Should I quit Substack?

I’m having a writing wobble

On Saturday morning, I staggered out of bed and headed to the gym for a spin class.

‘I’m tired,’ I told the instructor as I got on my bike. ‘Go easy on me.’

‘I’m tired too,’ she said.

‘That’s good,’ I thought. ‘It’ll be a nice, gentle class.’

Ten minutes later, halfway up the first of three hill climbs, I wanted to get off and go home.

‘Come on, Liz!’ the instructor shouted. ‘This is when it counts.’

‘I’m tired,’ I said, trying to keep my legs pedalling.

‘Our bodies are tired, but our minds are strong,’ she said. ‘That’s how we show up when we’re tired.’

I showed up because I’d had a bar of Green & Black’s three nights in a row, watching Leo Woodall in Prime Target, but I didn’t tell her that. I just smiled and kept my legs turning.

‘You love it!’ she said.

‘I love it,’ I said.

‘Our legs are burning, but the endorphins are flowing.’

‘Are they?’ I thought. I’d yet to receive my serotonin high.

As I hobbled off the bike and into a kettlebell class, I wondered what I was doing. Surely, there were better ways to spend a Saturday morning.

The kettlebell class was brutal. Deadlifts, windmills, squats, swings, and a twisty lunge thing that caused me to topple over. Then, the last exercise, a combination: jumping squats, jumps on and off the box—turning for an extra challenge, and finishing with a running plank. A minute on each and four sets.

‘That’s it!’ The instructor said. ‘Any questions?’

One woman raised her hand. ‘Why?’ she said.

‘I thought you said you were tired?’ said another.

The instructor just smiled her ‘no pain, no gain’ smile.

The kettlebell jumps drained what little leg strength I had left, but the box and the running plank I loved. Anything that requires more cardio than strength is definitely for me. I might not have the strength to open a door but cardio, I can do all day.

By the time I’d finished, my heart rate had rocketed, and the serotonin boost had kicked in. I left the class feeling amazing, pleased I’d shown up, especially when I’d not felt my best.

It lasted about 15 minutes. I got home, made a cup of tea, sat down at the kitchen table, and all the energy drained out of me.

Saturday afternoons are usually when I write my Substack, but after the gym session and a long week at my day job, including working away filming for a campaign, I just didn’t have the mental or physical strength to write a word.

Most of my weekends are spent writing and after four particularly long January weekends, I was craving a rest and some time with Chris.

‘We’ll do something,’ I said. ‘Go somewhere.’

The Piece Hall in Halifax or Upper Mill were mentioned, but by the time I’d showered and waited for a delivery (new trainers—not for the gym) to arrive, it was almost 2pm. The day was disappearing.

‘How about the cinema?’ I said.

‘How about lunch at the garden centre?’ Chris said.

In the end, we did both.

‘This is nice,’ I said, as we chatted over our sandwiches. ‘We should do this more often.’

At the cinema, we watched We Live in Time, starring Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield. It’s a tearjerker romcom about a couple facing a terminal diagnosis. Despite the topic, we both enjoyed it, but I did find it triggering. Not because of the plotline, but because of the main character.

Florence Pugh plays Almut, a chef with a fierce passion for her career. She is almost fanatical in her dedication and determination as she prepares to compete in the Bocuse d’Or world chef championships.

‘That’s me,’ I thought. Not the chef part obviously (although I was Barnsley and District Inter Schools Cookery Champion, 1993), but with writing.

‘Am I so focused and passionate about my writing that I put it before other things?’ I wondered. ‘Failing to see what’s important and what really matters in life?’ It was all very deep for a Saturday afternoon.

‘Do you think I spend too much time on my Substack?’ I asked Chris as we walked back to the car.

‘It takes as long as it takes,’ he said, repeating what we’d heard listening to my productivity audio book on the way to the garden centre. That I had a productivity book on the go on a day off says a lot. Perhaps I should have been listening to Radio 2.

For the rest of the evening, I felt on shaky ground. I’d been adamant my Substack was the right thing to spend my time on and now, I just wasn’t sure. Was it worth the effort? Was it worth the commitment and sacrifice? Was I missing out on the fun things in life?

Later that night, as we were having a drink at the kitchen table, I asked him again. ‘Do I spend too much time on my Substack? I could be spending time with you.’

‘What will we do?’ He laughed. ‘It took all our time to decide on the pictures.’

He jokes about it, but Chris does such a lot to make sure I have time to write. He sorts the weekend early morning horse care, does all the cooking, and sacrifices our weekend time together. When it comes to my writing career, it’s not just about me. It’s a team effort.

We talked about my writing and how, over the years, it’s been pushed to the sidelines of our life. In the past five years, we’ve had three house moves, a pandemic, new jobs, geriatric animals to care for, pet loss to contend with, and all the other ups and downs of life. During that time, writing never came first. I wrote, but it was never the main priority.

I longed for a time when it could come first and became frustrated that it never did.

Writing my Substack has allowed me that time to focus, but inevitably, it’s come at the cost of other things. My weekend time with Chris. Time with the horses. Time with my family and friends.

But should I give it up? Could I walk away when I’ve put so much work into making it a success? Would that make my life better or worse?

We agreed that now is the time to focus. I’ve come so far. I need to keep going, push through the doubts and the tiredness. There is a lot to be said for consistency and showing up, even on the days when it’s hard and I’m not feeling my best. Maybe, much like with the gym, that’s when the magic happens.

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