Change is Hard.

But extremely necessary.

In a matter of weeks, I’ll be able to say that I’ve answered to EMMASTHING for 13 years. Thirteen. 1-3. In March of 2010, I was almost a year out of college and a year into the real world with no creative outlet at my disposal to do the one thing I’ve always really, truly wanted to do — write. So, I created EMMASTHING—a blog where I could write as little or as much as I wanted every single day if that’s what my heart desired (and, at the time, it was).

I’ve been at this for so long. I’ve seen the blogosphere at its peak and, now, in a deserted valley. I’ve struggled for thirteen years with how to grow my audience, appeal to more people, post the “right” kind of content, and make something out of this blog about nothing. I’ve thrown so much shit at the wall, you’d have to burn the house down to ashes to get rid of the stains. I’ve hemmed, I’ve hawed. I’ve had great years and awful years. I’ve rebranded more times than I can count. I’ve made countless attempts at a curated content calendar, only to learn that there is no wrangling my stream of consciousness ways of writing and sharing. I’ve played the game—oh, have I played the game. I’ve bolstered peers and likeminded creatives with next to no reciprocation. Plugged their blogs, their profiles, their podcasts, their newsletters only to be met with a proverbial traffic wave of thanks. I’ve continued to evolve, sharing every new stage of my life as I lived it. All of this I’ve done with such gusto while my growth crawled alongside me, creeping and crawling and stalling and stopping.

And now? Now I’m tired.

I’m tired of “trying to figure it out.” I’m tired of beating myself up year after year, wondering what’s “wrong” with me that I haven’t “made it” yet. But what’s funny is, if you asked me to define what “making it” looks like, I couldn’t tell you. I have no answer because the second I start to formulate one, I realize there is no answer. Success is relative. My success could be someone’s goal, just like my weight could be someone’s goal. No true success lies within what I do, just the thief of joy by way of comparison. And I’m exhausted.

For years, I’ve been chasing this undefined dream of success via my online presence, and I’m realizing right now, today, that it’s time to stop running because I don’t even know what I’m running toward or why. Some people just have that “it” factor that garners double, triple, quadruple the amount of audience that I have, and for the first time in the last thirteen years, I’m realizing that’s okay. I’m not meant for what they have or where they are—I’m meant for who and what I am right now, today, without changing a goddamn thing about myself. I have loaded up the barbell on my audience’s back, making them solely responsible for my happiness and validation. Happiness and validation that my friends and family give me every single day in big ways and small that I’ve taken for granted and deemed less-than compared to what I get from strangers online.

Feel that? That’s the barbell being unloaded and lifted off your back. You’re now free to just enjoy me for me.

It’s no secret that Zac and I are hoping to get pregnant this year, and with such a life-changing transition on the horizon, I’ve been incredibly introspective lately. Having a child will change everything. Priorities will shift. Interests will evolve. What I expend my energy on will be unrecognizable to childless Emma. I’m making peace with the simple fact that I was never meant to be this viral, online personality. That ship I’ve been manically trying to board since 2010 has sailed. Blogs are on life support, Instagram is a machine over which we have no control, I have no idea what TikTok is even though I caved and created a profile, and my podcast is a wonderful passion project that allows me to use my voice but not everyone is a podcast person. So I have this.

This newsletter.

And I intend on using the fuck out of it.

This newsletter is my direct line to you. Straight into your inbox with no algorithm to overcome. No incessant plugging it on Instagram. No using the right hashtags to ensure the right people see it. It’s just me and you in here—this one perfect moment every week where we meet up to discuss what’s going on, what products we’re loving, and if there’s a certain recipe or link I think you need. It may not seem it, but this newsletter is the most personal I can get with you—you, who opted-in. You, who wants to be here. You, who is also tired and bored and just wants to connect.

I want to make this newsletter something special. A guaranteed weekly treat for readers who want the everyday, behind-the-screens stuff. Essays, opinions, things I’m loving and hating, all of it. If you choose to remain a free subscriber, that’s great. You’ll get something from me every week—what that something is may shift and change, and it definitely won’t be stuff you haven’t seen before. If you choose to upgrade to a paying subscriber, you will get it all and then some: personal stories I don’t feel the need to disclose to 13k Instagram followers, links to all the things I couldn’t keep up with via Instagram or my blog if I tried, most likely some problematic opinions, and a lot more.

This is a new chapter for me. A chapter of releasing what’s not working for me and leaning into what is, and I hope you’ll lean in with me.

—EGM