I’m sitting in a cafe killing time before I have to head to the studio to teach my evening class.

I’m a Pilates and Yoga teacher; normally on Thursday afternoons I teach two classes back-to-back, but thanks to studio maintenance the first one was cancelled.

Doesn’t sound like the worst set-up in the world, relaxing in a cafe with Chai and a slice of cherry and pistachio cake on a weekday afternoon, but half the work means half the money.

And this particular cancellation stings a little more than usual because I’ve already lost half of my weekly income thanks to a leak in another studio.

The joys of freelance living.

A not-so-secret long-term goal of mine here on Substack was to recapture my love of writing, while also potentially finding a way to monetise it again.

In what feels like another life, I was a journalist, employed by one of the national newspapers in Scotland, but that was the problem - I was employed.

Working on someone else’s terms, on stories I didn’t care about. And to be frank, they were often things I knew so little about that I had no business reporting on them.

When I left, it was on my own terms. And it was easily the best thing I could have done for myself at the time, so it wasn’t a hard decision in the end.

But I never say never and always had an inkling I would want to return to the world of words one day, as long as I could write about the things that I knew and understood, the things I was passionate about - who knew what they were, though...

Time passed, and I retrained. I travelled and gained more life experience, and now I have a relatively stable income as a self-employed instructor.

I say relatively because while I do well enough for myself, it’s with the caveat that I’m at the mercy of the studios that contract me.

This week is the perfect example of how quickly I can land in hot water.

It’s always in the back of my mind that I should really sort myself out not only with a back-up plan, but also with a long-term plan that will offer me more freedom and possibly some benefits.

In essence, it’s the classic tale of trying to optimise my working life.

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I tried “launching” myself on Instagram, sharing various Pilates sequences I was teaching that week and top tips for “wellness” as a stress management expert.

Even just typing it now makes me squirm. So it’s no wonder I couldn’t keep it up.

I realised I had no end goal; the content I was sharing was pointless because I wasn’t targeting anyone in particular and I didn’t have a plan.

I learned quite a lot about it all really, but ultimately decided that I didn’t need to pressure myself into doing something I felt so fundamentally un-aligned with.

Cue Substack.

In January 2026, I started this account. And I really made a go of it for the first half of the year.

I took time to understand the app and curate my feed, so I was seeing content that inspired me. And I learned how to use Notes in a way that generated interest and grew my audience.

I was writing long-form pieces weekly and, after a bit of practice, began to feel at home in my writing again.

But life got busy, I got distracted, and ultimately decided to give it a break. Because I didn’t want this new part of life to feel like something I had to do, I wanted Substack to be something I got to do.

I’ve still been dabbling in Notes a bit, and I have a backlog of articles I’m proud of, so I’m by no means a ghost.

But for the last couple of months I’ve not wanted to write. Up until the last couple of weeks that is.

I’ve been feeling the familiar draw, but I’ve not listened to it. In fact, I’ve actively ignored it. I’m not sure what I thought would happen if I opened up a new document and started writing again.

It felt like a waste of time. Like I’m not working towards anything, so what’s the point?

But by that logic I’d have to entirely give up Instagram, because all I do there is waste time.

Writing is a hobby I want to cherish, and I think I just forgot that. It doesn’t have to have an end goal.

So here I am. Writing, and remembering how much I enjoy it.

But it is indeed not by choice.

The cafe wifi isn’t working, and Edinburgh city centre is so busy in summer that phone data rarely works.

I don’t have a book with me, and I need to save my phone battery for my class later.

This is how I ended up writing again. Having literally nothing else to do for two hours.

The first version is in a Yahoo Mail email draft because I couldn’t even open a Google Doc without internet.

If it sees the light of day on Substack, know that I will have achieved the impossible and committed to finishing the process at home, when I had the option to turn the TV on instead.

It’s all habit really, isn’t it?

This is my public declaration that I will continue to work towards building good ones in a bid to be an interesting person with hobbies and interests.

Not just someone who doomscrolls their evenings away watching other people be creative.

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Thank you as always for reading; if you’ve made it this far, I’d love to hear why you love to write!

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We’re approaching the longest day of the year in the UK, so my home is flooded with light well before 5 am every day.

As much as we try to keep it at bay, it finds a way in.

And really, I love it.

I’ve always been a morning person. There is nothing better than a peaceful morning, where the sky is already blue, and the only sound interrupting the silence is birdsong.

Hopeful and calm, delightfully alone, in awe of the world we get to call home. That’s how I feel in the morning.

Also productive and focused, some of my best work is done between the hours of 5 and 9 am.

But something has been off recently; I have felt a little unmoored. And I’ve realised it’s because I don’t have mornings for myself anymore.

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I’m a Pilates teacher, and that inevitably means working when other people aren’t. Early mornings or late into the evening.

I passionately dislike working evenings; it’s a dark cloud hanging over me all day that I just can’t shake, even though I love my job.

Morning classes mean I can enjoy the rest of the day, without having to worry about going back into “work mode”.

So that’s what I’ve been doing for the last couple of years. Tuesdays, Wednesday and Thursdays were pre-6 am alarms, and off I went to work immediately. Often having to arrive at the studios by 6.

Lovely.

But something strange happened on the other days of the week. I would still wake up, but I found myself rebelling against the early starts because I didn’t “have” to get up.

That would be fine, except for the fact that I feel rubbish when I lie in. It’s so rare for me to sleep past 6 or 7, so if I do, it’s because I’ve woken up and fallen back to sleep. When I eventually do get up, there is no routine. I’m sluggish and slow.

I’m the early bird who missed the worm, and it shows.

But I’m determined to get back into my swing. Not because I don’t deserve rest, simply because I adore intentional mornings, and they make the rest of my day so much more energised and balanced.

To do this, I’ve given up my Thursday am class. (Hence why I’m sitting at 6 am writing a Substack)

This is the first week I’ve had it back, and it’s heavenly. I feel as though I’ve reclaimed my entire week just by this small change. Suddenly, the majority has switched. I only work two earlies, and I can do what I like with the other three days.

I can build habits that might actually stick. It’s promising.

I’ve decided for the next few weeks to get up when I wake up, and see what shifts.

Today I woke at 5.40 and was out of bed by 6. Here’s how it went:

• 25 minutes of journaling (the last entry was Sept 26th 2025…)

• Five minutes of sitting still, listening to the birds, while enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face

• Read my book for 15 minutes with my legs up the wall to boost my circulation

• A few minutes of stretching to wake up my body, and rehab an old shoulder injury

• One substack post written (and hopefully posted)

These, on their own, aren’t life-changing. But they are a combination of things that make me, me. You’ll have your own set of things that make you feel put together, I’m sure.

Doing these consistently is how I look after my body and my mind. When I don’t, I have a little voice in my head nagging me to find the time because I know it’s good for me. But we love to self-sabotage, don’t we?

Incorporating them into my morning routine is the only way I can guarantee I’ll make the time for them.

Habits are almost impossible to create when they aren’t being built into a consistent routine.

My sisters and I have a little technique we use when we want to commit to something, try something new, or make a change in our lives. We do the “thing” just for one month, not forever. Knowing we can commit for a month makes long-term changes so much more accessible.

Just for January, one of them didn't eat any sweet treats at all. Just for February, the other one did 30 minutes of her physio exercises every day.

Just for June, I am going to get up every weekday morning before 6 and do the things I already know make me thrive. I’ve had a chance to test the waters this week, and I’m suitably motivated to give it a real go.

Let’s see what shifts.

Have a glorious day, warm wishes as always,

Beth

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The description sounded amazing, and the reviews were brilliant. No experience necessary, not even a driver’s license; great, because as lots of you know, that’s something I’m still working on.

I’m well aware health and safety is played fast and loose across a lot of the world, but it didn’t even cross my mind to be nervous because if everyone else seemed to like it, I just assumed I would too.

How wrong I was…

Let me set the scene for you.

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We arrived in Agadir, on the southwest coast of Morocco, on Monday.

We had a lovely first couple of days exploring and relaxing. Nice food, nice pools, nice views - you get the jist.

It was all going well.

On Wednesday morning, we were collected at 8.30 from our hotel in a minibus and proceeded to pick up a dozen other people from nearby accommodations before heading out of the city and into the desert.

Agadir was destroyed almost entirely in the 60s by an earthquake, so the city that stands there now is very modern and lacks some of the more cultural aspects that the rest of Morocco is so well known for.

So as we travelled south, the landscape became increasingly sparse and altogether more rugged.

After an hour or so, we turned left into an old compound of sorts, arriving at our destination.

We piled out, along with another minibus full of people, and were warmly welcomed by the guides.

If there’s one thing I can say with absolute certainty, it’s that Moroccan people are some of the kindest and most engaging people I’ve ever met. You will not be disappointed if you go.

After a brief demonstration on how the quad works, a fair bit of which I missed because I desperately needed the loo, we were lined up so they could come around and shove massive helmets on us.

I looked and felt like a bobble head.

Onward to the quads!

When booking, we could have chosen just one quad and shared, but we opted for our own because why not…

How difficult could it be if you didn’t need any prior experience, and pretty much anyone from anywhere in the world could book on?

This is where it started to go downhill.

We were a convoy, the guide at the front and six quads behind him.

I was third in line.

Off we went.

Here’s a breakdown of my thoughts for the next half hour or so:

“God, it’s so bumpy”

“That’s a bit fast”

“Why are there so many rocks?”

“I hate this”

“Why is he making us go round in circles?”

“Everyone lied”

“I could really die”

“Jesus, slow down”

“I’m holding everyone up”

“Surely we must be almost there”

“Breathe”

“How can anyone enjoy this”

“Don’t tip over, don’t tip over, don’t tip over”

The route started relatively okay, awful, but okay. Little did I know, it was about to get worse.

We arrived at the dunes. Remarkable scenes, ruined by the guide telling us we had no choice but to go really, really fast, or the wheels would stop turning on the sand.

I’m not sure if I had taken a full breath since first sitting down.

Off we went again, this time up and over dozens of sand dunes, flying over the top and drifting despite my best efforts to stay in control.

I took a slightly wrong turn (because it was impossible to steer), and I ended up airborne for several seconds before slamming back down and whipping forward.

We weren’t technically supposed to do that, but given I had zero experience on a quad, how was I supposed to stop it?

At this point, it would be fair to wonder if I am being dramatic.

But dear reader, we were travelling 50+ kph and all I had on was shorts, a t-shirt, and a helmet.

I had never driven a quad before, I can’t even drive a car.

I really, really, really could have died! You can actually look up the stats yourself, quad bikes are super dangerous...

At the very least, I was frightened of hurting myself and not being able to work (I’m a pilates instructor).

When we stopped, I contemplated telling the guide I would not be getting back on the quad and he’d have to send someone to collect it, but I didn’t have it in me.

Apparently, I’d rather risk my life than be a hassle.

We had a break for the sandboarding, and this was my first chance to really take in my surroundings. It was truly astonishing.

Chatting to everyone else, I discovered to my dismay that I was the only person not enjoying myself.

What was wrong with me?

It was supposed to be fun and exciting, but I couldn’t get past the terror.

I felt utterly pathetic. And boring.

I’m in my late 20s now, and I’ve done a fair bit of travelling over the last few years.

Something I’ve always struggled with is feeling that I lack a sense of adventure.

We’re led to believe we need to be outgoing and adventurous to make the most of life, but that looks so different for everyone, and I’m only just realising it now.

There are plenty of things I do that other people either wouldn’t enjoy or would find scary. And in this case, I didn’t need to justify my dislike of an activity I didn’t feel equipped for or find fun, just to try and fit into the crowd.

I love getting older, because I’m so much more confident and comfortable in my own skin than I ever used to be before.

