What’s the cost of personal writing?

Remembering Dooce, remembering to pause.

Editor’s Note: This essay briefly discusses suicide. Please take care of yourselves.

It’s an odd time to be online, to watch digital behemoths like Twitter and BuzzFeed News fall apart and shut their doors. Twitter was born in 2006; I joined in 2008. BuzzFeed News launched in 2012; I devoured its stories from the start. These were places I loved, organizations I wanted to work for, sites I studied with curiosity and caution. It's jarring to see them today: Twitter, now owned by Elon Musk, is barely functional. BuzzFeed News, as of late last month, no longer exists.

Then, another devastating blow: Heather Armstrong, the pioneering blogger known as Dooce, died by suicide last week. Armstrong began writing online about her life in 2001, when no one knew what a blog was. In 2004, she started running ads on her site, becoming one of the first creators to monetize a personal brand online. By 2009, she earned a spot on the Forbes list of the most influential women in media. She opened the door for an entire generation of writers and creators, many of them women, to share their lives and struggles online. And now she’s gone.

I worked at CNN Digital, my first job after college, from 2007 to 2014. Among the many things I vividly remember from my time there is how much I looked forward to my lunch breaks—and not because I would leave the newsroom. This was when I would give myself permission to drink from the internet firehose. I’d post a few tweets, check the latest news over on BuzzFeed, and savor the remaining time for my most cherished activity: reading blogs.

Dooce was a favorite. I loved how candidly Armstrong spoke about her mental health struggles and the highs and lows of motherhood. I didn’t agree with all of her opinions, but I admired how confidently she expressed them. She had a voice—a sharp, funny, beautifully written one—and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

In 2010, Armstrong published It Sucked and Then I Cried, a memoir about pregnancy and motherhood that detailed, among many other things, her experience being hospitalized for postpartum depression. I loved the book so much that I wrote a letter to Dooce thanking her for her honesty—for helping people who suffer from depression feel less alone. It’s the only time I’ve ever sent a handwritten letter to an author.

A decade later, in 2020, I got pregnant and became a mom. I wound up being hospitalized for postpartum psychosis. Eventually, I wrote about my experience, heartened by Armstrong and all the people before me who were brave enough to chronicle their hardest, most misunderstood times.

Can you touch grass and be online? This person is trying their best. (Getty Images)

It’s an odd time to be online, to actively participate in some communities like Substack, to begrudgingly log on to others like Facebook and Instagram, and to feel too old—too exhausted, too overwhelmed by the noise—to navigate places like TikTok.

There was a time when I cared deeply about exploring the latest, greatest social network, about what content was going viral, about which creators and influencers to follow. Now I don’t. I want to touch actual grass without having to post proof of a lovely day in the park. I prefer to chat with someone one-on-one than keep up with the endless scroll of friends’ curated life updates. I want to spend less time online and more time with my child.

But I still can’t shake the feeling of missing out. If I’m not constantly online, keeping up with friends’ updates, how out of touch will I become? And if I’m not constantly online, sharing my own updates, how quickly will I be forgotten?

When I saw the news about Armstrong’s death, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. It had been a while since I’d read Dooce. She posted much less frequently in recent years as she struggled with alcoholism, not to mention some problematic views, but I never forgot her impact. She taught me the value of writing openly about your life online, for yourself and for your readers.

Of course, there’s a downside to sharing so much of yourself publicly. Some people, like Armstrong, become targets of hateful comments. Hate so hurtful that, as she said in a 2019 interview, “it was very, very scary and very, very hard to live through.”

I’ve been lucky to not receive much vitriol online. But I worry about what would happen if I did. I wonder all the time whether I’m sharing too much or not enough of myself. Whether what I’m writing is interesting and helpful or purely self-centered. Whether I’m creating a trove of stories for my daughter to later love or loathe. Whether I can keep up the pace of delivering compelling content, of keeping paid subscribers happy, in an online world that keeps changing and asking more of us.

I’ve worried about these things for a while. What’s best for me and my family? What’s fair to my readers? What’s sustainable? For the most part, I let those thoughts hum away in the background, problems to figure out another day.

On Friday, two days after learning about Armstrong’s death, I made the tough decision to step away from a writing project I was working on with a colleague I greatly admire. My eyes welled up with tears as I told her over Zoom how I don’t have the capacity to devote the time and energy that the project deserves. She was gracious and kind—exactly the kind of person I do want to work with—and we ended our call wishing each other the best and looking forward to a future opportunity to work together.

Afterward, I felt lighter. As tough as it was to turn down an opportunity, it was the right thing to do. I’ve been pushing the limits of overwork for a few months now and this was one step toward the direction I want to go.

It’s an odd time to be online, to make money from freelance writing, copywriting, and personal writing when fears of AI writing are abound. It’s tempting to give into those fears—to panic and pick up as many new writing gigs, paychecks, and skills as I can, while I can. But I’m trying to avoid doing that. I know that’s a guaranteed path to burnout.

I want to feel more in control of my workload and more confident about what I’m sharing online. I’m not sure what that will look like, but I do know it will require taking more thoughtful steps forward. I know it will require saying no to even more opportunities. I know that it will require listening to my heart, not the worries and fears that wrack this sweet dumb brain.

With that in mind, I’m going to take a short break from this newsletter, returning in June with—hopefully!—a clearer idea of what I want to publish going forward and at what cadence. I will share those plans with paid and free readers; stay tuned. 

In the meantime, I am sending love to anyone who is struggling with their own self-doubts and demons. To anyone who’s been affected by the many tech and media layoffs or is worried about their future career prospects. To the mothers who gained babies but briefly lost their minds. To the storytellers who have so much to say and offer. Whether or not you choose to share those struggles online, you’re not alone. I see you.

xoxo
KHG

If you are having suicidal thoughts, please know that you are loved and valued. You can call or text 988 to reach the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also visit Speaking of Suicide for a list of additional resources.