I don't want to write Content anymore. So I'm changing my Substack.

Introducing Messy Work 2.0 🥁

When you were younger, did you have a favourite magazine?

One you’d beg your parents to buy you from the corner shop (mainly for the free sparkly nail polish sellotaped to the front). Or, when you were old enough to have your own money, one you’d save up for—relishing the monthly ritual of piercing through its filmy packaging, releasing the heady scents of printing ink and perfume samples within.

I was a magazine kid. From Mizz to Vogue to my Dad’s NME magazines, they were (along with novels) my portals. Not just into another world, but into another self.

They exposed me to ideas, opinions, advice, stories, clothes, hairstyles and facts of life outside of my neat, suburban bubble. They showed me what was out there, and who I could be. They taught me how to write.

My magazines were sacred: a treat to be to be savoured, cover to cover. They took pride of place in my bedroom, where they sat in chronological order in a teetering stack. Sometimes I’d carefully tease their pages away from the spine, blu-tacking Tim Walker shoots to my wall. I’d pritt stick shoes and faces and words into my scrap book. Other issues I wouldn’t touch—they were simply too beautiful to tear apart.

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I rarely buy magazines anymore.

Most of the ideas, opinions, advice, stories, clothes, hairstyles, and facts of life I absorb (with the exception of books) come from digital media: podcasts, websites, newsfeeds, forums, Substacks.

This isn’t a bad thing. In many ways, I’m exposed to much more diverse (and critical) thinking than I was reading fashion magazines in the 2010s—those impenetrable gatekeepers of art, culture and entertainment that were responsible for a lot of unhealthy messaging around body image and materialism.

Remember when we thought this quote was iconic?

Nonetheless, I find myself nostalgic.

I yearn for a time when I had the attention span to read something cover to cover, maybe multiple times over. A time when I could still feel the excitement of anticipation, not the fatigue and impatience of over-saturation. When I eagerly awaited the next instalment of my favourite publication, rather than skim-reading articles and swiftly deleting them from my inbox to appease the increasingly insistent storage warning looming over my Gmail.

I yearn for a time BC: Before Content.

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I don’t want to write content anymore.

That was the main reason I started this Substack.

Having spent a decade squeezing my ideas into Instagram carousels and whittling down my words to meet draconian character counts, I wanted to let my writing breathe.

I wanted to forget about TOVs and SEO and aspect ratios, take off my marketing hat, and find my own voice.

I wanted to break up with strategy—to stop thinking in terms of reach and likes, and instead prioritise originality, creativity, and truth.

And writing Messy Work has been really great. I have found my voice again. I’ve let my ideas take up space and my words (and feelings!!) spill out from the cool, clipped text the internet likes to spoon feed us, lest our brains explode from having to read something twice.

There’s just one problem: Substack seems to really like Content.

There are loads of brilliant writers on here and it’s been particularly endearing to see so many of us embrace being a work-in-progress—from shy teenagers finding their feet (or their pens), to Pamela Anderson.

But as the platform grows, I’ve noticed that my Home feed is increasingly full of other people’s content, telling me how to write content, so we (and Substack) can all profit off of our content.

And that’s not really what I’m here to read.

I’m not opposed to Content. It’s been my bread and butter, and hell, we all have shit to sell. And I suppose that’s what I mean by distinguishing “content” from, well, just writing: it’s designed to sell something.

But there’s just so damn much of it. And I know, I know, I probably sound hypocritical—I often point to my own business and services in my Substack (hey, a girl’s gotta eat that sourdough).

But Content is also not really what I’m here to write.

As Substack starts to look suspiciously like a social media platform, I notice I have to keep a keener eye on whether my itch to post comes from a place of pure self-expression, a genuine desire to connect, vs. a desire to placate the algorithm with my vain hopes of virality (it happened once!!!).

I’ll admit that sometimes this itch has muddied my writing. At other times, it’s made me resistant to posting at all.

But I definitely don’t want to quit Substack—or whinge about it. I just want to figure out what mine’s all about.