So I didn’t pretend to like the quads, I laughed and admitted I hated them.

And the world didn’t end, nobody cared, they actually sympathised with me. It turns out everyone riding on the back was having a hard time too.

We were taken down to ride on the beach after this, probably my favourite part, because it was flat. So I discovered I could do it, and enjoy it to some extent, just I have particular preferences.

After a little break for some Moroccan tea (sugary mint tea), we were on our way home, thank god.

I somehow ended up at the back of the pack and fell so far behind that the guide made everyone else stop and ushered me into the middle so that I wouldn’t get lost as the tail… it could have been embarrassing, but I really didn’t care.

I stand by the fact that the activity would have been a whole lot more enjoyable if we had taken the speed down a notch, but that wouldn’t have done the trick for the adrenaline-junkies among the group - fair enough.

We are all allowed to experience adventure in our own ways.

In fact, the next day I went for a traditional Moroccan Hammam and massage, where I was stripped down to my pants and left to steam in a tiled chamber.

Various ladies came in and out, washing my hair, before scrubbing and exfoliating every inch of my body.

It’s certainly not everyone’s cup of tea, but I’ve tried so many random relaxation rituals all over the world that I barely even bat an eyelid when they assume I’m happy to walk around starkers in front of the whole staff.

I may be risk-averse, but who’s to say I’m not the adventurous one?

-

Warm wishes, (from Edinburgh, not Morocco, sadly)

Beth

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I used it all the time, especially enjoying the easy access to slightly spicier titles that I’d have been too embarrassed to read a physical copy of at the tender age of 18…

10 years on, my reasons for caving now are sadly, much more boring: money, practicality, and if I’m being honest, laziness.

I’m a little impatient, and I’m used to instant gratification.

When I finish one book, I want to be able to start another immediately, and I want the world at my fingertips.

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If I loved the genre I’ve just finished, I usually want to find something that I’m hopeful will capture the same magic. So whatever books I’ve already got on my bookshelf, often aren’t particularly appealing.

The obvious answer is a book shop, which I adore, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not much use to me when I’m in bed at 8pm, with nothing I want to read. I have the same issue with the library, especially if the books I’m interested in have a waiting list.

A Kindle removes that limitation. Or at least, that was my experience in the past, so I’m ready to lean back into the convenience.

The convenience isn’t limited to having easy access to books, of course. It extends to how handy a little tablet is to take around with me; hardback books are the bane of my life.

If I’ve got a random 20 minutes free, I begrudgingly waste the time on Instagram. Because I can almost guarantee you that if my current book is a hardback, I’ll not be lugging that around with me just in case.

I am so looking forward to having the words at my fingertips again.

Reading holds me up and provides a sense of structure I struggle to live without.

When I don’t have a book on the go, I feel unmoored. Like I’m floating around through life with nothing to ground me in the moments I feel at a loose end.

I imagine it speaks to a bigger problem I have, where I struggle to exist and do nothing, but I don’t concern myself with that.

I have a very good work-life balance, and I love to relax. So, I’m probably fine.

I just like to pass the time with stories; delving into other worlds, feeling the emotions, and getting to know characters as though they are becoming part of my own life.

I especially love imagining the scenery from all around the world. There are so many places I would love to visit one day because of the books I’ve read. Ireland is shockingly high on my list, considering I’m from Scotland… But I just think it sounds spectacular.

I can read non-fiction if I have to, but really, I love being enthralled by a book that doesn’t require much effort to understand.

I’d say it’s my guilty pleasure, but I don’t feel guilty for it. There are many worse things I could be doing for fun than reading questionable quality chick-flick novels.

Over the years, though, I think my taste has developed, and my standards have slightly increased. Probably not a bad thing, but my previously lenient approach meant it was easy for me to read anything and everything without concern.

Now, though, if I’ve spent £10.99 on a book that I don’t enjoy, it stings a little bit more.

On the flip side, if I’ve spent £10.99 on a book that I have enjoyed, I tend to fly through it so quickly that I’m back to square one looking for a new book within days, and the money feels like it’s evaporated.

I know that’s the right way to do it, buy from local bookstores to support both them and the authors who spend their days writing so that people like me can be whisked away into another world, for however long.

But the whole world is just so expensive, and I am struggling to justify it all.

Edinburgh is lucky enough to have some brilliant secondhand bookshops, which I frequent often, but lately they’ve been hitting a little flat. Nothing has jumped out, and I’ve left empty-handed. Feeling the familiar sense of uncertainty I get when I don’t have a book to disappear into.

As I write this, I have just finished one of Lucinda Riley’s books, The Girl on the Cliff.

Riley is probably my favourite author at the moment. I find myself automatically searching for “R” on the bookshelves in shops to see if they happen to have anything of hers I haven’t read yet.

I love the way she ties history together with a more modern world, essentially telling two or three stories in one.

And I’m always in awe of how much effort and research must have gone into the stories; they may be fictional, but they are so real.

She sadly passed away a few years ago, so I know the number of books I have left to read of hers is limited, and I think this makes them all the more special.

Given this, I’m trying to pace myself.

The next book series on my list is The Dublin Murders, by Tana French. A friend recommended them, and I trust her take on literature more than anyone else in the world. So I am blindly going in assuming they will be outstanding.

I could have bought all 6 books from Amazon for £18, not that expensive, sure, but I have some holidays planned, and I’m flying Ryanair, so I’m limited for space. I always like to make sure I’ve got a backup book in case I finish the current one I’m reading.

I’ve had the books on my list for months now, and I’ve been delaying buying them because I’ve just hit the point where I could probably have just bought a Kindle outright with the money I’ve spent on books this year alone.

And that is the fact that pushed me over the edge.

I am trying to save and be more responsible with money. So £100 on a Kindle feels like an indulgence for no real reason, but in reality, I have every reason I’ve stated in this article.

It’s an investment in my happiness.

I love to read. I adore the way my mind can conjure up entire worlds based on someone else’s words, and I think it’s a really beautiful way to spend my time.

When I’m reading, everything else stops.

There is no chatter in the background of my mind. And I’m not mindlessly scrolling my phone in the same way I often do when I watch TV.

I’m focused, and I’m enjoying myself.

In a world filled with so much noise, reading is my peace and quiet.

So while I will always be obsessed with the ritual of browsing in a bookshop and holding a physical in my hands, I absolutely cannot wait for my new Kindle to arrive. I feel like a kid on Christmas.

If you have any book recommendations you think I, or anyone else reading this, might enjoy, I would love to hear them!

As always, thank you for making it this far. I appreciate you more than you know.

Warm wishes,

Beth

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It’s May 1st today, and I published my very first article on here way back at the start of January. I’ve somehow managed to stay consistent and publish every week since.

So why am I feeling absent? This is what I’m asking myself as I enjoy a peaceful Friday afternoon to myself.

Writing didn’t feel like a very appealing way to spend my precious “alone” time, even though now that I’ve bitten the bullet and opened up the page, the words are flowing naturally from me.

I’m reminded why this is the medium I’ve chosen to dedicate my time to this year.

I’m honing my craft, practicing the art of writing.

Partly for joy, partly because one day, I think I would like to return to the world of words and do something with them. I used to be a journalist, so this feels a bit like riding a bike.

So where is this resistance coming from? I can’t help but ask the question into the void, even though I actually have the simple answer: I don’t want to be perpetually online.

I want to be unaccounted for, off-grid, screen-free etc… for as much of my life as I possibly can be.

But if I want to “grow” on Substack, I have to use Notes daily. I know that because I did it for a couple of months, and annoyingly, it worked really well.

I gained a lot of traction and subscribers, and it was a lot of fun. It wasn’t hard to post every day because I was in the swing of it.

I treated it like Twitter, and I used to LOVE Twitter back in its heyday.

The problem came when I was more proactive with limiting my screen time because my Instagram scrolling was getting out of control.

I used a little gizmo to control my access to social media apps, and Substack was included. If a thought came to mind that would have been perfect for a Note, I couldn’t just jump on and share. So the thought would disappear, and the Note would never materialise.

In theory, fine, but it meant I accidentally kicked a habit I had actually wanted to maintain.

And now both the motivation and inspiration are gone.

I’m sticking with my weekly articles, even if I don’t have much to say, because I have faith that my enjoyment of this app will ebb and flow. And when I’m ready to dive back in, I’ll be able to fall back on my library of posts. I won’t have let myself turn into a ghost.

Apparently, we can also schedule Notes now, which is fun. Maybe that is exactly the feature I need. I can write my ideas on my phone and schedule them to be posted randomly throughout the week.

It doesn’t feel quite so organic… but maybe that’s still alright if the good intent is there. Time will tell.

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Already I’m feeling calmer having put “pen to paper” as it were. My thoughts are slightly less jumbled, and I feel I’ve done something with my afternoon. To me, this is a sign that I’m on to something.

Satisfaction.

There’s no pressure, which I adore. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: not having an editor looking over my shoulder, telling me what to write, while nitpicking my work, is such a pleasure.

Although someone did once reply to one of my Notes with constructive criticism on my wording, which started with: “The editor in me…”

I did not enjoy that. And I almost responded, reminding him that it’s a good thing he isn’t my editor then, but I held back.

Instead, I admitted that the Note was written quickly, and the point of it wasn’t to aim for perfection, but instead, to just show up and acknowledge something good that had happened in my day.

That’s what I like to do on Substack. Be positive and look for reasons to smile. The more I find, the more I notice.

If I were to return to the working world of writing, as it were, I’m not sure how long the enjoyment would last.

It would be risky to turn this hobby into a real-life thing that has to thrive.

I’m already living that stereotype. I used to love Pilates, so I trained as a teacher. Now I’m a full-time instructor who rarely gets to go to classes, and I can’t always remember what I used to love about it.

To be fair to my current life, I love it. I’ve been a freelance instructor for almost 3 years, and that has allowed me to really perfect my schedule. I have a glorious amount of free time and pretty lovely working hours. I love my clients and have lots of friends in the industry.

I wouldn’t change it, but I can say with certainty that I did sacrifice a personal passion in order to make this my reality.

So do I want to do that for writing… I’m just not sure.

Inspiration on my terms, that’s what I’m going with for now.

Today I wrote my title before I wrote the article, which I never normally do, and I’ve proven myself wrong. I may not be overflowing with classic inspirational content, but it doesn’t mean it’s gone, gone.

If you were coming on here hoping for a clearer answer, I hope I haven’t disappointed you - I’ll leave you with this motivational quote, just in case.

Nobody is forcing us to be here; we are choosing it ourselves.

I don’t have to write, I get to

I don’t have to go to work, I get to

I don’t have to move my body, I get to

I don’t have to cook, I get to

I don’t have to go to bed early, I get to

I don’t have to go shopping, I get to

I don’t have to read, I get to

I don’t have to go outside, I get to

I don’t have to to call my family, I get to

I don’t have to take care of myself, I get to

I don’t have to do anything, I get to

Aren’t we lucky?

Thanks, as always, for reading!

Warm wishes,

Beth

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And I like to think I would be a great rich person. A friend and I were discussing this last night, actually.

We would buy good-quality clothes, enjoy glorious food and travel the world, enjoying luxurious “wellness” retreats as a matter of priority.

We would both give plenty to good causes, too, of course, so that other people were benefiting from our good fortune as well.

But we would also invest in our hobbies and continue learning. We like to think we would continue to work, but who knows… I certainly know I have an enormous list of various yoga, pilates and anatomy training courses I would be doing now if money were no object.

But would that be enough?

Recently, something small but oddly significant made me question that.

I acquired a new TV stand for free, and the euphoria I felt really made me question the different ways we all experience joy when our realities vary to such an extent.

Would life start to lose its sparkle if everything were constantly shining?

