When enough doesn't feel like enough

Saying thanks, guilt and stealth crossing a milestone

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It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? How was your August? Down here in Australia it is neither summer nor vacation season. My August was… busy. That’s doesn’t mean ‘busier than yours’, just ‘too busy for my available spoons’ in a kind of unavoidable way involving keeping elders and cats alive. (We’re all persisting, thank you.)

Thank You for 100 Armchair Rebels

Early this week one of you became my one hundredth subscriber. Thank You! Its a privilege to share this rebellion alongside you, all 100 of you.

I’d hoped to maybe hit 100 subscribers in a year, so I’m a bit ahead of schedule. I expected to celebrate wildly and feel a sense of validation, personal accomplishment and pride. (One out of three is fantastic, not going to lie. Validation is always welcome.) Instead I’ve felt exhausted and creatively constipated and a bit of a failure. I’ve written diligently, but without achieving a coherent essay.

Guilt is… passing a milestone when you haven’t published in 3 weeks.

My Grind-Obsessed Inner Critic tells me I don’t deserve you, if I don’t publish every single week, come what may. Ok, maybe Mum’s heart attack was an acceptable reason to miss an edition, or my own health crash if I was literally bedridden. But barely treading water while coordinating eldercare and dealing with sick felines? Doesn’t count, apparently. Just slacking.

My guilt was compounded by Substack’s gearing up with lots of ‘how to grow your stack’ content. There is the ‘must publish to a regular schedule because you’re a professional (or trying to be)’ camp, and the ‘I am an artist, and reject the cultural norms of performative production, but of course I show up because I value my community” camp.

There doesn’t seem to be room for “look, I’m doing my best here, and I have a point of view some of you find worth waiting for”. Hard to monetise option C, of course.

I’m wondering if this is really about control?

As a writer I’d love a guaranteed path to creative fulfilment, audience building and potential remuneration. As a platform that is also a business, Substack likely wants that too. As a reader, I value content from writers I admire, and discovering new voices in Notes. Though actually, I haven’t read everything written in August in even the modest 38 newsletters I subscribe to.

When I ask my Grind-Obsessed Inner Critic what would have been made me deserving? I get something like “if you wrote 100 perfect essays in 50 weeks and were name checked by a hero on Notes”. (Actually that last one has happened a couple of times, but not the 100 essays, and not the perfect.)

Once again, my internalised hustle culture is wreaking havoc on my peace of mind AND my productivity. There’s some Ableism there too. It’s possible I thought I would deserve your attention if and when I fix myself… Aaargh. Are we there, yet?

Am I even allowed to be here and be taken seriously?

If I don’t show up as if I have average adult human energy levels, am I enough? Better yet, if I don’t have or perform as if I have superhuman energy levels, am I enough? Many are called, few are chosen…

Am I allowed to be disabled, imperfect, intermittent?

I decided: I am.

I will keep showing up. I hope you will too. Together we can untangle ourselves from some of this very dodgy programming. Let’s start with a few questions for you to chew on. If you share in the comments, we can get a discussion going?

Thank you for reading, your time and attention are a gift.

Over to You

• Does enough effort feel like enough to you? Usually? Sometimes? Hardly ever?

• Whose voice is the voice telling you what constitutes enough effort? A parent? A teacher? A coach? Enid Blyton? Hollywood? Your Grade 6 self who forgot her homework that one time? Is that voice out of date?

• In your experience, is enough effort rewarded? Usually? Sometimes?

• Have you ever achieved something, a goal or a milestone, and felt more unworthy after? Kinda praying I’m not alone in that one, ‘cause that would be embarrassing.