The messy work

I started Messy Work for the reasons I’ve described above. But also, because I wanted somewhere to document my learnings as a coach. Not to peddle my wares, as such, but because I’m a huge psychology nerd. While it sounds SO corny to say this, I honestly believe that if we all had the right tools and support to deepen our self-awareness, the world would be a better place (like, what would happen if our global “leaders” went to therapy?).

And so I liked the idea of sharing what I was learning in an accessible yet nuanced way. Not dictating or prescribing, but writing to work through my own thoughts as I put this knowledge into practice, maybe giving someone a fresh perspective along the way.

As my Substack has (slowly!) grown, it’s become a space where I can connect not just with my own voice and ideas, but with other people, too. Again, it sounds corny because everyone says this about their Substack (usually to convince ourselves that we are really, honestly, FINE that we haven’t made 5 million pounds a month off it yet), but it truly has opened the door for shared experiences, rich conversations, and even new friends.

But I’ll confess: the more readers I have, and the more Substack shows me the peaks and troughs in my subscriber dashboard, the more self-conscious I’ve grown about what I’m writing, who I’m writing for, and who I’m writing as.

Should it be slow-brewed, laboriously-edited personal essays that seamlessly blend robust research with jaw-droppingly profound soul-baring? Or something beautiful and poetic that wouldn’t be out of place in a literary periodical (a girl can dream)?

Or should I go for the off-the-cuff, stream-of-consciousness diary entries better suited to the age of over-sharing on the internet (aka someone half my age)? Woolf meets Bradshaw meets TikTok, perhaps?

Should I show up as the coach: wise, professional, polished? Or the human: vulnerable, fallible and imperfect?

Should my writing offer guidance: bolded definitions, neat diagrams, and step-by-step instructions? Or entertainment—relatable anecdotes and self-deprecating jokes?

I’ve been mulling over these questions for a while now, reluctant to share them in case I a) contribute to the Substacking-about-Substack metaverse and b) to the whingeing about how hard it is to build a following if you don’t already have a platform (is it our god-given right to all be internet sensations?).

And truthfully, I’ve also been too busy life-ing to do much writing. But, as is often the case with our quandaries, some time not thinking about it has made it much easier to think about it.

I remembered all of the things I dreamed for myself as a child. How passionately I’d wanted to be a magazine editor, hoarding all those Vogues and designing sample covers on Microsoft Paint.

And I thought, what if Messy Work were a magazine? How would I approach it then?

Introducing Messy Work 2.0

The thing is, I’d be made up if Messy Work could give you even a fraction of the feeling I got from knowing my Vogue was arriving tomorrow—the anticipation, excitement, and joy.

I don’t want to bombard you with ‘Content’ because I know your inbox is just as clogged up as mine. I also don’t want to feel plugged in—that existing as a writer means I’m beholden to posting on Notes every day and fiercely monitoring my subscriber dashboard to immediately re-strategise whenever I lose a follower.

I don’t want my writing to be a product I need to test, ship, refine, and repeat. I want my writing to be thoughtful, real, and hopefully a bit funny (because in the absence of caring about going viral, please validate me by telling me I made you laugh!!!).

I don’t want my Substack to put me in a box. I want it to be a home for different parts of me: the writer, the coach, and the 30-something woman figuring her shit out.

I don’t want my Substack to put you in a box—to say that you need to be a self-employed 30-something woman figuring her shit out, or that you simply have to follow this 25-step coaching formula to master the art of lifelong happiness.

I want Messy Work to be a space for deep thinkers, big feelers, and the more-to-lifers.

By that, I mean you’re someone who refuses to settle. For feeling stuck in your emotions or alone in your experiences. For the limits of what we were taught in school.

You’re not here to blindly follow the rulebook. You’re here to do some digging and find the light.

So…I’m making a few changes.

What to expect

From now on, you can think of Messy Work as a monthly “magazine” (just without the glossy pictures and—sigh—advertising sugar daddies).

I’ll be exploring the same messy work of being human through:

• Personal essays: documenting my latest musings/existential crises

• Loose Guides: (strictly non-prescriptive) insights from the world of coaching psychology and psychotherapy, aka stuff I think they should teach us in school

• Ideas People: inspiring interviews with people who had a big idea and took a big risk to make it happen (I’ll share more about this series very soon, but I have some really beautiful conversations lined up!)

