Jumping Jehosaphat, Reader, why does my face look like a skin graft taken from an aging ballbag?!
No, seriously.
Anyone else feel like they’re wearing the last five years like an impenetrable weighted cloak stitched together with Covid burnout, economic chaos, and a rotating cast of unregistered clowns in positions of political power?
Add to that the constant noise that AI is “coming for our jobs, wives, and first-borns”, which as most of us in the tech world will know, isn’t strictly true, but it’s hard to ignore it adds heaviness.
Because, same.
Even though I’ve committed to writing my newsletter each week, lately I’ve found myself putting LinkedIn on the back burner. Not because I don’t love it—quite the opposite. I adore the little corner I’ve managed to carve out, full of brilliant weirdos and emotionally intelligent renegades.
But if I’m honest?
LinkedIn’s started to feel like a job—and one that doesn’t pay.
Yes, it’s still full of ghostwritten thought-leaders pretending to make six figures every time they curl out a monster turd.
Yes, it’s still a hotbed of AI-generated arse juice.
But beneath the noise, there’s a real community there. And I want to honour that—not exploit it.
Which is why I’ve been taking a step back on that platform, just for now.
Because whenever I start to feel creatively constipated, it’s usually a sign I’m ignoring something else I need to be paying attention to.
No one should be straining on the toilet of social media.
(And there’s a sentence I didn’t have on my 2025 bingo card, but we move…)
Let’s be clear—I’m not going anywhere. I love my newsletter. I love the conversations I end up in every week. I still love LinkedIn, but I’ve switched to a more “active participant in other people’s audiences” rather than trying to just push to my own.
But I am asking myself:
Why am I showing up?
Sure, I talk about personal branding.
About being the most you version of you online.
About telling the truth, even when it’s messy.
But it goes deeper than that.
I’m not here to just send you an email with “6 unbearably generic LinkedIn tips” about one-line paragraphs and “Thoughts?” slapped on the end of each post.
I don’t care about vanity metrics or basic common sense dressed up as performative expertise.
If I do one thing in this life, I want it to be this:
To remind you that you are a valuable fucking asset to the world—not simply because of what you’ve achieved, but because of who you are and how you’ve lived.
I want you to feel validated to live intentionally—even if you’re also working a job you tolerate just to keep the lights on.
Because yes, we care about purpose.
Yes, we care about growth and legacy.
But we’re also deeply passionate about not being homeless and being able to afford eggs.
So when I talk about showing up online, I don’t mean for the algorithm.
I mean for you. For the ripple effect.
For what it opens up when you dare to be honest, even just a little bit—and then apply that honesty in your work, your life, your relationships, your self-concept.
And if right now that honesty looks like burnout, disillusionment, or wondering what the hell you’re doing?
You’re not alone.
We’re not meant to be performing productivity while quietly falling apart.
So here’s your reminder:
You’re allowed to pause.
You’re allowed to recalibrate.
You’re allowed to be fucking knackered.
But don’t you dare forget—you’re also allowed to take up space. Exactly as you are, you juicy lil’ peach.
Same time next week?
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Gemma :)
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