There’s a certain kind of shame in admitting this, but I’m going to say it anyway:

I’ve been earning around £60 a year from Google AdSense.

That’s… five pounds a month. A flat white. A particularly enthusiastic wax melt order. And in return for this fiver? I’ve had to turn my blog — my precious, once-pretty blog — into something that looked like a spammy newspaper from 2004.

Autoplay ads. Clashing fonts. Pop-ups. Rows of boxes selling insurance and clickbait cat food articles. All slapped across my most heartfelt writing like a bargain bin sale sign on a Monet.

And for what?

A cheque that wouldn’t even cover my monthly biscuit budget.

So I’m done.

This is my soft goodbye to AdSense. Not with rage. Just with relief.

💡 Why I’m Walking Away:

Because the ads didn’t feel aligned with me anymore.

Because the earnings weren’t worth the eyesore.

Because this blog is part of my soft life, and nothing about AdSense felt soft.

It was noisy. Messy. Disruptive.

And I’ve spent too many years building peace to rent out my calm for pennies.

🧭 What I’m Doing Instead:

I’m shifting to a more intentional kind of monetisation:

• Amazon links to products I genuinely love (and already talk about).

• Travel content with affiliate suggestions woven into my actual stories.

• Occasional gift guides that feel helpful, not pushy.

• And one day, maybe, a proper ad network that pays like it means it (hello, Mediavine… we’re not there yet, but I’m waving).

But mostly?

I’m writing again.

And I want my readers to have a clean, calm, ad-free space to come and sit with me in the chaos.

Because the blog deserves better.

I deserve better.

And so do you.

Explore my favourite finds on Amazon — quietly curated, no chaos.

The Soft Life Manifesto: A Declaration from a Woman Who’s Had Enough of Hard Things

 

💛 The Manifesto

I didn’t grow up believing life should be soft. I grew up believing it should be earned—hustled for, shouted about, survived. You worked hard, you didn’t complain, and you certainly didn’t rest unless you were practically dying. And even then, only for a bit.

But somewhere in my 50s, I realised something radical:

I’m not doing that anymore.

The Soft Life isn’t about being idle. It’s about choosing peace over performance. It’s walking away from people who drain you—even if you once loved them. It’s buying the fancy soap. It’s giving up the idea that everything has to be a struggle. It’s dressing for comfort, saying no without guilt, and living in a way that feels like a long exhale.

As a neurodivergent woman who’s worn every mask, played every part, and ticked every box—this is me tearing up the script.

I will not sacrifice my well-being for algorithms, expectations, or the grind.

I am not a brand.

I am a human being with cats, chronic exhaustion, and a cupboard full of wax melts.

I choose softness, even when the world tells me that softness is weak.

Because they’re wrong.

Softness is radical.

Softness is survival.

Softness is the loudest “no” I’ve ever shouted in a whisper.

This is not a phase.

This is not a rebrand.

This is a revolution, scented with lavender and served with a side of fidget toys.

Explore Mandy’s favourite soft life finds on Amazon

Romanticising My Life When I Feel a Bit Broken

There are days when I feel like the heroine of a Nora Ephron film—hair slightly windswept, lighting softly golden, cats purring in the background as I potter about being charming and slightly neurotic.

And then there are days like today, where I feel like I’m running on 17% battery, my kitchen smells vaguely like bleach and disappointment, and I’ve cried at an advert for dishwasher tablets.

It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s soft life now. With a side of mild emotional collapse.

But here’s the thing—I’ve realised lately that romanticising your life isn’t about waiting for everything to be perfect. It’s not about beige sofas, morning yoga, or journalling with a £40 pen. It’s about finding tiny things that make you feel like you’re still here. Still trying. Still you.

For me, it’s been:

1. Making protein iced coffee like I’m auditioning for a Scandinavian lifestyle reel.
2. Cleaning the kitchen with a Fabulosa spray that smells suspiciously like designer perfume and pretending I’m in a montage about getting my life back together.
3. Putting on trousers that aren’t actively offensive.
4. Playing music while I cook and convincing myself I’m the main character in a TikTok video no one will ever see.
5. Sitting with a cat (or five) and whispering “you’re the only one who understands me” like it’s completely normal.