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Let me set the scene for you.

Last summer, my boyfriend and I decided to move in together. My flatmate was moving in with her partner, and my living situation was thrown into uncertainty.

My boyfriend had bought his flat the year before, and on paper, it made sense for me to just move in; it wasn’t without challenges, though.

Initially, I was very aware that I was moving into his home. I didn’t know how to gently communicate the various things I wanted to adjust in order for it to feel like ours, rather than just his.

It was a nice flat, but even he would admit that he hadn’t made much of an effort in the 18 months he’d been there to make it homely.

One of the things on my list was to replace the TV stand. At the time, he was using an enormous, slightly damaged coffee table, which gave off temporary student vibes…

I found a gorgeous-looking stand online and sent him the link. It was in the clearance sale, so it was only £45, an absolute bargain for furniture.

He loved it, but life was busy, and he forgot to order it. It was, of course, discontinued after that, so I couldn’t help but feel frustrated.

Neither of us has an abundance of cash for this type of thing, and I was putting a lot of effort into finding affordable solutions to try to make the place feel more finished. It felt like an uphill battle.

At that point, I would have loved to be rich! Absolutely.

After a few weeks of rising tensions thanks to my seemingly never-ending list, things came to a head in a charity shop I asked him to meet me in.

I had found a TV stand I thought would be perfect. It was in good condition and was very cheap… but, in hindsight, my timing wasn’t great. He’d had a really busy working week and wasn’t totally on board with the stand being a priority in the first place.

We didn’t get it, and we ended up in one of our first proper arguments as a couple.

Unpleasant as it was, it was the catalyst for us talking about our feelings and actually making progress. We listened to each other and made a plan that worked for both of us.

We landed on a prioritised to-do list. I could put everything and anything I wanted on the spreadsheet, even if it was low priority and might not happen for years, it was being acknowledged.

It gave me the satisfaction of knowing we were slowly getting things done, and it gave him a tangible list to work from.

Fast forward 6 months. We had made a lot of progress, but still didn’t have a TV stand.

The DIY had slowed down significantly as we settled into winter, being cosy and simply enjoying each other’s company in our “honeymoon” phase.

Now, though, it was time to get back on task.

We started planning ways to renovate the kitchen on a budget. We were finding more furniture and decorations and just generally making the place more of a home.

The TV stand hunt was back on.

Then it happened.

A couple of weeks ago, we celebrated our 2nd anniversary. We had a lovely weekend, and in between mini-golf and afternoon tea, we popped into a furniture shop in Edinburgh since we were passing.

Neither of us had been in before, but we had time to kill. It ended up being beautiful, and really quite affordable.

We left having bought a mirror for above the mantle piece, and a little shelving unit for my partner to display all his little crystals and rocks. He loves to pick things up whenever we go for a walk.

They didn’t have stands in-store, but they did online. I was ready to get the measuring tape out and bite the bullet; we had waited long enough. We would buy a new stand, and it would finally be sorted. No more temporary, broken unit.

Off we went to afternoon tea, and yes, it was just as wholesome as it sounds.

And then we walked home. We were exhausted; we had packed just about everything you could possibly do in Edinburgh into our two-day anniversary celebrations. We were ready to sit on the couch and watch Netflix. Or more accurately, BBC iPlayer - highly recommend The Capture for a gripping crime drama watch.

We took a slightly different route home. I walk down the main street in our area, Leith Walk, about a million times every day, so we took a right turn instead. And ended up on a lovely street, I’ve passed lots but never been down.

Walking along, head in the clouds, we were delightfully full and content with each other and our day.

And that’s when I saw it… a TV stand, right next to the bins.

It was perfect.

There wasn’t a scratch on it, and it was virtually spotless. We were in awe.

Where did it come from? Who had left it here? What was wrong with it? There must have been something.

After ensuring it was definitely left to be taken, we scooped it up and continued on our way home.

We were still 15 minutes from home; had I been on my own, I wouldn’t have been able to carry it. Cameron had to have been there with me.

We got it home eventually. I gave it a very thorough clean because, you know, we did literally find it on the street. And then tried out luck by moving it into the corner, hoping it would fit, and that the TV would fit on top of it.

Yet again, it was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I couldn’t believe it. I was torn between being speechless and shouting about it from the rooftops.

That night, I could hardly sleep with the adrenaline.

It was slightly ridiculous…

After almost 8 months of this tiny little detail of my life floating around in the background of my mind and to-do list, it was taken care of. The stars aligned.

If I had had all the money in the world, I would have just bought a new TV stand when I needed one, and I probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought. And if I had done that, I would have missed out on all this unexpected, overwhelming joy.

Yes, I would also have missed out on the in-between frustration too, but surely that’s character building? To remember that I can’t make everything perfect straight away. I was practising patience, and I know myself, that’s good for me.

It’s probably good for everyone. Having to save for nice things is a standard part of life for most of us, and it builds appreciation.

I would do it all over again to experience the rollercoaster that was discovering the street stand. It’s been more than two weeks, and I still get little tingles of excitement thinking about it.

So I come back to the question, do I really want to be rich?

I think yes, still… but in a way where I’m just comfortable, without being over-excessive.

I want to be able to live life and see the world. To appreciate all the creative people who are dedicating their time to their passions and sharing that with the rest of us.

Be it cooking, music, painting, knitting, tennis, pottery, writing, photography, and the list goes on…

It’s inspiring and makes me want to do more with my time. If I could afford to support the small business and buy the hand-knitted jumper more often, that would be a very nice thing to do indeed.

And I could probably settle for just one glorious yoga retreat per year if I really had to; it would be special that way, and I could spend the rest of the year looking forward to it.

If I went every few months, I can only assume they would lose their sparkle slightly (that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway).

For now, I’m getting by just fine. I can pay my bills, go on a few holidays, go out for nice meals etc…

Even if I have to Google “budget options” slightly more often than I’d like… I’m lucky, and I don’t want to forget that.

Warm wishes as always,

Beth

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We’re redecorating our kitchen, so my current breakfast fixation of toasted banana oats isn’t on the menu. Instead, it’s cereal and a banana.

I’ll be leaving for work in about an hour, but it feels like a lifetime since I sat down to write, so here I am.

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If I press publish today, I will have stuck to my aim of sharing one article per week, even if it’s just by the skin of my teeth.

Life has been so busy lately, and I haven’t really felt like I’ve had time to slow down and observe it through my writing.

Part of me wonders if this is actually the perfect opportunity to make space for it, because I feel the absence of my creative practice.

However lovely life is, it feels like I’m not appreciating it because time is simply flying by. There is too much goodness to absorb, and I want to be greedy and enjoy it all.

When teaching Yoga, I often remind my students that when life becomes chaotic, it’s easy for our practice to fall to the bottom of the priority list. But in reality, that’s when we need it the most. It offers us grounding and a sense of balance.

It’s the same for me with my writing.

Showing up here consistently each week this year has given me regular moments to pause, reflect, and process whatever has been on my mind.

When I press publish, I feel a sense of relief. Like I’ve pressed the reset button and can go back to enjoying myself without feeling like I’ve forgotten to be curious or grateful.

It isn’t the case with a regular journal, either. I like publishing, knowing that the eyes of others will skim over my words, and hopefully be encouraged to appreciate whatever is going on in their own lives.

But also, it’s the process that soothes me. The writing and the editing - tweaking and cutting until I feel a piece flows with precision and ease.

I don’t edit my own journal, and I think that’s the difference.

So, all of that to say, welcome to this week’s article. If you’ve made it this far, I’m glad you’re here.

-

My life is extremely ordinary by most standards, but I feel awfully lucky to be living it. This week especially, my cup is overflowing.

If you’d told me two or three years ago that my day-to-day would be like this now, I would be in awe. It’s simple and joyful, what I’ve always craved.

It’s in part due to my work; I love being a teacher. Guiding people in Yoga and Pilates is fulfilling and fun, and very flexible.

But really, it’s all to do with the people in my life now.

Last week, my partner and I celebrated our second anniversary. It’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and having a partner is actually a lot more lovely than I ever imagined it would be. It helps that he is the best person in the world, though I may be biased.

I was very happily single and independent before I met him, and I knew if I were to start something with anyone, I would need them to share my passion for life. I didn’t care how that passion manifested itself; I just wanted someone interesting and interested.

He has this in abundance.

The way our lives have slowly become intertwined over the last two years has been one of the greatest pleasures I’ve ever experienced. And I think this stability has really helped me develop myself in other ways too.

During Covid-19, I really struggled to make friends. I was in my early 20s, and we weren’t allowed to socialise.

I was working from home, and life was just slowly passing me by.

In early 2022, I decided I had to start making changes to shift away from being miserable and start working towards a life I wanted to wake up to each day.

This is when I retrained as a Pilates & Yoga Teacher, and I did a bit of travelling. There were lots of highlights over that period of my life, of course. But really, it was punctuated by a lack of confidence in myself and uncertainty around what I wanted.

This continued for quite a while after I arrived home in Edinburgh to start working again.

I saw friends from my old job a few times, but after leaving the media industry, I quickly realised I didn’t have much in common with most of them. The meetings eventually stopped altogether. My social life relied on a couple of old uni friends and my sister.

It’s honestly only in the last 6 months, so two years on from arriving back, that I’ve started to proactively make new friends.

But it’s hard as an adult.

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Everyone already seems to have their groups set, and you really need someone to reciprocate your effort if you want any chance of breaking through the small talk.

People also tend to have more responsibilities now than they did in earlier life, whether it’s a more demanding job, kids or pets, etc. So it’s not always easy to find time for friendship, especially a new one.

But I persevered. And now I have new friends for the first time since university.

I met most of them at work. I suspected we would get on in “real life” too, so I started to suggest coffees and other plans. Slowly paving the way to getting to know each other better.

One of them was looking for someone to try Bounce Fitness with, a Saturday morning trampoline class, and I gladly volunteered. Now we’re practically regulars. More often than not, we go for a coffee after, and we can talk for hours. It’s the most lovely thing.

Lo and behold, that’s all it takes. I’ve discovered that, despite my previous thinking, most people are actually pretty open to new connections. To be invited is to feel included, something we all want at the end of the day.

Someone called me the “glue” of a new group the other day. In the past, I would have felt a bit embarrassed to be seen as so keen, but now I think it’s pretty cool that I’m part of the reason that we all have a little more joy and laughter in our lives.

So this week, I’m pausing to write this and acknowledge that the simple life I enjoy now, is absolutely one I would have been dreaming about just a few short years ago.

Since my last Substack post, I have:

Hosted a games night

Celebrated an anniversary

Had a spontaneous coffee with a friend

Made a new recipe

Redecorated the kitchen in the home my partner and I are building together

Had brunch with my sister

None of them are life-changing on their own. But put them together and you get a pretty lovely life.

Surely when the things we used to daydream about become our everyday lives, that’s something worth noticing, and maybe even celebrating?

Thank you, as always, for reading.

Warm wishes,

Beth

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And she is the one I couldn’t get out of my head.

What could I have done differently? How could I have made it better for her? What could I have said during the class?

Nothing.

That’s the answer I have arrived at.

I would not have changed anything about the practice.

I am a caring person who takes feedback on board when it’s constructive. And I like to think my teaching is always growing and adapting as I gain experience over the years.

But I cannot cater to everyone individually, and as much as I wish I could, I just can’t keep everyone happy.

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It sounds slightly brutal to put that in writing. Because I should strive to help everyone, and I do, of course, but there’s only so much I can do in a group setting.

I pride myself on being a very inclusive teacher, and I always remind clients to listen to their bodies - because even with the best will in the world, I don’t know how they really feel.

I even often say the words “I’m not here to force you into anything”, because I really think people forget that.

