Every Thursday morning at 6:45am, I publish a newsletter and podcast episode.

🎉 And this week, I’m celebrating doing that for 26 weeks straight! 🎉

Through busy work weeks, travel, illness, moodiness (I’m typing this from a hotel room in Beijing!)

Not because I’ve got thousands of people waiting for my newsletter.

Not because my podcast is topping any charts.

Not because anyone asked me to.

I do it because I told myself I would.

And because nearly 500 people signed up, which means somewhere between 80-200 people might actually read this.

A few weeks ago, I was having dinner with my husband when I was stressed out because I hadn’t recorded that week’s podcast yet.

My Thursday 6:45am publish deadline was looming.

He suggested I just release it later in the day.

Sensible advice.

I nearly had a meltdown.

Why? Because no one was waiting. No one would have cared. Most wouldn’t have noticed.

But I had made a promise to myself and to those nearly 500 people.

Even if only a few of you give a shit. Even if it’s a deadline completely self-imposed. Even if it is arguably ridiculous.

And this is where it gets interesting.

The mindfuck of self-imposed standards

We live in a culture that tells us to “listen to our bodies,” to “be flexible with ourselves,” to “practice self-compassion.”

All of which sounds lovely until you’re trying to build something that requires showing up when literally no one is holding you accountable.

I have written about releasing perfectionism and being gentle with yourself.

And yes, that’s really important when your inner dialogue is unkind, when you’re recovering from burnout, or when learning that rest shouldn’t be a reward.

So the dissonance got me thinking.

Because sometimes the most radical act of self-compassion is keeping a promise to yourself when it would be so much easier not to.

Not because you’re punishing yourself.

Not because you’re chasing some toxic productivity ideal.

But because you’re treating yourself like someone worthy of your own commitment.

So what actually changed?

For the first 3 months, my subscriber count barely moved.

I’d publish, hear absolutely nothing back, and wonder if I was shouting into the void.

The initial launch excitement wore off real fast. Month 2 and 3? Crickets.

I felt like an idiot. Questioned whether I had anything new to say. Whether anyone cared about another voice in this oversaturated space.

But here’s what was happening while I was having a small existential crisis.

I was building my writing muscle. I was finding my voice.

Every Thursday, I get slightly better at saying what I actually mean instead of what I think I should say.

I stopped trying to sound like other writers and started sounding a bit more like me.

I was building a back catalogue. Which means when someone discovers me now, they don’t just get one post. They get 26 weeks of thinking, evolving, contradicting myself, going deeper.

I was building relationships. The messages started trickling in around month 4. “This is exactly what I needed to hear.” “I thought I was the only one who felt this way.” “Your podcast got me through a really shit week.”

Those didn’t validate that I was right about everything.

They validated that consistency creates connection.

That showing up builds trust.

That people can sense when you’re actually committed to something versus just dabbling.

The part nobody tells you

The hardest part wasn’t the first month when everything was new and exciting.

It wasn’t even month 2 or 3 when no one seemed to care.

The toughest time was month 4.

The early excitement faded, growth was slow, and I had to choose: Am I truly committed or just experimenting with the idea of commitment?

Because here’s the thing: starting is easy.

Yes I had to deal with fear and imposter syndrome but everyone eventually starts.

The internet is full of abandoned blogs, dormant podcasts, forgotten newsletters.

Continuing when you’re not getting immediate feedback? When the dopamine hit of “yay I published something!” has worn off? When you’re tired and busy and wondering if this even matters?

That’s where the actual work is.

Not in having perfect systems or ideal conditions or guaranteed results. But in showing up anyway.

In treating the commitment itself as valuable, regardless of immediate outcomes.

What this has to do with your own wellbeing?

This is exactly how sustainable habit change works.

You don’t need the perfect workout plan. You don’t need the ideal meal prep system. You don’t need optimal motivation or clarity or conditions.

You need to decide you’re showing up, and then do that. Show up.

Even when it’s boring. Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when no one’s watching.

The compounding happens beneath the surface long before you see results.

Your cardiovascular system is adapting before the scale moves.

Your relationship with food is shifting before anyone compliments your appearance.

Your nervous system is learning to regulate before you feel noticeably calmer.

Trust the lag. Keep the promise.

Not because you’re striving for some perfect version of yourself.

But because you’re building evidence that you’re someone who does what they say they’ll do.

Even when nobody’s watching.

Especially when nobody’s watching.

Much love,
Noemie X

P.S. If you’ve been reading since the early weeks, thank you. Seriously. You’re part of the reason I didn’t quit in month 4 ❤️

P.P.S: Nearly 500 of you are here now. I have no idea how that happened, but I’m glad you are ❤️