You Won't Believe My System...
This is edition 52.
Fair warning: this one's longer than usual. I've been writing this newsletter for a year now, and I wanted to take a minute to actually share where I'm at instead of just giving you the normal Winning Wednesday format.
I originally started this to reconnect with people after buying the company back - to share what's actually happening behind the products instead of just sending sales emails. And honestly? Writing something every single week is a huge accomplishment for me. I've never been consistent with anything like this before.
I didn't expect the responses. People sharing their own struggles. Telling me something I wrote helped them name what they were going through.
Do I respond in a timely way? No. But do I try to respond? (Even if it's months later?)
All the replies are tagged in my inbox for response.
I'm not sure if anyone else does this, but I'll delay responding to an email because I really want to write back something thoughtful. But then I feel like I need more time to write something thoughtful. And because I don't have that time, I don't respond at all. Which really makes it look like I don't care at all, which is the opposite of what's actually happening.
But I read every single one. And knowing someone out there looks forward to Wednesdays kept me going through the weeks I really didn't want to write.
Fifty-two editions taught me something uncomfortable: consistency has nothing to do with having time. It's about what you refuse to negotiate with yourself about.
Jerry Seinfeld talks about writing like this: you sit at your desk and either you write, or you just sit there. Either way, you're not leaving until the time is up.
That's my Tuesday nights. Sometimes words flow. Sometimes I just sit there until they don't not flow anymore. Both count as showing up.
Here's 52 Things I've Learned From Writing This Newsletter
Just kidding, ain’t no one got time for that.
But here's why making it to 52 weeks is kind of wild. Why? I've never been naturally consistent with anything. Ever.
In school, I couldn't even use a locker consistently. Not because I didn't have one - I had one. I just couldn't keep using it.
I'd lose the key. Which meant I had to go to the maintenance guy and get him to cut the lock off with bolt cutters. These huge, heavy metal things - basically half the length of my legs. We'd have to walk through the hallways with them. Then I'd have to buy a new lock.
This happened enough times that eventually he just started giving me the bolt cutters whenever I needed them. I'd carry them through the hallways, cut the lock, and bring them back to maintenance.
(For some reason Ireland didn't have combination locks back then - everyone just had keys. I still don't understand why.)
But even when I managed to keep the key, I'd forget what books I needed for what classes. Or I'd forget a book in my locker and the lockers weren't close to the classrooms, so by the time I realized it, I'd be late.
Eventually, I was just like, f*ck it. I'm carrying everything.
The Question I Can't Stop Thinking About
Want to know the role that exhausts me most? I'm supposed to have this figured out. The founder of a company called BestSelf should probably feel like her best self more often than she does. The version of me writing this newsletter at 5 AM is because it's the only quiet hour I have? That's supposed to be the exception, not the rule.
But what if that thinking is backwards?
What if the most authentic version of you is the one you're hiding?
Not the highlight reel. Not the "crushing it" version. Not even the "I'm doing my best" version.
The version that's tired. The version that doesn't have answers. The version that's figuring it out as you go.
What if that's not the performance? What if that's who you actually are, and the act is pretending you're someone else?
If you've ever met me, I'm pretty small. But I had this massive backpack I'd wear all day with every single book in it. Because I couldn't trust myself to remember which book for which class on which day.
That was my system. Carry everything so I didn't have to remember anything.
As an adult, I'm still terrible with keys. But I've designed my life so I don't need any. My car works from my phone. Smart locks everywhere. Not a key in sight.
Same thing with this newsletter. I can't rely on motivation or inspiration. So I built a system: show up Tuesday night. Sit there until something comes out. Some weeks it flows. Some weeks it doesn't. Both count.
Here's what 52 weeks of that actually taught me:
1. Vulnerability Beats Polish Every Time
A few weeks ago, I wrote about a friend who called me crying. She was drowning as the default parent - carrying all the mental load, all the invisible labor, while her husband "helped" when asked.
The responses flooded in. Women are dealing with it themselves. People whose friends were going through it. Just... a lot of "thank you for naming this" and "this is exactly what I needed to hear."
Same thing happened when I mentioned trichotillomania and other random things I thought were too specific or too weird to talk about. Every time I think "this is just me," someone writes back saying "oh my god, me too."
People don't need you to have it figured out. They need to know they're not the only one struggling with something.
2. The Things You Think Are "Too Specific" Are What People Need Most
I kept hesitating on certain topics. Adult friendships fading after 30 - is that too niche? Random ADHD things about relationships - is that just me? Phone habits - is that even on-brand?
Every single one of those emails got strong responses. Not just "thanks for this" but "I've been struggling with this for years and didn't know how to talk about it."
The thing you're worried about is too specific to your experience? That's exactly what someone else has been waiting for permission to acknowledge.
3. Consistency Creates Content (Not the Other Way Around)
I didn't have 52 weeks of material when I started. I had a commitment to write every week and see what happened.
I didn't know if people would read it. I didn't even know if I'd keep going. I have a personal blog I haven't touched in months. But this? I made it non-negotiable.
Writing every week forced me to notice things I would've missed. To process struggles in real-time. To trust my own experience was worth sharing.
You don't need a year's worth of ideas before you start. You need to start to discover the ideas.
The Thing That's Been Consuming Me
I need to tell you about Helm.
There's this saying: if you're not embarrassed by your first version, you shipped too late.
I wasn't embarrassed by the physical product - the actual Helm object is beautiful. But the software? That was rough.
Here's what actually happened: One developer ghosted. Another was working a whole other job on the side, which explained why everything was so slow. I kept trying to trust people to deliver what I needed, and they couldn't.
So I became a full-stack engineer. Not because I wanted to. Because if I wanted Helm to be what it needed to be, I was going to have to build it myself.
I was blessed (or cursed?) with the "how hard could it be?" gene. I wanted this thing to exist. I just didn't have the skills or experience to do it. I'd never done software before, let alone software with a hardware piece. Turns out it's an entirely different business. And it's hard.
But I was determined. I will not give up. Even barely sleeping with a newborn. Even when I had no idea what I was doing. I will make this work, honestly, if it's the last thing I do.
I think the story of my GitHub contributions is all you need to know: 1 contribution in 2024. Over 2,700 in 2025 (most in the last 4 months). I literally learned by taking on a project I had no business taking on.
Thank God for AI, patience, and not quitting. There was one night I broke down in tears because something broke and I had no idea what or why.
I didn't know what I didn't know. If I'd known how hard this was going to be, I probably wouldn't have started. Which is why I'm glad I was ignorant. I chose one of the most difficult things possible as a solo project. Not just a first app, but hardware AND software. Backend, frontend, device approvals.
(If I've responded to you about a bug issue and you were surprised the founder was writing back? This is why. This has been my obsession for the last five months. I wake up thinking about it. I go to bed trying to solve problems with it.)
But I kept showing up. Every week. Fixing bugs. Learning what I didn't know. Slowly becoming someone who could actually build this thing.
We just gave it a major facelift, and for the first time, I'm not embarrassed anymore. I'm proud.
Here's to 52 editions of imperfect consistency.
And here's to you showing up for yourself, even when it's messy. 🫠
