Notes was about. Is it X/Twitter? Is it blogspot meets Tumblr meets Instagram Threads? How should I use this thing? Would anyone even care what I have to say?

I would see those notes - the viral ones - and assume such reach was, well, out of reach for little ol' me. I'd never tried or cared to go viral on any platform, you see.

So - unsurprisingly -I never had.

Until… I did.

Twice, of all things. Within one week!

The notes in question?

This one:

And this one:

And while, yes, it did result in an influx of new subscribers (hello, new friends!) my biggest learnings from it all have been somewhat surprising…

This deep dive is available for paying subscribers. You can access it with a free tril below.

Going viral on Substack Notes gave me a real insight into what’s resonating with the community here — and a chance to truly connect.

Lesson One: People want to feel seen and heard. The first note was about writing into the abyss. That lonely feeling we all get when it seems like no one is reading, listening, or caring. It’s a sentiment that’s all too common among writers and creators. And when I articulated it, the floodgates opened.

People felt it because they’d been there too. I’ve loved waking up each day to go through and respond to each comment… and hopefully make each writer feel a little more seen, and a little less alone. It’s certainly something we all seem to be craving - and truly, what’s more human than that?

Lesson Two: People are craving safe, cozy, creative spaces. The second note - more aspirational and optimistic - was about finding or creating a corner of the internet that feels inspiring and nurturing. A place where you can share without fear, connect authentically, and let creativity flow.

It tapped into a collective yearning for something better than the noise and chaos of other platforms. And a collective optimism/excitement for the potential of Substack. A safe space to write and create without needing to vy for attention in an economy built on stealing it. May it continue <3

So, what does all this mean for you? Here are some practical tips for creators wanting to connect with the masses here on Substack:

1. Ask yourself how you’re feeling.
   As a writer or creative, what you’re feeling can be your biggest clue: Ask yourself, what emotions are coming up for you as you navigate your creative journey, or being here Substack.? Are you feeling unseen, stuck, or frustrated? Use those emotions to fuel your Notes. Chances are, others are feeling the same way.

2. Explore what you’re craving.
   What’s missing in your creative life? Is it connection, inspiration, or community? Write about that. Your vulnerability might just strike a chord with someone else craving the same thing.

3. Don’t take rejection personally.
   For every creator’s viral Note, there are probably 10 that flopped at *minimum*. It’s all part of the process. Keep experimenting and stay consistent. Remember: What doesn’t resonate one week might take off the next. Try to reframe is as a place for your own experimentation and expression… if you show up, you’re already doing so well.

4. Experiment with ChatGPT.
   Not sure where to start? Plug in a few of your Note ideas (or ones that others have gone viral with) and ask it to identify patterns or sentiments. Use its feedback to inspire your next post.

5. Write, reflect, repeat.
   Keep a running list of ideas. Write Notes that make you feel something, even if they don’t immediately take off. Viral moments can’t be forced, but authenticity is always felt.

Final Thoughts:

Going viral is exciting, sure, but the real magic of Substack Notes is in the connection - the shared experiences, emotions, and stories that remind us we’re not alone. Next time, it might just be your Note that buzzes with likes, restacks, and comments.

Or - perhaps even better - next time, you might make a new friend, or make a fellow writer feel a little more seen, and a lot more appreciated.

Interested in getting paid to write in 2025? I’ve put together a free training on how to build a freelance writing business in the changing market. Access it here.

I felt my face redden as he said it. He wasn't wrong.

But he was also my boss. And I was also at my desk in the middle of an open-plan office, so it wasn't exactly the place to ~let it all out~.

What spurred this ill-timed emotional impulse?

An ill-timed - but completely undeniable - realisation. I had to quit my job. Like, soon. I had to give that freelance writing thing a crack (again). But I was terrified.

Honestly, it was a 'knowing' that had been niggling at me for a while. An inconvenient truth, if you will. My job was safe, familiar and relatively easy. Sure, the work was unfulfilling and I felt like a large part of my skillset was going to waste... but I really liked these people. I'd been working with them for years. Couldn't I just be happy staying there?

So I'd been avoiding that inconvenient truth - quite successfully, thanks very much - until about five minutes prior.

I was in a meeting with a development coach. He was hired by the business - presumably to help the staff improve their performance. But he asked me a question that made me want to jump ship.

"Are you green and growing, or are you ripe and rotting?"

It felt like a kick in the gut. I had been rotting there - for a while, actually - and I was the only one who could do anything about it.

So I did. I got my savings in order and handed in my notice. I had idea what was awaiting me in the unknown abyss I was leaping into, but I did know that if I didn't at least try - I'd always regret it. Because I'd be letting myself down.

As it turned out, what was awaiting me was amazing. And now just over five years later, I'm writing this as a multi-six figure freelance writer - dedicated to helping others do the same.

Subscribe now

On the fence about your job this year?

If you’re not sure whether it’s time to make a change, here are three questions to ask yourself that might help you gain a bit of ~clarity~:

1. Do you feel challenged or stagnant?
   Growth often comes from discomfort. Are you learning, developing, and pushing yourself, or are you just going through the motions?

