As I mentioned on social media, I hit a wall of massive burnout around November and December last year. Let me be clear: it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but my own. For a while, I struggled to put it into words, but I can see it clearly now for what it was.
When I released that blog post about my experience with the far right, I never imagined it would resonate the way it did. I was just another shitposter on Threads, someone cracking jokes and talking politics. (I still am, for the record!) If my story helped you, or continues to help you, I’m deeply grateful for that.
But over time, my online presence started to feel… confined. It was like I’d been boxed into this one painful and complicated chapter of my life. That became the thing people associated me with, and it began to overshadow everything else I wanted to create.
I stopped making the kind of content that actually excited me: on Threads, Bluesky, this very site, TikTok, or anywhere else. Instead, I found myself churning out posts on the same subject, not because I wanted to, but because I felt like I had to. It wasn’t an expectation from others, it was an expectation I’d placed on myself. I had built this identity around a niche, and suddenly it felt like stepping outside of it might disappoint people who followed me because of my experience and insight.
Once you feel stuck in that box, it’s hard to imagine stepping out of it. I found myself asking, “What if no one cares about what I have to say outside of this? What if I’m only valuable because of this one thing I’ve shared?” It’s a really limiting feeling for someone who LOVES content creation. And in trying to meet those imagined expectations, I started to lose touch with the parts of myself that wanted to explore, create, and have fun again.
Honestly, even as I write this, I realize how silly it sounds. But in the moment, it didn’t feel silly at all. It felt overwhelming and isolating, like I’d lost sight of who I was beyond that one story. It’s strange how something you thought was empowering can slowly become a weight you’re carrying again without realizing it.
So, what could I do? The answer, as it turned out, was surprisingly simple: I took a step back. I let myself breathe. For a month, I didn’t worry about Substack or any of my usual platforms. It helped that I have a full-time job outside of content creation: this wasn’t a life-or-death decision. It was about reclaiming my mental space and figuring out what I actually wanted to say, not what I felt obligated to say.
I also spent that time reflecting on the kind of content I truly wanted to create. Sharing my experience is important to me (it always will be), but I realized that I don’t have to share it everywhere. Threads, for instance, isn’t the right place for deep dives into my past or detailed insights. It’s a platform designed for quick, bite-sized interactions, and trying to tackle complex questions in such a limiting format was wearing me down.
It wasn’t just the format, though. It was the underlying feeling that I needed to be this endless source of solutions for people, a well of answers that never ran dry. That kind of expectation, even when it’s something you’ve placed on yourself (which I 100 percent did), can be crushing. I started to feel like I wasn’t allowed to have boundaries, like I always had to be “on” and ready to respond.
Over time, that pressure drained me, not just of energy, but of creativity and joy. It’s exhausting to feel like your value is tied to constantly fixing things or offering insights, especially when you’re not giving yourself the same care and attention. Letting go of that expectation was liberating. It didn’t mean I stopped caring or wanting to help; it meant I finally allowed myself to prioritize my own balance and well-being. And honestly, that first step of saying, “I don’t have to carry this all the time,” was exactly what I needed to start finding my way back.
My Threads is slowly returning to what I always intended it to be: comedic takes on politics, lighthearted glimpses into my life, and, of course, pictures of my cats. It feels good to reclaim that space and let it be fun again.
For the deeper, more serious stuff (like my dives into the far right) I’ve decided Substack is the better home. Honestly, I’m probably going to move my big blog post about that topic over there soon. It just feels like the right fit for content that requires more nuance and space to breathe.
This site, meanwhile, will be what I originally envisioned: a place for fun updates, creative projects, and whatever sparks joy.
It wasn’t easy to step back, but doing so helped me rediscover the joy in creating and reconnect with the version of myself I want to bring to these platforms. Looking back, I realize that hitting that wall was necessary. It forced me to reevaluate not just how I approached content creation, but also how I approached myself: what I valued, what I wanted, and where I was willing to set boundaries.
I’m excited to keep experimenting, to create without pressure, and to let each platform reflect the parts of me that feel authentic. It’s a journey, but it’s one I’m glad I’ve started.
