Why I never wanted to be a full-time blogger
I started blogging in April 2010, shortly after quitting my entry-level job in high-tech public relations and purchasing a one-day ticket to Nice, France. Thinking back, I’m not quite sure what my aspirations were. I’m sure I harbored some tiny inkling of a dream of *being discovered* but what I would be discovered as was still to be determined. But I was young and hungry and cheap, happy to work in a bar and stay in $1 hostels and live frugally to make my savings last as long as they could.
The internet in those days looked like a very different place. Professional bloggers were rare, Instagram didn’t exist yet, Twitter was still a fun place to be, the “like button” still felt like a novelty on Facebook. Kids didn’t aspire to grow up and be an influencer. “Spon con” was not an accepted abbreviation, much less an understood way of making money.
When I backpacked solo through Southeast Asia after leaving Australia for the first three months of 2012, my goal was to use that as a bit of test for freelancing. All in all: I hated it. I realized that it was really hard to balance actually getting out and traveling with working. During the day, I wanted to go out and *do things* and make the most of where I was; I didn’t want to be stuck behind a computer all day. But it was also tough to get everything done that I needed to get done in the evenings, especially when I had exhausted from a day of exploring. I also realized that I’m not someone who works well with the feast or famine mentality of budgeting as a freelancer.
When I moved to New York City in July 2012, the blogging and influencing industry was starting to change. But I opted to get a day job in social media and marketing (especially after six months of slowly working my way through my savings), and I’ve worked full-time ever since. Before I started my (somewhat ongoing) blogging sabbatical in 2019, I wrote one to three blog posts a week–in addition to social media, in addition to my full-time job, in addition to being a wife and dog mom and a friend.
There are myriad reasons why I never wanted to be a full-time blogger–but maybe it’s a little disingenuous to say that I never wanted it. There were definitely moments when I thought that *maybe* I could make it work, *maybe* I could take a big swing and see what happened. But I never did, and looking back, I’m very glad I always had the security of a “real job.”
It’s hard not to take blogging personally, especially when you’re blogging about your own life. I shared travel tips, sure, but I also wrote about relationships and friendships and happiness. When a vulnerable post doesn’t perform well in the metrics, it’s hard not to think: was that a bad post? Or am I a bad person? Does it even matter if I write anything? Does everyone secretly hate me? (The reality of sites like GOMI make it…very hard to ignore this kind of feeling.)
And when I was traveling on press trips or specifically to create content (and at a certain point, *everything you do* is content), it becomes less about enjoying the experience and more about documenting the experience. In my heyday of blogging (let’s call it 2015 to 2019?), I felt a lot of pressure to share: what I was reading, where I went to dinner, what trip I was planning. It forced me to examine my motivations: was I doing something because I wanted to and it genuinely brought me joy, or was I doing something because I knew it would look good in a photo to share? The answer was often somewhere in the middle.
Not all of it was bad. Part of why I love blogging is that I do tend to have strong opinions and I do a lot of research, and I like to share the things I love. Nothing is more satisfying that someone reading a book I recommended or going on a trip I suggested and reporting back that they loved it. I also take a very specific joy in exploring a place that isn’t at the top of people’s bucket list and working to change their mind (see: Slovenia!). And frankly, I’ve always loved to write. There’s a lot that I love about blogging, but it’s also a lot of work–and often, for not the amount of money I would need to deem the work reasonable. I suppose there’s a world where if I could keep my salary and benefits and just blog, I would do it–but that, unfortunately, is not the world that I live in.
I kind of stumbled in a career in sales: after spending my entry-level years in marketing and social media, a boss encouraged me to try my hand at selling. It immediately resonated with me: it leverages many of my best skills (writing, talking, convincing people of something I believe in) and it pays well. And more than anything, it has very clear success metrics. You either hit your numbers or you don’t: sometimes there are unavoidable outside factors, sometimes you realize what you could have done differently. But in the end, all of sales comes down to the numbers. This black-and-white view of success feels so different, in the best possible way, from the shades of gray in blogging about my personal life. It also made it easier for me to compartmentalize, to have something very clear to succeed in while letting traveling and writing be a bit more fluid and without as much pressure.
And, of course, I also understand that I now live in a world of golden handcuffs. I’ve worked in sales for almost a decade now, and I’ve gotten very accustomed to my paycheck. This certainly means that I like certain luxuries, but I think more of it is tied to security. Like I mentioned, I don’t do well with the feast or famine mentality of freelancing: I am much happier knowing exactly how much will be deposited in my bank account every two weeks, after taxes. There was a point where I realized I could just take the trip I wanted to take and pay for it, and then share it if I wanted…or not, if I didn’t want to. This was a big shift from when I had an entry-level paycheck and was happy to barter for a free hotel night in exchange for coverage.
And even more than the paycheck, I am very committed to my benefits. At a certain point (especially with a baby, two dogs and a mortgage), it’s less feasible to take the risk. One of my biggest issues with America is our approach to health insurance and medical care, and more specifically, the fact that our health insurance is tied to our jobs. Although it’s certainly possible to pay out of pocket for health insurance and medical care, it is SO expensive. My husband is self-employed, so our family’s benefits have been tied to my job for most of our relationship. Even when I daydream about starting my own business (not tied to content creation!), my biggest concern is always around health insurance.
Part of it also comes down to integrity. Once you start having to rely on advertisers and sponsored content to pay your bills (unless you have a truly wonderful huge and dedicated audience that is willing to pay for your content, I do not have that lol), you have to start making different assessments of what you’ll say and what you’ll do. Your schedule is a little less your own. What and how you share becomes less flexible. And you’ll likely be a bit more beholden to the algorithm of the social media channels (see: all of the influencers who had to figure out how to make Instagram Reels overnight to save their stats and their income).
Lastly, working a “real job” gives me the separation to have the lifestyle I want without the pressure to share it. It also gives me true PTO, and it gave me an actual parental leave when Jojo was born. I’m passionate about using that accrued time off and *not* working when I am on vacation. That wouldn’t be possible (or at least, it would be a heck of a lot harder) if I was a full-time blogger!
And thus: that is my very long-winded answer to someone who asked on Instagram Stories why I never pursued full-time blogging. Voila! Do not regret a thing! (Unless anyone has a viable way for me to just blog and pay all of my bills and then some, then I’m listening :)