Even with all of that, I am, to a certain extent, relying on the people in the room with me to listen and have the confidence to do what they need to. I know it’s intimidating to take a break when everyone else seems to be managing okay.

But it’s how you will thrive in a group setting, because the class isn’t tailor-made for you, sadly.

Had I changed the class to cater to just one person’s preference, everyone else’s experience would have changed as well, and who knows how that would have impacted their practice?

What always interests me in these scenarios is how quickly my brain disregards the positive feedback to focus on the negative.

It doesn’t matter that 11 people loved it; 1 person didn’t.

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It reminds me of something an old boss once said to me when I was working in his cafe:

He doesn’t get excited by the good days, in the same way, he doesn’t get down about the bad; they even each other out. Because at the end of the month, he sees the whole picture, not individual successes and failures each day.

At the time, I thought he was talking rubbish, because how could anyone not be down about only selling 4 coffees in an entire day. But he was absolutely right.

You cannot let any one piece of information impact how you feel. It’s the quickest way to feeling like a failure.

I used this thought process to reframe things this morning.

Firstly, the person who didn’t like the class wasn’t making a personal dig at me… I don’t think. She simply had tight hips, and the particular sequence wasn’t well-suited to her. It is the risk you take when you go to group exercise classes and don’t inform the teacher of your injuries or slight limitations.

That is literally it. Who knows why she wasn’t smiling, she doesn’t owe me that either, really.

Had she come last week, she might have loved it because we were far more focused on the upper body.

She may or may not come back again; it’s her choice. But it’s not a reflection on me as a person or my skills as a teacher. I can’t let it be, otherwise, I would never make it in the industry.

Maybe I’m just not for her.

Secondly, to the other 11: the clients who show up every single week for me, who want specifically what I teach, who ask if I have recordings online so they can keep practising with me even when they are on holiday…

Those who left happy, telling me how much they loved today’s sequence, thank you.

Your words are so appreciated, but they are not necessary.

I love compliments, don’t get me wrong. But if I waited for every single client to pay me one on their way out, I would quickly become dependent on them. Then my teaching would be tainted with people-pleasing.

And as I have made quite clear in this piece, it is impossible to please everyone. I would just be sending myself round in a circle, trying to hit invisible goals that I’ve imagined other people are setting for me.

That sounds exhausting. And inefficient.

I realise that there may not be many other teachers reading this, and that’s okay.

This is a lesson I use across my life. And most recently, here on Substack.

If I were to write only what I thought people wanted to read, there would be very little personality in my content. And you, as the reader, would be able to tell it’s inauthentic.

To me, it’s about finding a way to balance the feedback - appreciate and learn from it, without letting it throw you off-balance.

Revel in the whole picture, even if you are the only one who can see it.

And if there are still people who don’t like you or what you’re offering, that’s for them to figure out. They don’t need to be in your space.

Stick with what you’re doing, and your people will find you eventually.

Just like my 11 people found me this morning.

As always, thank you for reading. Have a glorious week!

Warm wishes,

Beth

I can’t control myself otherwise.

I’ve just taken a fresh loaf of bread out of the oven. I’m waiting for it to cool, and then I’ll have it for lunch with a bowl of lentil soup.

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The sky is blue, and the sun is shining. But the air is crisp, and if you get caught in the shade, you feel the immediate temperature drop.

A day I would love in Autumn. But in Spring, it feels overdone. I’m ready to put away my winter jacket.

To bask in the warmth of the sun and relax into the new season, without fear of being caught out by Mother Nature.

But alas, it is not yet to be. We’ll get there.

In the meantime_, I’m enjoying the colours. The tulips on the windowsill are various shades of pink, yellow, orange, and purple. The stems are a vibrant, almost lime green, but in a soft way.

The table needs to be sanded and varnished, but I like its worn look. When the sun floods the room, the wood lights up with its warm, honey tones.

I’m sitting on one of the benches, with an emerald green cushion from the couch beneath me. Rich and cosy in the candlelight of winter, slightly lacklustre in the lighter months.

But they are mine, all year. And they do their job.

We bought our lovely little table set from a charity shop last year, but it fits perfectly in our home.

Made for my partner and me, loved by somebody else first.

-

Even as I write. I can feel the draw of my phone from the other room. It’s like it has a silent beacon, calling me to it.

But I won’t listen. Not today. I am wasting too much of my life with mindless scrolling.

I think I’m enjoying it, but it leaves me feeling drained and disoriented.

It stops me sleeping, yet I can’t put it down.

Why can’t I put it down? They don’t want me to, that’s why. Every trick in the book is being used to keep me addicted to my phone, to Instagram and other social media.

Any free time in my day, where I don’t have anything specific to do, is consumed by the little device. Even waiting on my toast to pop, I scroll. And I’m tired of it.

I am halfway through my working day. I’m looking for a way to “unwind” and “recharge” before I have to go back to work and raise my energy levels again.

But this isn’t it. It does the opposite.

I read an article recently exploring the phenomenon of “time flying”. There are theories which suggest our lives are passing us by faster than those of previous generations because we spend so much time on our phones.

Our brains are dissociating and can’t comprehend how time is passing when we’re using them.

Time may not be moving any quicker, but it feels like it is.

I don’t want that.

I want to be present and calm and able to feel things fully.

So here I am, sitting at my lovely little dining room table on a Thursday afternoon. Spending my break writing, rather than watching dozens of reels that I wouldn’t even be able to remember by the time I got to work later.

Thanks as always for being here in my little corner of the internet.

If you have any tips or tricks on digital detoxing, I’d love to hear from you!

Warm wishes,

Beth

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I had two reasons: the first was to get into the habit of noticing the glimmers in my day, the small moments that make me smile and fill me with warmth and gratitude.

The second was to start using Notes daily, because they are widely recognised as the main driver for getting eyes on your work on Substack.

The practice has done what I had hoped; I’m noticing the small things as I move through my day, and I’ve had countless messages and comments from people who are enjoying the little series. Someone just last night tagged me in their own note of gratitude, saying I had inspired them to do the same thing.

What hadn’t occurred to me is that by taking this approach - sharing these moments on my platform daily - means I’ll never lose them.

I don’t know about you, but when I handwrite my thoughts, regardless of what they are, I rarely return to them.

With the notes, I can scroll back through whenever I want to and remember some of the best moments from the last month. Things or feelings I had managed to forget just a few short weeks after they happened.

I only discovered this yesterday when I was looking for a specific link someone had shared with me a few weeks ago. I came across one of my gratitude notes where I said that I was able to go out for my first “short-sleeved” run of the year because the sun was shining.

I live in Edinburgh, Scotland, often referred to as the windy city. This year has been particularly harsh weather-wise, and it really does feel as though we’ve barely had a reprieve from the wind, rain and stormy weather.

The poor weather somehow clouded my memories (pun intended), and really had me believing that I hadn’t seen the sun all year.

But on March 20th, I went out running with just a sports bra on, and now that I’ve been reminded of it, I can feel the warmth of the sunshine on my skin.

I’ve accidentally made myself an online gratitude journal that I can look back on whenever I need a pick-me-up.

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On March 18th, I was celebrating another 50 subscribers on Substack (thank you, truly, to everyone who reads my work and subscribes). I also went out on the most peaceful evening walk without my phone.

March 15th: We made delicious pizza for dinner from scratch, and my granda turned 98-years-old.

March 11th: I played tennis for the first time this year.

March 9th: I was visiting home and took my dog out for the most beautiful sunrise walk.

March 6th: I made chocolate chip cookies and was grateful to my mum for teaching my sisters and I how to bake when we were growing up.

Looking back, it wasn’t one big moment that made the month feel special - it was the accumulation of all of these small, ordinary, joyful things.

The best day of the month, I think, was the 28th, which to be fair, was only two days ago, so I can remember it without the Note prompt.

It started with Bounce fitness, an outrageously fun trampoline fitness class filled with loud, cheesy music and lots of laughter. Followed by a coffee, where my new friend - someone I’ve delightfully managed to move from the “work friend” category, into the “friend-friend” category in recent weeks - got to know my boyfriend. Worlds colliding in the most lovely of ways.

Later that afternoon, I made my way to Tidal Yoga Studio, one of the places I teach throughout the week. The owner is an angel on earth and was hosting a “spring gathering”. Welcoming students and teachers alike for prosecco and treats as a way to thank everyone for their continued support and celebrate the changing of the seasons.

From there, I went straight to Portobello for a BYOB Italian meal - with a bottle of wine I bought my partner for Christmas. It was a special one because it was from the region in Italy where we spent our first anniversary last April.

The day concluded in Porty Town Hall, watching Scottish folk singer, Adam Holmes perform. The tickets were another present I got for Cameron’s Christmas (I really pride myself on my gift-giving). It exceeded any expectation we had, and honestly, it was one of the best gigs I’ve ever been to.

It was down-to-earth and relaxed, and just filled with joy.

He was so much funnier than I realised, and the vibes from the audience were brilliant. Not to mention his voice and songwriting. He ended with a song from his new album, never what you want to hear when you’re more familiar with someone’s older work, but funnily enough, he knew what he was doing.

Closing Time was a quirky song about his love of drinking, and it’s been stuck in my head for the last two days.

“I will go where the rivers flow with whiskey, I will go where the streets are red with wine. While I’m living, I’ll stay healthy, focused, strong and wealthy. But in heaven, you can drink to closing time…”

If you look him up on Instagram, you’ll see he is playing the algorithm game, and very well to be fair to him. But if that’s not your thing, go straight to his Spotify to get lost in his singing. It really is worth your while.

It was the perfect day. And it’s been encapsulated in Notes, and now in this article, so I’ll always have these words to take me back to all those happy memories.

Reflecting on the month to write this piece has highlighted what I don’t tend to share every single day: the reasons behind why I’m grateful for something… and that’s actually the key to any gratitude practice working.

It all comes down to the word “because”.

If you have kept up with my notes, you may have noticed it’s there sometimes, but often all I do is write the “thing” and then move on.

The reason for this is simple: I don’t need to share absolutely everything about myself online.

It isn’t always going to make for “light” reading, and sometimes it would just be a bit repetitive and boring.

In some ways, you could see it as me setting a personal boundary.

But know that there will always be a “because” behind the message, even if it’s not shared.

Take today, for example.

It’s 10am currently, and I’m sitting at my desk writing my Substack newsletter for the week. I’m eating a delicious breakfast of toasted banana & oats with Greek yoghurt, topped with blueberries, nuts and chocolate chips. I have a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea to go along with it.

I have bread for lunch proving in the boiler cupboard where it’s warm. And I don’t have to be anywhere until 3pm.

It’s an unbelievably lovely Monday morning.

If I were to write my three gratitude comments for the day right now, I would say:

1. I’m grateful to RecipeTin Eats, the food blogger, for sharing her ridiculously easy “no knead” bread recipe with the world

2. I’m grateful that I bought myself some tulips that are now beginning to bloom

3. I’m grateful to my partner who brings me my morning electrolyte drink with my multivitamins (I love coffee, but caffeine hits me too hard), without me even having to ask

If I were to add the reasons behind each of these, the post would more than double in size and look something like this:

1. I’m grateful to Recipe Tin Eats, the food blogger, for sharing her ridiculously easy “no knead” bread recipe with the world, because having freshly baked, homemade bread is a treat and fills me with a sense of accomplishment, even if the recipe is insanely easy

2. I’m grateful that I bought myself some tulips that are now beginning to bloom, because it has reminded me that it’s worth investing a little bit of money sometimes to make my home beautiful

3. I’m grateful to my partner, who brought me my morning electrolyte drink with my multivitamins (I love coffee, but caffeine hits me too hard) without me even having to ask, because having someone who knows and anticipates my wants and needs makes me feel loved and supported, and less like I’m doing life alone.

