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.