It’s ridiculous. And it’s keeping me afloat.

I don’t have any grand insights. No big life lesson to tie it up in a bow. I just know that on the days I feel slightly broken, the answer isn’t always to fix everything. Sometimes, it’s to romanticise the mess.

To find beauty in a quiet five minutes.

To make your kitchen smell like Winter Angel and call it therapy.

To light a wax melt and pretend it’s emotional progress.

And if that’s where you are too, then just know—you’re not alone. You’re not failing. You’re just human. Possibly hormonal. And doing your best.

And honestly, that’s more than enough.

Why I’m Choosing the Soft Life — and Taking My Content with Me

 I’ve made an intentional decision — not just to live the soft life, but to work through it too.

You might already know that I’m what some people would call an accidental influencer. I never set out to be a content creator, but here I am — with multiple platforms, an Amazon storefront, and a TikTok shop presence that’s been quietly evolving behind the scenes.

If you’ve read my recent post about TikTok imploding, you’ll know that one of the reasons I believe the platform is struggling is because everything’s gotten louder. The voices are more frantic. The energy is more frantic. “Buy this now! Flash sale! Only 2 minutes left!”

And lately, that energy has crept into lives too — creators shouting about countdown deals like they’re auctioneers at a car boot sale. I tried it over the weekend. I hated it.

Because here’s the truth: I don’t want to live a “buy this now” life.

I want to tell stories.

I’ve always been a storyteller. That’s why I became a professional photographer — not to take pretty pictures, but to capture moments that say something. Telling stories builds community. It helps people see themselves in your world. And if someone buys a product at the end of that? Amazing. But if they leave feeling seen — that’s even better.

So yes, you’ll start to see a shift in my content.

More soft life. More honesty. More calm.

More quiet moments with cats and coffee and trousers that make me feel like the main character.

If it all falls apart and I can’t pay the rent, then fine — I’ll shout into the algorithm void and fight for my life like everyone else. But for now? I’m taking a multi-platform approach across my blog, TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Amazon. I believe that somewhere in the middle of all of that, I can build something sustainable — something that feels like me.

Because I want to create content that inspires people, not overwhelms them. I want people to feel welcome in my corner of the internet. I want to work in a way that doesn’t cost me my soul.

And if you’re still here — still reading — then maybe you’re looking for that too.

So let’s build it. Slowly. Softly. And on our own terms.

The TikTok Rollercoaster, My Rogue Bra, and an Accidental Fashion Win

Let me tell you about the TikTok rollercoaster. Not the metaphorical one you imagine—though yes, emotionally it’s very Space Mountain—I mean the actual one. You know the ride at the fair that’s equal parts thrilling and mildly traumatic, where you’re clinging on for dear life and slightly wondering if the whole thing’s going to collapse mid-ride? Yeah. That one. That’s TikTok for creators.

For weeks now, I’ve been posting daily, trying every format, every funnel strategy, every half-whispered rumour about what might please the algorithm gods. I’ve been methodical. Strategic. Possibly a little bit obsessed. And for the most part, it’s been… quiet. Not awful. Not great. Just that kind of deafening silence where you start wondering if TikTok’s shadowbanned you for having too much personality.

Then something weird happened.

I posted a video—a comedy skit about my bra, of all things. A silly little moment where I’m minding my business (and by that I mean not wearing a bra), and Auntie Brenda phones in with her usual menopausal rage about underwire and the structural failures of modern support garments.

It wasn’t meant to sell anything. It wasn’t polished or aspirational. I was just wearing an outfit I liked—good trousers, soft oversized tee—because it happened to be clean. That’s it.

Except then… it took off.

The video got over 12,000 views. People started asking where my trousers were from. Where my T-shirt was from. I’ve been trying to get people to buy fashion through my account for two years, and I’ve never seen that kind of reaction.

In the past 24 hours, I’ve sold multiple pieces from that video—three pairs of trousers and two tees, just by existing in a mildly exasperated state and letting Brenda do her thing. No big call to action. No link in the caption. Just a moment of actual life.

So what does this mean? That bras are cursed? Possibly. That people respond to realness? Definitely. That you can spend weeks planning your content calendar only to accidentally make sales in a video where you’re being bullied by an off-screen character you made up for a laugh? Absolutely.