The key to number one is the feeling of accomplishment. By recognising how good I feel when I make my own bread, I’m helping my brain look out for the feeling of accomplishment in the future, and it becomes easier to recognise and enjoy it.

Number two is about appreciating beauty and knowing that even though the cost of living is a harsh reality, spending £5 on a couple of bunches of tulips from Lidl that will bring me joy for days is a worthwhile investment. I spend that money pretty much daily on the “top-up” shops anyway.

Lastly, the joys of having a loving partner. For me, it really is the small things that make me feel grateful for my relationship. I was single for such a long time, and despite being happily independent, I do remember the quiet pangs of longing for a little bit of connection in the mundane daily rituals of life. This one reminds me that I’m lucky to be loved by someone like him and ensures I always notice the small things.

To me, these reasons are wonderful. They are my reality. Even just writing the last few paragraphs has made me wonder if I should perhaps move towards sharing more detailed posts. But number three is what stops me.

I share the outline of it because it’s my space and I want to recognise my partner as being a part of my life. But I do not want to make anyone feel like their lives are “lacking” in any way if they don’t have a partner.

It’s the reason he doesn’t feature more heavily in my content in general, actually. I’m going to write a post about it one day.

The point is, not everything has to be shared in these daily notes.

The fun thing about this particular series is that I can do whatever I want with it, and perhaps that will look like expanding on some points and not others.

All I really want to do is make my readers smile and remind them that there will be beautiful parts of their day, too, if they just take a second to stop and notice them.

I don’t know how long I’ll continue doing it, but for now, it’s making me more present, more grateful, and more aware of the beauty in my everyday life.

And if it does the same for even one of you, then it’s more than worth continuing.

I’ll be posting Note 30 later today, and if this article makes it out into the world by then, I imagine it will feature as one of the highlights of my day.

If you’ve made it this far, I wonder what you remember about March. How many of the little details have stuck with you?

Maybe it’s worth trying a little gratitude in April - and asking yourself the same question at the end of the month… who knows how much more you might remember.

As always, thank you for taking the time to read my work!

Warm wishes,

Beth

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My theory is that coaching is having such a boom right now because modern society has changed immeasurably in the last couple of decades, thanks to the internet. We didn’t use to have access to anywhere near the amount of information we are consuming now, and simply put, we’re overwhelmed.

I’m not suggesting people didn’t use to struggle with a lack of fulfilment, or unhappiness at work etc… before, of course they did. But they weren’t constantly comparing their lives to someone else’s through social media. And there weren’t as many options for making a “passive income” with the freedom to work flexibly.

Now we’re all, myself included, caught up in the idea that we could be living “better” in some way. Finding a more sustainable work/life balance, while somehow also earning more.

It’s the dream, and lots of people are achieving it.

But equally, lots of us are being left behind. Creating big plans and getting waylaid before they come to anything.

Enter, the life coach.

In a nutshell, a coach is a sounding board who helps you become “unstuck” in life. They encourage you to find new perspectives by asking deep dive questions that make you stop and think.

Then they help you identify a clear goal to bring you closer to the life you are craving.

Small action steps come next, things you can do daily that will actually make the changes you’ve been desperate for, a reality.

You’re not in it alone anymore; you have a cheerleader in your corner whose primary purpose is to help you succeed and be happy.

In 2024, I qualified as a life coach.

It wasn’t actually my plan to become one, but it was part of a dual-qualification I undertook that included life coaching with training on the mind-body connection. Essentially, how the brain connects to your body and nervous system. I wanted to be a better Yoga Teacher.

But the coaching gave me a means to connect with clients and support them, and as I moved through the programme, it became increasingly obvious how valuable it was. When done properly and taken seriously, working with a good coach can be genuinely life-changing.

You might finally get out of your own way.

But, the problem is I just can’t bring myself to advertise myself as a “life-coach” because the phrase makes me feel like a fruad.

It screams “I know it all”, while simultaneously being so vague that you have no idea what they actually know.

And thanks to poor industry regulations, literally anyone can indeed call themselves a coach. If they have good marketing skills and self-belief, they may very well have a thriving business before they know it.

In some ways, I applaud these people. Those in the world who aren’t held back by fears of inadequacy. Who can dive right in because they believe so deeply in their abilities. It’s bold, and it’s often how success is achieved. But is that the right approach?

I’m hesitant to say yes. But perhaps I’m just jealous…

I am not a “dive right in” person. I am a study, sign up to courses, study some more, practice, practice some more and then consider giving something a go - type person.

I want all the knowledge I can possibly get because if people are paying their hard-earned money to work with me, they deserve my best.

I’ve realised over the years, of course, that it is impossible to know it all.

You can study all you want, but real-life experience is almost always the cherry on top that elevates you from a qualified professional into a competent one.

Ultimately, for coaching, you need a mix of both.

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I posted a Note earlier this week asking other Substack users what comes to mind when they hear the term “life coach”, and one of the first responses encapsulates exactly what I imagine the whole world believes:

“Eughhhhh (which means “eye roll”)”

Someone else pointed out that they aren’t sure what someone half their age could possibly coach them on, another fair point.

But, I was also pleasantly surprised. Many responses recognised that the problem isn’t the role itself, but the fact that nobody knows exactly what it means.

This, is where the niche comes in.

I won’t call myself a life coach because if I don’t know what it means, how are clients supposed to…

But, I have toyed with calling myself a stress-management coach, a career coach, a relaxation coach, a mindfulness coach… and the list goes on. (If anyone has a suggestion without the word “coach”, I’m all ears!).

Essentially, I help people understand what is holding them back so they can progress and really make moves to design a life they are excited to wake up in the morning for. It’s usually related to career satisfaction and an inability to switch off… otherwise known as burnout.

It’s not about making one good decision; it’s about adapting your habits in a way that creates long-term, sustainable change.

That’s not impossible to do on your own, but it’s often easier with support.

The reality, though, is that coaching can be financially out of reach for many people - something I’ve struggled with when thinking about my place in the industry. Because while I want this work to be accessible, we all, of course, have bills to pay.

One solution I’m currently exploring is using my Substack as a space to share my coaching work. A way to help you learn how to coach yourself, without the same financial commitment.

It wouldn’t replace working 1:1, but it might offer something meaningful in its own right, and hopefully allow me to support more people in the process.

If that sounds like something you’d be interested in, I’d love to know.

I had planned to go down the rabbit hole of unqualified coaches relying on their life experience rather than training, but honestly, I don’t want to lean into the negativity. There is space for everyone in the industry as long as they are working safely.

Instead, I will offer you a piece of advice if you have ever been tempted to work with a coach - either through Substack or out in the world.

Do your research and trust your gut.

Remember not every coach will be for you, and that a coach is not a medical professional. It won’t happen often, but if they tell you something is “out of their scope of practice”, that’s a good thing. It means they know their limits and will be able to refer you to someone who can help.

A good coach can help you to change your life, and at the end of the day… we all have something we want. Even if it takes us a while to really figure out what that is.

As always, thanks for reading!

Warm wishes,

Beth

Ps. if you have any questions about the profession, feel free to leave a comment, and I’ll get back to you!

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I don’t yet know what I’ll say. I’m wary of being a bit of a broken record, talking about my growth on Substack and how lovely I’m finding the platform. But also… that’s taking up a lot of my brain space at the moment because it’s so exciting! I love waking up to new subscribers and likes on my notes. Who doesn’t?

But alas, I shall move on.

Actually, my cheese toastie has just arrived, so I’m going to read my book and eat it. Back in a minute….

Okay, I’m back.

The toastie was good, but the salad was filled with things I’m not hugely keen on; cucumber, feta and tomato. I love tomatoes when I’m abroad, lathered in olive oil and full of flavour. In Scotland, in March, they don’t have the same appeal.

Now I feel a bit like a grown-up child who didn’t want to eat their vegetables. I want everyone in the cafe to know I would have eaten every bite if there had been more salad leaves, maybe some peppers and onions?

But of course, nobody cares. Nobody is looking at my plate, and I don’t have to justify my food choices to anyone.

It’s called the spotlight effect, I think? The idea that we assume everyone is paying more attention to us than they really are. In fact, they are too busy worrying about themselves and assuming that the rest of us are judging them for some reason or another.

A universal human experience, and a humbling one at that; I am my main character, but I am not yours.

Almost three weeks ago, I started posting daily gratitude Notes on here. I began because I wanted to get into the habit of looking for the glimmers in my day, moments of good that otherwise would be passing me by without notice.

At first, I was waiting until the end of the day to think back on moments, but I’ve realised it’s more helpful to note things down as they happen. It makes me feel more present and keeps me on my toes looking for the good.

Sometimes I wonder what qualifies, and then I remember I get to decide. I don’t post everything, but I do like to romanticise the small things. Usually the sunshine.

Though if you saw my latest Note you will know that I suffer from severe “sun guilt”.

The idea that I have to always make the most of the good weather, because who knows when we’ll see the sun again. It’s daft, but it’s true. I love being outside, but I don’t enjoy feeling like I have to be out.

Today is one of those days. I had a moment of feeling a bit lost because I hadn’t expected such beautiful weather, and I didn’t plan to be out much. But I’m trying to break the pattern of the weird guilt and appreciate the fact that I’m having a pretty lovely day anyway.

I was up early making a pancake bowl for breakfast, and baking cookies to take over to a friend’s later this afternoon. I made the dough yesterday and just had to shape and bake them. It’s a recipe from Sally’s Baking Addiction, and they are so delicious and easy!

I covered a class at 8.30am, so made my way to the studio nice and early. It felt like I was in a European city first thing in the morning, when the cloudy haze of the morning is slowly burning off as the day turns into a beauty. It smelled like summer.

After teaching, I stayed and went to a class with one of my favourite teachers. We have very similar styles, and it feels a bit like holding up a mirror to my own techniques.

I wandered into the centre of Edinburgh mid-morning because it felt too nice to go straight home, but I quickly overheated in my big winter jacket… I didn’t realise what the day had in store when I left the flat early, so I didn’t think to wear anything more appropriate.

I bought a pretty cookie tin from Søstrene Grene (tupperware may be practical, but it is not very cute) before making my way home. I was melting and hungry, so I jumped on a bus back. My boyfriend was working from home, so after a quick hello, I ate two cookies and took myself out to the cafe I’m currently sitting in while I write this nonsense.

I’m aware it will not win any awards. But there’s something comforting and easy about documenting my day, and I like being lulled into an easy read about someone else’s day.

Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I ask my partner to tell me a “bedtime story”, he doesn’t appreciate this request because he, understandably, is tired. I tell him I don’t need anything inspired, just walk me through your day. Let me bask in the ordinary and focus on something other than whatever my brain is doing.

Usually by the end of the tale, I’m blissfully drifting off to sleep, though I am relying on him not having anything remarkable to recount.

Exactly like me today.

I think I will probably post this, because why not? I’m not going to edit it, I’m just going to share it exactly as is and chalk it up to practising pushing past perfectionism.

Once I’m home, I’ll collect the cookies, then make my way to Stockbridge, a friend is having a few of us over for coffee and cake (so wholesome!). It’s a fairly new friendship group, and I cherish how much we laugh together. It’s not always easy making friends as an adult, so if anyone has any tips send them my way!

I’m going to log off for now, I hope you have a wonderful weekend, whatever it may have in store for you.

With love,

Beth

Ps. I’m about to hit 400 subscribers… thank you all so much!

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It was a slow start, with only about 12 subscribers in the first eight weeks. But suddenly, momentum started to build.

And with that came the validation. The excitement. The desire to open the app every few minutes to see if there were any new notifications.

I got carried away, I can absolutely admit that. It was fun, and I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, knowing things would inevitably slow down again soon.

