Hi, I'm Mariia – I make things, and then write to find out what happened.

Every year I get into a habit of carefully laying out a plan.

"I will put myself out there by running an IG blog. I will work with 10 people on their brand strategy. I will lose weight by exercising daily."

Sailing through the boost of motivation and confidence, I have no doubt – of course, I will make it! But even if not everything works out, I will give it my best, won't I?

This is not a post about my goals or progress or anything like that. It's March – and I know I royally fucked the prime time of showing the world my ever-so-brilliant-and-ambitious plan, with lots of exclamation points that "I will make it, you just have to see it!"

No, today, 9 March 2025 is the time to tell myself to stop.

There's no milestone after which my selfies glow

I love reality TV. There, I said it.

I look precisely like the couch trash: In my fluffy bathrobe, with a mug of hot tea, cackling at dumb jokes, talking at my TV like an angry man shouting at the cloud, and losing brain cells over blown-out-of-proportion arguments. This is my paradise – and I refuse to call it "guilty pleasure."

Because I have no regrets over something so trashy that is also incredibly insightful.

(Wait what?)

My favourite reality TV franchise in the world is "Real Housewives." In a nutshell, it's about a group of wealthy women – self-made and by marriage alike – and their daily lives.

You can judge these women and their lavishness all you want but what they do brilliantly is how they use this platform. The different variations of the show (divided by cities, eg "Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" or "Real

In summer 2022, my first ever proper tweet went viral. Around 250k people saw it – 350 left heartfelt and encouraging replies and messages, and 700 gave me their "yes, I'm staying for your content" follow.

It was the first time something I shared reached so many people, let alone received such warm welcome from long-time and newbie creators alike. You can imagine, I was in awe.

(Context: The tweet was about turning my lurker mode off and joining other creators to have fun with their business and ideas online. Here's my little story.)

"This is it! I made it." I felt like a winner. Even more, I felt like a new girl at school who invited a bunch of people to the party yet a whole school showed up.

And if you remember all the 2000s teen romcoms, it doesn't usually end well.

Day 1: Endless

I have a fear of failure. I'm not so special in that – which means, I'm not alone. (It's a rare thing but I think it makes us a community of a couple of billion people, at least.)

Yet, sometimes I feel like people package it in the sweetest look-back story, in an attempt to bond with others. "Oh dear, I've also been afraid of things. Look at me now, that fear drove me to success!"

These stories are often post-factum. "I did it. Read my story. You can also be like me. Use these proven techniques to replicate my success – soon to be yours."

To them: I wish you told this story while being in there. I wish you didn't stand by "proven" one-size-fits-all techniques, methods, you name it – because it gives false hope. Like there's a special

These days, scrolling Twitter feed makes me feel exhausted. (Honestly, swap "Twitter" with LinkedIn or Instagram Explore, and you'll arrive at the same state.)

Because whatever post my eyes land on, all I see is advice disguised as content.

There's nothing bad with advice per se; but with the constant yelling of "do this, not that" and preaching of "secrets", I want to run away. It feels like there's always something to fix with whatever I do.

I don't blame creators and thought-leaders who share advice. These posts are sexy – and they often go viral because people crave for quick fixes. That's a fair exchange: Their tips for my attention.

Do I project whatever I'm facing onto the situations that these gurus describe? Absolutely. Because I share the frustration of the audience they are targeting. Yet, instead of feeling seen and understood, I

I ventured outside of my comfort zone. No, nothing wild happened. More like – eye-opening.

Since 2020, I work from home. My constant companions are my husband, our cats, and my friends online. You see, my scope of daily interactions is incredibly limited – I have the world at my fingertips that I've curated for myself.

Which means, it's somewhat narrow. To the extent that in my mind, whatever's obvious to me must be obvious to anyone else. Whatever I see as my goals and failures – well, everyone sees that, too.

Take a look: My husband is an entrepreneurial web developer who is active in online communities and runs a blog. My friends provide services online and create content. We're so different in our points of view, with experiences and backgrounds we bring, yet our aspirations and visions are so alike.

Back to my "out of the

I wonder, how many times I stopped myself from sharing my thoughts?

Like, what happened to me today, how it made me feel, what I experienced, and so on.

In hindsight, all I see is the fear of coming across as selfish and self-centred, of publishing something that no one would find interesting (except me, of course).

Because the only thing that should guide our content is what our audience cares about. Right?

(Fair enough. If I want to catch attention of other entrepreneurs, it better be interesting for them to follow me and read my content.)

Yet, I wonder: Does the audience then care only about dry knowledge? The same 100 versions of tips and listicles? Zero entertainment, only professional content?

I doubt that. There's no emotional connection in opinion-less content.

(No emotion, no relationship, no trust.)

So, why do we still make that assumption and