I don’t have a neat conclusion here, except this: if you’re a creator, especially one trying to sell things, don’t underestimate the power of being yourself (or being your chaotic alter ego’s unwilling sidekick). I’m going to keep experimenting, keep posting what feels good, and maybe—just maybe—listen to Brenda a little more often.

Because apparently, she knows how to shift product.

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Postscript: The Algorithm is a 1980s Council Slide

Honestly, the TikTok experience is less “tech platform” and more “makeshift amusement ride built in 1984 by someone from the council with leftover scaffolding and a dream.”

Gen X will get it: those metal slides that were either freezing cold or scalding hot, shot you down at 80mph, and deposited you in bark chippings with permanent emotional damage. That’s TikTok. Every day.

Then there’s the Jeff Bezos fantasy:

Jeff turns up at my house and says,

“So… do you want to join Amazon?”

And I’m just there in my comfiest loungewear, lighting a wax melt, going,

“Sorry Jeff, can’t talk now. Brenda’s on the phone about bras again.”

And finally, we arrive at the Euthanasia Coaster.

If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a (very real) concept rollercoaster designed to gently kill you with a series of increasingly intense loops. Honestly? That’s how this app feels sometimes. It starts off all excitement and promise, then slowly spins you into existential despair.

But despite it all? We’re still here. Still creating. Still uploading. Still selling trousers by accident while trying to survive the ride.

TikTok may be the Euthanasia Coaster of content creation—but I’m still strapped in, arms up, screaming into the algorithmic void.

Depression, Doomscrolling, and the Dreaded Decline into the Pit of Existential Gloom

Let’s talk about that delightful little brain trick where the second you feel even slightly sad, you go full Sherlock Holmes on yourself trying to figure out whether it’s just a down day or the start of another trip down the depression mine shaft. Spoiler alert: there are no clear signs. No flashing neon that says “This is fine” or “Welcome back to the void.” Just vibes. And not the good kind.

This week? The vibes have been terrible.

It started with one thing—one stupid little thing—toppling. And like any good neurodivergent woman, my brain took that as an excuse to spiral into a full symphony of what ifs, what now, and oh god not again.

Because here’s the truth: when you’re autistic and life loses its comforting sense of constancy, your mental health is usually the first to file for divorce. We like stability. We like the known. We do not enjoy surprise plot twists. Especially the ones that come without commercial breaks or a warning at the top that says “this episode contains scenes of emotional peril.”

I’ve done all the things this week. Manifested like a woman possessed. Hugged my cats like they were emotional support therapy cushions (because they are). I’ve sipped ceremonial matcha and whispered sweet nothings to the universe while wondering if my brain is quietly sabotaging me behind my back.

Because once you’ve had depression—proper depression—you don’t just feel sad anymore. You interrogate the sadness. Is this depression again? Is this hormones? Is it burnout? Is it because Mercury’s retrograde and I haven’t saged my living room recently? Or am I just reacting normally to circumstances that are, in fact, a bit shit?

The answer, unfortunately, is probably “all of the above.”

And layered on top of that is the charming internalised monologue of my mother telling me I was born to make people unhappy and ruin lives. Lovely stuff. Really puts a bow on the whole experience.

So yes, I’ve spent too much time thinking this week. I’ve tried to soft life my way out of it with cosy corners and scented candles. I’ve tried to remind myself that just because I feel low doesn’t mean I’m doomed. But there's still a niggling fear at the back of my mind that happiness isn’t for people like me. That maybe I manifested too hard and the universe’s returns policy has kicked in.

But I’m still here. And if you are too—reading this, nodding along, wondering if you’re the only one panic-checking your mental health status every time your mood drops—then please know you’re not alone.

We’re not broken. We’re just human. Neurospicy, overthinking, cat-hugging humans trying our best to get through the week without crying on the bus.

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🔗 Soft Life Tools for When You're Falling Apart (But Aesthetically)

• Ceremonial Matcha Powder – The one I actually like, because no one needs bitter grass water when they’re already emotionally fragile.

• Milk Frother/Hot Chocolate Maker – For people who want barista energy without the burnout.

