Why I Started My Substack

Sunday Notes, Newsletter Episode 5

In October 2024, I, along with my husband, of 34 years, relocated from my home county of East Yorkshire, where I had lived my entire life, halfway across the country, to Somerset. It was a very exciting time as we moved into our newly-built home and got to know our local town, neighbours and the extended area.

Fast-forward to early 2025 and things had settled down very quickly, so much so that I wondered what came next for me and how I was going to move forward. Here I was in a new area, no friends, no work commitments and a husband still loving his job and having no intentions of retiring any time soon. Added to this, was the emotional horror I was experiencing as my 60th birthday approached. I can only liken the feeling I had of this landmark ageing, to a major crisis, along the lines of Covid 2. I was not in a good state of mind.

When I actually reached the big 60, for a short period, it felt like a release. I survived, nothing really changed, everything was okay. In fact, I would go as far as to say I felt like I was on a bit of a high. Yippee, I can do this, I thought. I am going to reinvent myself, start a new business, become a life coach, travel the world, blah blah blah, you get the idea. I now see that this was just a false high, a tragic arc, the honeymoon period, call it what you will, but in essence I crashed back down to earth with an almighty bang as the weeks passed by. Yes, I had survived, but as I still had nothing tangible in place, I was just faced with continuous mental resistance. Everything felt equally impossible.

So what did I do?

Obviously, I took the easiest avenues open to me first, over eating, over drinking, shouting, crying, constantly complaining, living in my dressing gown and generally just feeling very sorry for myself. I would like to say that this was a short-lived phase, but it did probably last longer than it should have. Eventually, as the weather turned warmer and the days became longer, I managed to pull myself out of my pit with the help of various self-help outlets. Firstly, social media, YouTube specifically, where I began watching motivational videos. Some didn't quite hit the spot but others I could relate to. I also listened to podcasts which provided some useful information, but which could complicate matters further, as lyrically waxing individuals, it appeared, had contradictory advice on the same subject! Nonetheless, I persevered, making notes on anything that I found resonated with me and that, I believed, I could act upon. Time and again, I heard mention of the healing power of writing. I have never kept a diary or a journal. As a child, some of my friends did, but my childhood was not an easy one, as is the case for lots of people, and I was not comfortable documenting things that were happening to me, or the feelings I was experiencing. Therefore, writing was all new to me, but I felt that it could be something I could now do.

I began by writing anything that took my fancy; newsletters, poetry, which I had no idea I had any interest in, and articles on any subject that sprung to mind or that I had any knowledge of. Slowly but surely my writing began to help me find my purpose and it, in part, became a form of therapy. But it was not a quick fix.

I have lived my entire life, personal and professional, working on short-term goals. Long-term goals, like undertaking a degree, make my heart physically tighten, and a panic start to build, and that’s just thinking about it. But the short form writing I was creating didn’t feel daunting at all and, despite it often taking a long time to get a piece of work to where I felt comfortable with it, it was not a long-term project. It provided me with a way of emptying the contents of my head, which in turn provided more clarity of thought.

With this new-found clarity, it didn’t take me long to realise that every single thing stopping me from achieving the changes I needed to make to move forward, came down to one thing. Me. Surprisingly, this understanding did not lift my mood, it had the opposite effect, in fact. It added to the pressure I was already experiencing on 'Project Get A Life’.

As a born problem solver and organiser, I thrive on resolving issues for others. I am known for having the answers and for giving people insight and an alternative view point. I’m just not so good at achieving this for myself. I find that all my natural instincts and perspective are lost when I am inside my own storm. I just cannot see through the chaos that surrounds me.

This is where my writing came into its own and started me on the track I am currently hurtling along today. Millions of people have turned 60 before me and, hopefully, millions more will do so in the future, so somebody somewhere must be feeling the same way as I am. I just don’t happen to know them personally, or if I do, they are not in a position to talk about it just yet. With this in mind, I began writing for these ‘imaginary people’ who were out there somewhere living their parallel lives. This was my first step forward.

My second step, or more appropriately leap, was starting my Substack account. I found Substack from watching someone I follow on YouTube. He mentioned that he would be publishing a newsletter on the platform, so people could read what he was doing each week. This was definitely a lightbulb moment for me. I realised that I could actually share my writing, which was sitting on my laptop, somewhere where others could possibly read it. Until this point, I was unaware that such a thing existed. Within a couple of hours, I had my Substack account open, and I was ready to share my introduction with the world, or that’s how it felt to me anyway.

I was very nervous, even though at that time my husband was my only subscriber. To begin with, no-one actually read my posts, and I was actually comfortable with that. It felt like I was still doing something with my writing and I continued to write and post weekly. Very slowly, my audience began to increase, with new people dropping into my subscriptions most weeks. Meaning, I was now writing for real people who were making real comments. This was huge! More importantly, though, I was enjoying myself and my mind was feeling so much less cluttered, because, as we know, when you write something down your brain doesn’t have to actively hold onto it any longer. I had 60 years of things in my mind that I had never written down. How light I feel now!

My writing is not eloquent, or, as my son describes it, not flowery. I write as I think and as I speak. As a Northern lass, I am abrupt, blunt and efficient with my vocabulary. Why use 40 words when you can just use 2, and you know what those two words often are, don’t you?

Hopefully, my Substack will continue to grow, but if it doesn’t or if everyone unsubscribes or unfollows me tomorrow, that’s okay, because, after all, I was only ever writing for imaginary people anyway! The thing I like most about sharing my words on here, is that I can just be me, I don’t feel that I need to fit in or follow the crowd. Everyone here writes on such a variety of topics, there is no need or pressure to compete. There is room for everyone and everyone has room and how bloody marvellous is that?