2. What’s stopping you from leaving?
   Is it fear of the unknown, financial insecurity, or something else? Identifying the barriers can help you decide if they’re real roadblocks—or just excuses that can be overcome with the right action.

3. What’s the worst-case scenario?
   If you left and things didn’t work out, what would happen? Often, imagining the “worst-case” and how we’d actually handle it helps us realise it’s not as scary as it feels.

And while it’s important to listen to your gut, making a leap like this takes preparation. Before quitting, I made sure I had my savings in order and a rough plan for what I’d do next. Maybe for you, it’s a case of going part-time or looking for a gig in a different industry to keep money coming in while you build your own biz.

Taking calculated risks—not reckless ones—is key to making a career change successfully. But if it’s something that’s been pulling at you for a while and/or or there’s a deep part of you that just knows what you’re currently doing is *not it*… you’re not going to regret giving it a go.

So tell me, creative one… are you green and growing, or ripe and rotting? And if it’s the latter, what are you going to do about it?

Interested in getting paid to write in 2025? I’ve put together a free training on how to build a freelance writing business in the changing market. Access it here.

But as we dive into these fresh starts, it’s worth remembering that our goals and dreams are best pursued with clarity, intention, and care.

Burnout often sneaks in when we’re too focused on doing it all, too quickly. I know this because I’ve been there. My first year of freelancing was an exciting time full of big opportunities, but I didn’t yet know how to navigate the business side of writing—or protect my own energy.

I was 26, living in Amsterdam after moving from London, and completely new to freelancing. I had *no* idea how to package my services, set my rates, navigate contracts with clients — or generally protect myself, my work or my worth.

Subscribe now

I was taking on projects that were ~significantly~ underpaid, and therefore having to do too many of them to make ends meet. Perhaps unsurprisingly, my bank account wasn’t doing so well. And neither was my mental health.

Worst of all - I’d forgotten why I wanted to be a freelance writer in the first place. The joy of the process was gone.

After a year of stress, exhaustion, and financial strain, I was completely burnt out. I scurried back to the ‘security’ of traditional employment, where I remained for the three years it took me to pluck up the courage to leap into self-employment once more.

Thankfully, I was able to avoid making all of the mistakes again — and over five years later, I can’t imagine *not* being a full-time freelancer.

Burnout is never fun, but it did teach me the most valuable lesson of my freelance life: if you don’t value your time, energy, and expertise, no one else will.

The Lessons Burnout Taught Me

That experience became the turning point in how I approached my work, my clients, and my boundaries. Here’s what I’ve taken into every new year since:

1. Your worth isn’t up for debate. Pricing yourself properly isn’t just about money; it’s about valuing your time, your expertise, and the energy you pour into your work.

2. Boundaries are your best friend. Burnout happens when you say yes to too much or the wrong things. Saying no creates space for better opportunities to come your way.

3. Your health is your greatest resource. Sleepless nights and constant stress don’t make you more successful—they make you less equipped to create your best work. Rest is a priority, not a reward.

4. Every experience is a lesson. Taking on clients that weren’t willing to pay me properly taught me how to stand up for myself, negotiate confidently, and recognise the value I bring to the table.

5. Adopt the mantra: ‘All in good time’: I was under the misconception that I had to do it all, and I had to do it *all at once*. How wrong I was! The joy is in the journey… why rush it?

Starting the Year with Intention

This year, I’m focusing on balance, health, and saying yes to work that aligns with my values and goals. Consider this your offical invitation to join me in setting intentions that prioritise your well-being alongside your professional dreams.

Whatever you do or pursue, burnout isn’t inevitable. With clear boundaries, intentional pricing, and a commitment to self-care, you can protect your creativity while building a career you love.

Have you faced burnout in your creative work? What lessons has it taught you? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Here’s to a year of valuing yourself, protecting your energy, and creating work you’re proud of.

Lizzie x

“The majority of socials are so pro Justin and I don’t even agree with half of them lol… It’s actually sad because it shows you have people [who] really want to hate on women.”

These words – sent via text from Justin Baldoni’s crisis manager Melissa Nathan to his publicist Jennifer Abel – were intended to stay between colleagues. They were never meant for public consumption, much less legal action.

They’re certainly being consumed – and acted upon – now.

Reportedly subpoenaed by Blake Lively’s legal team, these comments have been published in an explosive story by The New York Times. The exchange forms part of Blake Lively’s complaint against Baldoni that alleges sexual harassment and a coordinated smear campaign during the controversy-ridden production and promotion of It Ends With Us.

In the wake of the sweeping and severe cancellation of Lively, these texts put a chilling spotlight on how deep our cultural bias against women *still* runs – and how readily we, as a collective, abandon nuance in favour of outrage. Especially in the grips of social media’s echo chamber.

While Baldoni denies the allegations, their existence alone begs the question: why was the public so quick to vehemently vilify Lively without pausing to consider her side of the story?

READ FULL ARTICLE