• Scented Wax Melts from the Northumberland Candle Co. – I call this one 'Emotional Stability in Scent Form'.

• Weighted Blanket – Like a hug, but from capitalism.

🧠 Neurodivergent Comforts

• Noise-Cancelling Headphones – Block out the world and listen to rain sounds while pretending you have it all together.

• Sensory/Fidget Tools – For when you need something to do with your hands besides doomscroll.

• Books That Soothe the Chaos Brain – Gentle reads for existential dread.

❤️ Mental Health Resources

• Mind UK – Coping with Depression

• Autistica – Mental Health in Autism

• The Blurt Foundation

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If you're someone who's been googling "how to know if you're depressed again" or "how to stop overthinking everything at 3am", welcome. You're in good company. This blog is filled with soft life comforts, neurodivergent tools, and tiny hacks that sometimes (just sometimes) help stop the spiralling. You’ll find my favourite matcha, the only wax melt that smells like emotional stability, and the cat-approved blanket I basically live under when life gets a bit much.

Three Unexpected Things I’ve Learned Since Starting MJ (And Why I’d Still Do It Again)

I’ve been on MJ (you know the one—starts with Moun, ends in jaro, but we don’t say it too loudly online) since the end of October 2024. I started on the lowest dose—2.5mg—and today I’ve just moved up to 10mg. I’m not quite at my target yet, but I’m getting close.

And along the way, there are a few things I’ve learned—things no one really tells you, and things that might not happen to everyone, but they definitely happened to me.

So here they are. Unfiltered. Midlife. Neurodivergent. Real.

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1. The energy crash is real.

I have type 2 diabetes, and what I didn’t realise was just how much MJ would affect my energy levels. Around week 7, I felt like I was living on the sofa. Not in a romanticised “main character in a cottagecore film” way—more like I was permanently horizontal.

Each time I’ve increased my dose, I’ve had to go through a weird adjustment phase. My body kind of… forgets how to function for a bit. The energy I used to rely on just vanishes. But the good news? It does come back. Slowly. But you have to be gentle with yourself while you wait for the reboot. I'd also suggest taking a good targeted multivitamin like My Journey from Wellgard which was designed for people like you and me, together on this journey

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2. Food noise? Gone. Appetite? Also missing.

Everyone talks about MJ getting rid of “food noise”—and it does. But what they don’t mention is how confusing it is when your brain no longer knows what it wants. Not in a oh, I’m being good today way. In a staring at a menu for 40 minutes like you’ve never eaten before kind of way.

You won’t feel hungry in the way you used to. You’ll probably eat far less. And it will mess with your head a bit. I found it genuinely hard to figure out what to cook or order. That part takes some getting used to. You won’t feel like yourself—but not in a bad way. Just… different.

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3. It’s not just weight—it’s mental health, pain, and sleep.

This one surprised me the most. MJ hasn’t just helped me lose weight—it’s helped with my anxiety, my sleep, and even my fibromyalgia flares. I feel calmer. I sleep better. I’m functioning in ways I haven’t done for years.

It’s not a miracle drug, and I don’t believe in hype, but it has made me feel more like myself. A better version of myself. A version I actually like.

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But here’s what you really need to think about…

No one talks about the long-term. What happens when you hit your goal? Do you stay on it for life? What happens next?

I’ve made peace with the fact that I’ll probably be on this for the next 50 years—and at £169 a month, that’s not nothing. So it’s important to plan. Know your reasons. Have a strategy. And for the love of serotonin, go with a good pharmacy.

I use Cloud Pharmacy and they’ve been brilliant—helpful, quick, and not out here judging me when I email them in a panic. It’s not the cheapest option, but I trust them, and that counts for a lot.

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Would I do it all again?

Yes. 100%. Even knowing what I know now—the exhaustion, the food confusion, the cost—I’d still do it. Because this isn’t just about weight. This is about taking control of a life that didn’t feel like mine anymore.

My only advice? Get proper guidance, make sure your targets are realistic, and find a community. The MJ communities on social media have honestly kept me going—and that support makes all the difference.

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Soft life looks different for all of us. This is part of mine.

And if you’re starting this journey too, I see you. You’re not alone. You’re just… rebooting.