And they did a bit, but not completely. I’m still gaining new subscribers most days, and I seem to be getting lots of engagements in my Notes. It’s interesting to experiment with a new platform that feels more natural to me than others centred on visual content and video creation.

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I have shared posts every week, bar one, since I started my account, and I post Notes every day. These are just little snippets of my days; thoughts that come and go, observations, things I’d usually forget. Every day sounds like a lot, I know, but now it’s just a habit.

My posts, like this one, are more considered. I write, edit, and shape them until they feel right, not for anyone else, just for me.

That’s the key, in my opinion. Maybe that’s why we’re here. Creative freedom, and people who actually want to be here reading it.

I won’t tell someone else what they should say, or how they should use their platform. Just like nobody is dictating what I produce.

Everyone can decide for themselves if they want to read what I’ve shared.

And as much as I would love to have an impact on my readers, technically, the piece has already done its job. I’ve gotten out whatever was on my mind, and I’ve used my brain in a creative way that challenges and motivates me.

Part of it, for me, was wanting to break the habit of doom-scrolling my free time away, while practising my writing skills and improving my concentration and creativity...

I had a conversation with a friend recently who told me she doesn’t really know what to do with her presence on socials, specifically Instagram.

She’s a very accomplished journalist and writer, and has a book coming out later this year.

She doesn’t want to be an influencer; she just wants to be able to share her current work and expand its reach.

Unfortunately, it’s really hard to do that without pandering to the Instagram algorithm gods who want you to create constant fluff content that leaves you feeling slightly hollow.

I know this because I did it every day for a whole month last year to try to build my reach. I used b-roll footage (film of yourself doing random things throughout your day) with the viral captions pasted on top.

I persevered through my initial hatred because I was trying to get over the embarrassment, which, to be fair, did ease eventually. But any increase I saw in engagement wasn’t translating into followers or clicks on my work.

I continued for a while, but eventually I realised creating the content was taking up all my energy, and I was no longer putting the time into my actual work as a coach, which was the very thing I was trying to build a following for.

It was a vicious cycle, and once I clicked on to what was happening, I decided to just stop. I put my online work aside and focused on my real-life income as a Pilates teacher, something I could rely on without social media.

We’re halfway through March now, and I’ve only posted on my “professional” Instagram once this year, and that was to tell my followers that if they would like to keep up with me, they should follow my Substack…

When I told my friend how much I was enjoying it here in comparison to the other social platforms, her first question to me was, do I feel like I should be getting paid for my writing?

The honest answer is no, because it’s just something I’m doing for myself.

When I was a staff reporter, I had briefs to fit and targets to aim for. It wasn’t my choice what I wrote about, therefore it was important that I was paid for the work.

Now it’s not a job, it’s something I choose to come back to.

For her, writing is already her income. So I don’t know if she would enjoy having to start from scratch to build a Substack audience if she joined the platform.

But it’s an interesting question. There are ways to monetise Substack, of course, but should that be the aim?

I wonder if, for me, it would take away some of the freedom and joy I feel now as I rediscover my love of the written word.

Yesterday, I posted a note asking if people tend to plan their Newsletters in advance or if they just write whatever comes to them when they sit down at their desk each week.

The overwhelming response was that most people say whatever they feel inspired by that particular day, despite having a note on their phone filled with potential headlines and article ideas.

It’s exactly how I do it, too. I have so many ideas I’ll get to eventually, but each week I find myself with something personal and more timely to write about.

I didn’t think about it before, but I noticed the question came up when I gained a few more subscribers. I suddenly wondered if I needed to have more of a theme. Something people could rely on and come to expect week to week.

Quite quickly, I decided that no, I didn’t need to worry. I’m going to continue doing exactly what I have been doing for the last three months because I am the theme.

My personality, my approach, and my writing are why you’re here. Presumably…

And I’m here selfishly to practice my skills, to process my day-to-day life, to do something other than my job, and yes, to try to build an audience.

Perhaps in time, I’ll look at ways to enjoy the best of both worlds. Earning some money with my words again, while still enjoying freedom. Who knows?

What I do know is that it feels so much better coming on here and writing for you all than it ever did posting those clickbait reels on Instagram that drained my energy and my passion.

Once upon a time, writing was my job, then it was nothing. Now, thanks to Substack, I’ve found my way back to it.

I hope you’re enjoying it as much as I am.

Warm wishes,

Beth

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I was in a bad mood, and I wasn’t being the nicest version of myself.

It was like I was 15 again. The world was working against me, and all I could do was snap, roll my eyes and zone out. I didn’t know how not to.

Immediately following those outbursts came the guilt, the frustration at myself for not doing better.

It’s a vicious cycle, one that nobody else deserves to have to deal with. So why couldn’t I stop it?

Because I realised, for the first time in a long time… I was stressed.

The overwhelmed, under pressure, nauseous, sleepless nights, kind of stressed.

I recently decided it was time to bite the bullet and re-sit my driving test, a decade after I failed as a 17-year-old. It’s been a dark cloud looming over me for years, and I’m tired of it holding me back. I crave the freedom driving would give me.

My dad is the best driver in the world, in my opinion. Growing up as a farmer, you can put him in anything, and he would navigate it with ease.

He was keen to help me learn so I wouldn’t have to spend quite so much money on lessons, which would have been great, except for the fact that I was unable to show my gratitude, thanks to my ever-inclining panic.

I’m being dramatic; I wasn’t actually that bad, and he knows I appreciate it. But something funny happened to me, and I’m certain it’s down to the driving.

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I got ill, like physically sick, and transformed right back into my teenage self. All because I was nervous.

It’s remarkable how your body can react to stress. I was stuck in fight or flight mode, unable to relax.

Driving scares me; it’s an insane skill that’s taken for granted because so many people do it. But when you really stop to think about it, it’s wild, and it’s dangerous, but it’s so necessary in today’s world.

I felt like I’d be failing if I didn’t suck it up and do what I went home to do. So after a day spent unwell on the couch, I did it. I started on the farm, then I ventured into the village, and after another three days of practice, I drove an hour down to the Inverness bus station to conclude my weekend-long intensive course.

All with a pit in my stomach and a snarky comment ready on my lips if I felt pushed.

I was exhausted, physically and mentally.

It really wasn’t that bad in hindsight, but the lack of sleep made everything worse, and to be frank, I was worried I was going to crash and hurt the best person, who was just trying to help me.

Heaven help my poor mother who dared to warn me about the ditch I was reversing past during her only turn in the car with me, of course, I could see it! But in the moment, there absolutely wasn’t a gentle way for me to communicate that…

I was so annoyed with myself after, but they understood. Because they are my parents. They don’t deserve to be taken advantage of, but after five children and almost 40 years of parenting, they are used to it. We all have ups and downs.

Looking back, I was a moody teenager, as my family so love to constantly remind me. I actually have a lot of love for who I was back then because I wasn’t particularly happy in school - I was just a girl trying to grow up while dealing with hormones and all the other stuff. I didn’t need the constant reminders that I should have been managed more gracefully.

It’s a childhood sore point, there’s no doubt about that.

So in my adult life, I’ve put a lot of work into trying to make sure nobody can accuse me of being that difficult, grumpy person anymore.

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For the most part, I do pretty well. I’m generally calm and patient because I’ve taken the time to get to know myself and build a lifestyle that gives me space to breathe.

Over the years, I’ve learned how to manage my energy and make conscious decisions about where it should be spent - and often more importantly, where it would be wasted.

Sure, my moods go up and down, and I could probably pay more attention to my cycle to gage when I might feel what, but my base is one of contentment.

I try not to get needlessly worked up about things out of my control, and I address things that I can control when I need to.

But this weekend I was reminded that no matter how much work I do on myself, I’m still human. I’m growing and adapting, and sometimes that’s going to feel like taking steps backwards. But in reality, I think it’s what I do with the knowledge after that which counts.

If I can offer little Beth grace for her behaviour as a teenager and recognise I was facing challenges at the time that made me reactive, I should be able to do the same thing for myself now.

I’m hyperaware that I wasn’t my usual self, and it’s the topic of this article because I wanted to take the time to unpack it. I was stressed and struggling to sleep, I was spending too much time on my phone and generally doing all the things you should avoid when you’re overwhelmed.

Next time i’ll try to remember this experience and be more proactive, and gentle with myself. A couple of days is fine, a five long day bad mood is ridiculous.

I haven’t actually managed to shake it yet, so this has been a bit of a challenge to write. But I decided to persevere to remind anyone reading this that you’re probably trying your best too and that’s got to be enough. Anger is normal, and I’m sure those closest to you will forgive you for moments of frustration if it’s not the constant reality.

And so with that, the only conclusion I can offer, if you’ve made it this far, is this:

You can be the happiest person in the world, but if you hold yourself to such high standards that one bad day cripples you with guilt, there’s probably still a little work to do on the resilliance front.

Same as me.

I shall hopefully return to your inbox next week with something lighter, but for now, this is all I have.

Warmest wishes,

Ps. I’m sure you’re parents do like you

I used to solo-travel all the time. It was my go-to over any other type of holiday because I didn’t have to organise anyone else. If I had the time, could afford it and wanted to go somewhere, I went.

I was 17 when I went on my first solo trip, an 8-week trip to Sri Lanka. I went with a company to do volunteering, and was homesick almost immediately.

The travelling didn’t scare me, but I didn’t have the social skills at that age to really make the most of it.

And being from a tiny village in the Scottish Highlands, I definitely didn’t have the confidence to properly explore on my own. So I was often at a loose end, waiting to join in someone else’s plans.

The trip was successful enough, though. I’ve got a lot of happy memories, and it was the start of something exciting.

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I moved to Edinburgh for university shortly after arriving home from Sri Lanka, a move that should have been exciting, but fell short. Because yet again, I was plagued with homesickness.

The narrative has moved on in the last ten years, but at the time, I didn’t understand why I was unhappy because being a fresher at uni was supposed to be the most incredible experience of your life.

What was I doing wrong?

I think the biggest factor was that I was lonely. I didn’t immediately have a group of friends to meld into, and I still didn’t have the confidence to go out of my way to meet people.

It was quite a difficult year, on reflection. I didn’t know anything about who I was or wanted to be. I was lacking purpose and generally just felt sad a lot.

Second year perked up, thankfully, I moved out of halls and into a flat with friends and was growing in confidence.

Cue more solo travelling.

I was studying journalism, and I wanted to be a travel writer. I found an opportunity in Fiji to do work experience at a lifestyle magazine, so off I went for another few months.

I was 19 and a bit more driven to make an effort to enjoy myself, but was dealt a peculiar hand by the company I booked with. I was supposed to be living with a Fijian family with other volunteers working on similar projects, but the reality was pretty different.

The wholesome houseshare turned out to be riddled with bedbugs, among other things, and only one other person was staying. She was lovely, and we became fast friends thanks to having to share some pretty grim experiences that I won’t go into right now. But we both felt isolated.

There were dozens of other travellers we saw on occasional weekends, who we initially thought we were going to be living with, but because they were doing conservation work, they were staying on an entirely different island… the friends I thought I would make were out of reach, again.

A pattern was emerging, and I was deflated.

The following year, I stayed close to home and did a Workaway at a Buddhist monastery in the Lake District. Low risk, high reward, it turned out. It was a lovely experience, and I began to settle into myself a little more.

It didn’t feel dramatic because it wasn’t abroad, but I met some fascinating people from all over the world who had come to stay. I had always been interested in Buddhism, and it was a real privilege to get to know people dedicated to the religion and see how it shaped their lives.

The memories of that time in my life are punctuated by kindness and a sense of happiness and calm.

And then, just like everyone else, Covid collided with my life and threw everything into disarray.