And I’ll be dropping all three posts at the same time, once a month—giving you more time to read them, and me more time to write them.

So if you’re a more-to-lifer or former magazine kid who’s got too much content on their hands, do come along for the ride.

And if you’ve been here all along, thank you for all your support and encouragement—when I say it means a lot, I actually have a spreadsheet where I copy and paste all of your nice comments so I can look at them whenever I’m feeling like I’m a terrible writer who has nothing to say (99% of the existence of a writer) ❤️

Now for the awkward bit: Am I going to ask you for money?

I’ve always felt a bit conflicted about monetising my Substack—after all, wouldn’t this be falling into the Content trap I’ve just decried above? Would it make my writing feel like a commodity? And most importantly, does anyone like it enough to pay for it?

Truthfully, I’m still working through my feelings on this, so I’ll keep you posted. But rest assured, right now I am planning to carry on offering all of my content-not-content for free. And I’ll let you know if and why anything changes.

Messy Club?!

One thing I am considering (despite being a bit churlish about Substack’s multiplying bells and whistles) is opening up a Messy Club on Substack Chat/Discussion Threads.

This would be a space where hardcore more-to-lifers could trade existential crises chat with fellow chronic over-thinkers likeminded people. But mainly, I’d like to invite you to a monthly online journaling workshop where we can do our messy work together. This would be delivered via:

• Zoom if you’d like the live experience, some accountability and lovely community vibes (lurking with your camera off totally welcome)

• And afterwards as an audio post, in case you can’t make it live or want to revisit the prompts in your own time

If you haven’t been to one of my journaling workshops before, we pick a theme (I’d love to take your suggestions on these!) and I lead you through a series of reflective prompts, weaving in some coaching psychology tools and frameworks to help you get to the really juicy stuff.

I’ve hosted a few of these this year and I absolutely love doing them. I’m also conscious that not everyone can afford coaching, so I see my workshops as a way to bring some of that experience to a more accessible format.

But you tell me! What do you reckon? Is it something you’d be interested in?!

What it’s like to come to my journaling workshops

Nice things from my spreadsheet:

“Just wanted to reach out and say how fantastic it was to come to your workshop the other day. Had some very powerful noticings through the section where we look at the themes of the “next moves”. Definitely confirmed themes I know myself to already orient around, so thank you for that.”

“Truthfully, I arrived to the call with some anxiety after receiving a tough email on the bus home. After a quick intro, I breathed and grounded myself alongside the group, and by the end I felt lighter. One of so many moments where I’ve benefited from being *part* of this community.”

“Lucia held the space with such warmth and wisdom. We explored what it means to lead with our values, the tension between purpose and scarcity, the difference between instinct and intuition, and how to navigate boundaries without building barriers. It came at the perfect time for me…a powerful reminder of what community care can look like - especially when you work for yourself, often by yourself.”

“[Lucia] has a rare gift for creating calm, thoughtful, grounding space. I came with a notebook, a pen, a cup of tea… and a lot of anxiety. I left with more presence, clarity, and a few very actionable insights…It was exactly what I needed. Lucia’s way of guiding the group helped me notice things I hadn’t slowed down enough to see. Proposed journaling prompts opened up questions I didn’t know I needed to ask. We listened to each other, and something about the way people shared made me feel more grounded in my own experience. It reminded me how valuable it is to have a sounding board - not for solutions, but just to be in the room with someone who listens with intention.”

Stay tuned!

I’ll be back next week with an intro to my new interview series, Ideas People, and the first “issue” of Messy Work 2.0 will be hitting your inbox towards the end of the month. In the meantime, I’d love to hear if any of my mess resonates—whether you’re a writer trying to find the balance between self-expression and self-promotion, or a reader who’s Gmail storage is similarly threatening…

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About me + Messy Work

I’m Lucia, a writer and coach based in Bristol, UK. I work with recovering high achievers and independent spirits who can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to life. And write about the messy (but beautiful!) work of figuring it all out—whether it’s being an anti-girlboss, overcoming my fear of public swimming pools, or embracing one’s crone era.

If you’re curious to learn more about my work or just say hi, drop me a message.