I was due to graduate in 2020, with grand plans of landing a graduate scheme and eventually making my way to the BBC, pursuing travel writing and documentary-making. I hadn’t considered any alternatives.

My hope for this dream slowly began to dwindle as each organisation got in touch to say they had cancelled their graduate schemes for the year. The BBC was the last to announce the news. I was gutted and felt adrift.

Who knows where my life would be now had I secured a spot and kept driving towards that goal?

It wasn’t to be, though. And I did land on my feet by getting a reporting role at the Scotsman. Really, I couldn’t have asked for a better first job in the media. But it did sour me eventually, and I lost sight of why I loved to write and share stories.

Really, it’s only in the last couple of months since joining Substack that I’ve rediscovered this part of myself.

I did bits and pieces of travelling during that time, but my big solo trip came after I quit. Thailand, India, Indonesia, and bizarrely, Tenerife… I’ve written about this in other articles, so I won’t go into it now, but this was the trip that allowed me to build the life I live and enjoy now.

I met fun and interesting people, yes, but more than that, I gained this sense of self-belief that I had been searching for all the way back since my very first trip at 17.

It’s cheesy, but it’s true.

It’s the thing that means I can go out for dinner on my own without worrying what other people think. The reason I’ve been able to build a meaningful relationship with my partner without feeling inadequate. It’s what allows me to stand up for myself at work and know my worth.

But as my life fills up in such beautiful ways at home, I’ve noticed myself less drawn to solo travel. I’m leaning more into holidays for the first time in my life.

While writing this, I realised I think of holidays as a break from daily life - something you know you’ll return from soon enough. Travel, on the other hand, feels like a continuation of life itself. Longer-term, rather than a brief escape.

But actually, over the last couple of years, I’ve been realising the joy of exploring somewhere new with your friends and family in holiday settings.

My boyfriend and I are about to celebrate our 2nd anniversary, and going away together is one of our favourite things to do. We laugh constantly and deeply appreciate the beauty of the world as we experience it together.

A holiday can mean just as much, I’ve learned, even if it’s in a much shorter space of time.

But this morning I fell down the best Substack travel hole, and I’m feeling the familiar niggle of wanting adventure and longer trips again. The unexpected and eye-opening. The freedom and the excitement. Not necessarily alone, but definitely veering away from the familiar…

I spent an hour reading articles written by Emma Truscott, and she has re-ignited something in me. In short, it’s a desire to see places far away from home and push myself out of my comfort zone.

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As tempting as it is to feel deflated that I can’t just book a ticket tomorrow and jet off, it’s actually fuelled me to keep pushing in my career.

When I arrived home from my last big solo trip, I felt so strongly that I didn’t want to do anything like that again without a regular income. Dwindling savings took such a toll on my mental health and really got in the way of being able to enjoy the trip.

I’ve built a great life for myself back in Edinburgh while I’ve been gaining experience as a Pilates and yoga teacher. This year in particular, I’ve carved out space in my week to dedicate to writing and developing other ways to create more “passive” income streams.

It feels like I’m on the way, but I’m relaxing into the process rather than rushing it. Enjoying life at 27, rather than wishing it away in favour of what I want it to look like by the time I’m 30.

But just to clarify… I want the best of both worlds: a happy and fulfilled life at home, and the opportunities to do huge, eye-opening, jaw-dropping trips that leave me feeling in awe of the natural world.

In the meantime, we’re off to Morocco in May. It’s a short holiday, yes, but I’m going to enjoy every second. Appreciating it for what it is, rather than wanting more.

Thanks, as always, for reading! It’s so lovely to have you here.

Warmest,

Beth x

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Almost like it’s an uphill battle to make your voice heard.

At the grand old age of 27, I no longer want to look at the world that way.

Firstly, I’m here writing because I want to write. It soothes me and gives me an outlet for thoughts that otherwise just spin round in my mind all day long.

Secondly, I’m not up against anyone else. This isn’t a competition. There is room for everyone, and the people who like what I have to say will stay; those who don’t, won’t.

It’s as simple as that.

Six weeks into Substack, and I’m finally starting to understand it. My feed is filling up with other people who write for the love of writing. Not just to grow a following, although that’s obviously nice.

It feels different from other social media platforms, I think in part because it’s so much less visual.

I’m not worried about how I look on camera or what hook to use on a reel to grab someone’s instant attention. When I write, everything other than my voice is irrelevant.

It’s refreshing.

But yes, it’s also intimidating when everyone else seems to be doing it so well.

These thoughts are so demoralising. If we let them take over, the world would become a pretty lifeless place, stripped of excitement and new ideas, because someone else will always “do it better”.

This is true for every industry and every creative pursuit. When we feel unoriginal, we forget our value and shift into the shadows.

Last year, I qualified as a life coach. My main income is still Pilates teaching, but this is a fun little addition.

I haven’t fully pursued it because it takes a lot of work to market yourself and build a business.

It doesn’t help that the term “life coach” makes me squirm, even though it’s an insanely useful professional that I genuinely believe everyone would benefit from.

You just have to find the right coach; like any unregulated industry, you must find someone you trust.

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When I started to think about how I could prove to others that I am the type of person who could help them thrive in their own lives, a shift happened.

I realised I didn’t have to be the best coach in the world. I just had to be the best coach for my clients.

And to demonstrate that, I had to stop looking at myself as a business, and remember that I’m a person.

I was offering myself: my knowledge, my skills, my approach, my voice, my presence, my experience.

Someone else can have the same package on paper, but they aren’t me.

In the months following my training, I built an online course for clients suffering from burnout.

For a while, I struggled to see the value in what I was creating. Facts about nervous system regulation or the benefits of yoga felt generic and easily accessible. Surely they weren’t worth paying for?

But really, what I was giving was so much more than just facts. It was me. That was the difference.

This, I think, is the key to holding onto your passion without losing motivation from being part of a crowd.

It’s about you, not just what you know.

I haven’t actually launched that course. It’s still sitting, waiting for its time to shine, while I focus on progressing my teaching career, as it pays the bills for now.

So watch this space if it’s something you would be interested in…

Instead, I’m using my free time to explore my love of words and communication.

For the first time since I started posting on Substack, it feels like things are happening. It’s exciting. It’s encouraging. And it’s highlighting just how many people are trying to do exactly what I’m doing.

But instead of seeing that as a bad thing, I’m leaning into it.

Maybe their success isn’t evidence that I’m behind.

Maybe it’s proof that there’s space and people who want to listen.

As always, thanks for reading.

Warmest,

Beth

You keep scrolling even though you’re exhausted. Just one more video. Just one more edit. Just one more minute.

Suddenly, half an hour has passed, and you have achieved absolutely nothing other than throwing yourself deeper into exhaustion while simultaneously drifting further from sleep.

It’s wild that this is reality for so many of us every single day, but it’s true. Our phones, and all the apps on them, are designed to be so addictive that we lose our sense of control.

I notice it most when I’m on my own because my ability to concentrate is almost non-existent, mainly thanks to Instagram.

I can barely even watch TV without having my phone in my hand. I’m being massively overstimulated, but also not paying proper attention to either screen because I’m splitting my attention.

It’s getting silly, and honestly, I’m just sick of it.

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So I did a “digital detox” of sorts over the weekend. I switched my phone off on Friday and turned it back on on Monday morning.

My partner and I were spending the weekend in Carnoustie, a coastal town near Dundee, and it seemed like the perfect time to “switch off” and try to be more present.

It was lovely; there’s something so freeing about going for a walk without your phone in your pocket.

We spent hours wandering along the beach, with only a disposable camera for photos. We warmed up in the sauna and relaxed in the spa, we had one incredible meal, and one pretty terrible one if I’m being honest.

We just spent time together. We talked and laughed, and enjoyed each other’s company.

It was beautiful, yes, but it was also quite similar to all our trips because we aren’t ever glued to our phones when we’re together.

The main thing I noticed when we got home was that the bags under my eyes had softened; it’s the same thing I saw happen when I went on a digital detox Yoga retreat a couple of years ago.

My body was physically reacting to the screen break.

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This is when it clicked. My problem isn’t whether I can live without my phone; it’s how I live with it without letting it take over my life. Particularly when I’m alone, with nothing else to entertain me.

How can I take the feeling of freedom and lightness I felt over the weekend into my everyday life?

Turning it off actually made me realise how much I rely on it outside of the addictive apps; train tickets, checking the time, listening to audiobooks and music, online banking etc…

I am not addicted to these things, but they are pretty essential to everyday life.

I could just buy a watch, obviously, and solve that problem. But the world is set up for smartphones, and the big companies aren’t going to help us break up with them, so it’s on us.

This is actually one of the reasons I started writing again. Given the nature of my job, lots of early mornings and evenings, I often have free time during the day.

It’s hard to find the balance of filling my time while saving enough energy to go back out to work later in the day. This usually leads to a fair bit of scrolling.

I have the Instagram time limit settings on, but it only tells you when you’ve hit your limit, it doesn’t stop you from using the app. So I like to just hit “Ignore limit for today” and continue.

A mere moment of guilt, and I’m back in the doom scroll.

Writing gives me something relaxing to do with my time, it uses my brain differently and fills me with a sense of peace and satisfaction I don’t get many other places.

But, even as I sit writing this piece, I have the little niggle in my head telling me I’ve earned a break and should just open Instagram. My brain is craving the dopamine hits, the instant gratification. And every time I come back to focus on writing, I find myself just a little more distracted.

I saw a reel once that ironically stuck with me. It was late at night, and I was deep in a scrolling cycle. The reel appeared and asked me if I could remember what the last three videos I had watched were.

I couldn’t.

I was entirely checked out, even though I was laughing and supposedly enjoying the content.

No matter how “profound” the messages are, they don’t matter if they aren’t being delivered and consumed by us, the viewers, in a meaningful way.

What a mindless way to spend time when you really stop to think about it.

I’m a big believer in not being productive all the time. I’m not trying to replace scrolling with something life-changing, I just want to find ways to be content in the moments between the doing.

To give myself more breathing room, more time to contemplate, more time to just be.

If that’s you, too, you’re in the right place because it’s exactly why I started this substack. To explore themes like this and break down how we can approach life at a more gentle pace.

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Self-awareness is the first step for me; I know where my problem lies now. The goal isn’t to switch off forever. It’s to learn to sit still without reaching for the distraction.

With love,

Beth

My colleagues and bosses remain to this day some of my favourite people.

At the beginning, overtime was a regular occurrence. We were all so enthusiastic, and the energy was infectious.

Who needs boundaries when you’re happy?

Two years down the line, I would be counting down the minutes until a shift would end.

The structure of my role had changed significantly, I was being underpaid, and the magic was well and truly out.

The atmosphere had changed from one of passion and excitement to one of frustration and, often, mainly on my part, anger.

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The second your shift was finished, you would log off. I know now that is absolutely how it should be, but back then, it really highlighted to me how much we had been worn down.

While I was figuring things out, a good friend and mentor helped me realise that work shouldn’t be making me feel so angry and upset. Eventually, I quit.

There is, of course, much more to say on the topic of career ambition and giving up an opportunity other people would love, but I’ll dive into that another day.

Over the next couple of years, I experienced so many bizarre situations where my boundaries were tested, and I think each one has opened my eyes just a little more to the real world and how I want to show up in it; kind and considerate, but most definitely not a pushover.

I pick and choose where I expend my energy, so I live a pretty relaxed life now, which, to be quite honest, is lovely. That being said, I don’t let myself be taken advantage of, and that’s the balance I want to keep striving for.

One of the most emotionally taxing scenarios I had to deal with happened while I was in Indonesia. I was doing a work exchange, contributing to a Yoga magazine run by a French couple (in their own home), and in return, I was given accommodation and lunch on working days.

I thought it was going to be incredible. I had completed my 200hr YTT earlier that year, and coupled with my journalistic experience, it seemed perfect. But, shock-horror, it was not.

I ended up working 9-5, five days a week, and in return, I had a bed in the dining room of a house designated for volunteers. Plus the weekday lunches, of course.

They were transparent about the lack of bedrooms before I arrived, but I had rose-tinted glasses and didn’t quite realise the extent of how little I was getting in comparison to the other girls working there.

They all had private rooms with en-suites. If I needed the bathroom, I had to use one of theirs.

I quickly realised that I can’t handle being shortchanged, even if I somewhat agreed to it.

I was so uncomfortable with the situation because it simply felt unfair. But that seemed like an almost childish reaction, so I was trying my best not to let my emotions take over.

A real challenge when I was right in the thick of it. I couldn’t tell if I was overreacting or if I was right to be put out. I felt trapped.

Eventually, I spoke to the couple running everything. It was such a curious conversation because they were both relationship coaches and were very switched on with “healthy communication”.

It was suggested that I should perhaps try to change my mindset, and instead of being frustrated about what I wasn’t getting, be grateful for the experience and how lucky I was to be in Bali.

They wanted me to be happy; I think. But they also wanted me to keep working for them. I felt slightly gaslighted at that moment in time. It wasn’t how I thought the conversation would go.

We agreed to give it another week, and if I still felt the same, I would leave.

Over that week, I worked incredibly hard; I didn’t want them to be able to say I wasn’t trying. My previous experience on the live team meant I was able to create content faster than anyone who had ever worked for them, which was super satisfying for my ego, even if it didn’t bring me much joy.

The week was up, and I approached them to have another chat. Before I even said anything, they knew I was going, and they understood. They were kind, and we left things on a really positive note.

I was free. The world didn’t end because I had to have a confronting conversation about my boundaries.

Immediately after, I had to find somewhere else to go. I was already short of money, so I was looking for more volunteering roles.

I ended up at a Yoga and Meditation centre on Gili Air, covering reception for half an hour each day while the usual staff member took their break, plus some other random jobs the boss would come up with from time to time. In return, I got free Yoga classes, a private room and a discount in the cafe.

It had its own weird vibes going on, but it made me realise how broad the scale can be in terms of what people think others’ time is worth.

You are at their mercy when you’re volunteering, but when it comes to paid work, that’s another story.

When I moved back to Edinburgh, I started teaching part-time, and to try to bolster my income, I got a job in a café.

It was a new venture from a Scottish mental health charity, and to be frank, it was a mess. They didn’t have a real structure in place to open a hospitality business, and it showed.

For a few months, as a regular barista, it was fine. Then they were on the hunt for a new manager, and I got stars in my eyes.

I would earn more money and gain managerial experience; for someone who was having sleepless nights over finances, it was ideal.

But the job itself ended up leaving me in tears… so much was being asked of me, but I wasn’t being given enough power to really take the reins and make proper changes.

I also felt like my free time wasn’t my own; I was always contactable. I was not being paid enough to justify it.

For some people, that’s not an issue, but I found myself unable to switch off. The constant threat of being asked to put my work hat on wore me down and made me resent the job.

In the end, I left after just a few months. I remembered everything I had learned over the previous few years, and I wanted to change the pattern.

What was the point in it all if I was just settling for being miserable again?

That’s when I transitioned into being a full-time Yoga and Pilates teacher. The freelance life has pros and cons for sure, but I love being in charge of my own schedule.

Now my free time is just that; MY free time.

If I don’t want to do something, nobody is going to make me. And it actually means that I’m so much more willing to offer my help when it’s needed, because it’s on my own terms. I hadn’t expected this, but I really appreciate it, I like being helpful.

I just don’t like being forced into it. The common theme I identified is that if I feel I’m being taken advantage of, a switch flicks in my brain, and my blood starts to boil.

That’s not how I want to be.

After a year and a half of being exclusively self-employed, I’ve finally found my feet. I like my schedule, I’m financially stable, and I’ve got enough time off to enjoy life outside of work.

I don’t know how long it will last, or how long it will satisfy me. But for now, it’s working.

So I’m going to stick to my boundaries, and hopefully, any new opportunities that come my way will make life better, rather than threatening to drag me back down into the deep, dark depths of being overworked and underpaid.

If eating a “balanced” diet or wasting less time doom-scrolling were that easy, we would already be there.

Inevitably, when life goes back to normal after Christmas, we lose steam, and the big, bold goals start to fade into the distance.

This year, I decided to take a different approach.

I don’t usually make resolutions because I like to coddle myself during one of the coldest, darkest months of the year. The joy from Christmas is over, and that is bad enough.

But I also know that I thrive when I have a goal to work towards, and it’s been a long time since I’ve really challenged myself.

So I signed up for a Marathon!

The Loch Ness Marathon, to be precise. Near where I grew up in the Scottish Highlands.

When I’m in a consistent exercise routine, I’m more motivated and focused in every other area of my life. Areas I usually berate myself for not doing better in, like work, nutrition, or even just housework and keeping up with life admin.

The goal may be physical, but I’m hoping that the benefits will have a ripple effect.

The run isn’t until September anyway, I keep reminding myself, so I have loads of time to train…

My base level of fitness is pretty good; I have being a Pilates instructor to thank for that, because it certainly hasn’t always been the case. But teaching so much every week means I put my own workouts pretty low on the priority list.

If I had set myself a resolution to “go to more classes” or “run at least twice per week”, I would have failed already, because on January 1st I woke up with a sore throat, and things went downhill from there.

I had planned to start training gently by getting into the routine of running consistently, not worrying about times or distances yet. It seemed sustainable.

Instead, I ended up nursing a hellish cold and doing the bare minimum.

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At the start of December, I caught the “super flu” and was stuck in bed for well over a week, so I was gutted to be hit again.

Like most people, I’m used to just pushing through, but whatever I caught back then was different.

It felt like I had no muscle left on my bones; most days, rolling over in bed was the most I could manage.

I had moved in with my boyfriend less than two weeks before, so it was a real baptism of fire for our progressing relationship.

I got over it in time for Christmas, but you can imagine my dismay when a new cough arrived with the new year.

I was in denial. It wasn’t the flu, so I was fine.

I did actually go for my first run on January 5th, and I was way up on cloud nine afterwards.

If I hadn’t decided to run the Loch Ness Marathon in September, I definitely wouldn’t have gone out on a cold January morning when I had a bit of a cough. The new approach to New Year’s resolutions was working.

But then I lost my voice, and my taste and smell, and the ability to breathe through my nose. It may have snuck up on me, but once the cold fully arrived, I was knocked out.

I was back in survival mode, eating anything and everything. Sleeping most of the day. Watching back-to-back Grey’s Anatomy.

I couldn’t afford to take much time off work, so on the days I had to rally, I was fuelled by gummy bears.

Any hopes I had of starting the year “strong”, building positive routines and habits were gone.

After a bit of moping around, I forced myself to remember that even if I can’t control a situation or stop myself from getting poorly, I can decide how I react to it.

And it would be insanity if I decided in January I was going to quit training for a Marathon I wasn’t running until September, because I was knocked off track for the first couple of weeks.

It’s the end of January, and I haven’t failed yet because I still have a long way to go. So I don’t feel demotivated, even if I am slightly daunted. I feel like I’ve cracked the code a little bit here.

When you look up the definition of a New Year’s Resolution, it’s described as a personal promise or intention to make a positive change, start a good habit, or stop a bad one. Using the start of January as the “fresh” start.

But unless we have tangible, clear goals and resolutions to aim for, we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment.

It’s a pattern I get stuck in a lot, not just at the new year, but any time I crave a positive change without breaking it down into smaller, daily steps I can stick to.

So I got clear on what I wanted to achieve and how I’m hoping to do it; it’s a definite goal that annoyingly requires consistency and persistence.

Now, for the next nine months, I have to suck up training for a very, very long run because I was motivated for a few days during the Christmas hibernation period.

I only have myself to blame; let’s hope I don’t regret my revelation.

I was tired of the city I’d called home for almost six years and was certain I wouldn’t be back. At least not anytime soon.

But as it turns out, as much as I love travelling, I also love home and familiarity.

I had left my “career” job nine months before. People thought I was mad because things appeared to be going pretty well from the outside, but simply put, I had lost my spark.

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I actually did my Pilates training as soon as I left that role. I hadn’t known at the time whether I would teach, but I knew that the best part of any day was when I was in a Pilates class, and that was enough of a reason for me.

In the meantime, while I figured out what I wanted to do, I returned to hospitality. I needed to earn money, but I wanted to be around people and not behind a desk.

I was keen to save up as much as possible, so I took on a lot of hours. Often working 9 hours on my feet, sometimes 6 or 7 days a week.

In a bid to look after my body while it was crumbling under the strain of such long days, I started going to yoga classes again.

One Sunday evening, I treated myself to a Yin class. All I was after was relaxation, but suddenly I found myself more drawn to the practice than I had ever been before.

Something about the way the teacher taught and held space just clicked in a way I had never experienced. I was in awe.

After a few more months of practice and introspection while continuing to work away, I realised what was missing for me: a deeper meaning to, well, pretty much everything.

It may be cheesy, but I really believe we need purpose to thrive, to feel anchored to something. So we aren’t just living day by day, almost stuck in survival mode.

I was having an existential crisis at the ripe old age of 23.

Cue the self-development phase of my early 20s: my 200-hour Yoga Teacher Training.

I didn’t want to teach. I wanted to learn.

To learn about history and philosophy, and how people have lived and thrived over the last several thousand years. To remind myself that the world is so much bigger than me.

At the time, I got my wish. The training was insightful and immersive, very intense, and at times slightly morally questionable, as many schools are…

But I was inspired, and once it was over, I wanted to see if what I had learned would hold up outside of our YTT bubble.

For a brief time, it did. I travelled, and I taught, exchanging work for accommodation or food across the countries I visited over the coming months: Thailand, Indonesia, India, and Spain latterly - anything to save a little money and keep me going on the move.

It didn’t last.

After about 8 months, my savings had dwindled, and I started to notice myself craving stability, a routine of sorts. My plan not to plan was coming to an end. I wanted to come home to what I knew.

I knew how to get work in Edinburgh, and I had friends here. I knew the city, and I missed it.

I battled with that for such a long time because I felt like I had “failed” at travelling. I shouldn’t have wanted to come back. I should have been content being on the move, meeting new people and making new memories.

But I felt so adrift while I was away. I had no real purpose to focus on, and I felt like I was twiddling my thumbs every day.

I was overflowing with business ideas and grand plans, but I couldn’t execute anything from where I was, with no form of income.

Having very little money also meant I couldn’t really do much; it’s a unique kind of feeling to be privileged enough to be somewhere new but not be able to afford to enjoy it. I was basically trapped in a travel web of my own making.

Money may have dictated my return in the end, but I began to count down the days as my flight neared.

I’ve been back for a couple of years now, and honestly, it’s more like home now than it ever felt before.

I think I have my yoga training in part to thank for it, as well as all the people I met along the way. I’ll admit I’ve forgotten a huge amount of what I learned, but I’m definitely a much calmer, more patient person than I was a few years ago.

I see opportunities where I previously felt trapped, and that’s the key for me. I’m not stuck in Edinburgh, I’m choosing to be here. Choosing to love it and choosing to return time and time again.

The grass is often greener, sure, but I haven’t forgotten how I felt towards the end of that trip.

I may still crave travelling and the experiences you only get when you open your eyes to the rest of the world, but at the moment, I’m much happier knowing that I have a return ticket booked eventually when I go away.

Stability and routine may not feel very adventurous, but it turns out I love it.