How I Built My Business Through My Newsletter (Without Social Media)

I don’t experience my newsletter as marketing.

It’s a space where I don’t feel the need to compress myself. It’s quieter than most other channels, slower by design, and rooted in relationship rather than reach. When I sit down to write, I’m not thinking about optimization or visibility. I’m thinking about continuity — about staying in touch in a way that feels honest, steady, and sustainable.

I haven’t used social media in over five years.

That wasn’t a strategic decision. It was a personal one.

Social platforms stopped feeling aligned with how I wanted to work, communicate, and lead. They asked for a kind of constant presence that didn’t feel grounded to me, and I chose to step away. Instead, I focused on building a clear, simple website — a place people could land — and maintaining a newsletter that allowed for depth, intention, and real continuity over time.

Everything else in my business has grown through word of mouth. Through relationship. Through people passing my name along because of how they felt working with me, not because of how often they saw me.

That matters to me. It always has.

A newsletter is not something you deploy. It isn’t a mechanism to extract attention or prompt urgency. It’s a place you return to. Over time, that consistency becomes the backbone of a business that doesn’t rely on noise to survive.

Some of the most meaningful emails you will ever send won’t promote anything at all. They’ll simply orient the reader. They’ll offer presence. They’ll quietly communicate, “I’m still here, and this work is still being tended.” Those emails build a steadiness that no tactic can replace.

What keeps people opening emails isn’t cleverness. It’s trust. And trust is built through reliability, not volume. Showing up frequently doesn’t matter if the writing is strained or rushed. Showing up less often, with clarity and care, creates far more stability. Your readers don’t need more from you. They need to know what to expect from you.

When the rhythm of a newsletter is grounded, it creates a sense of safety. And safety is what allows people to stay.

I also believe newsletters work best when they’re written like letters, not broadcasts. When the voice remains human and unpolished in the right ways. When the language sounds like someone thinking on the page, rather than presenting from a distance. The moment writing starts to sound like content, intimacy thins out. Information might still be exchanged, but relationship begins to erode.

People don’t connect with polish the way they connect with recognition. They want to feel that there’s a real person on the other side of the words — someone whose pace they can trust and whose thinking they can follow.

Energy matters here more than most people acknowledge. Every email carries more than information. It carries tone, speed, and intention. You can feel when something was written in haste or under pressure, just as you can feel when it was written with care. That’s why I honour my own capacity before sending. If I don’t have the space to respond, I don’t invite replies. If I don’t have the ability to hold engagement, I don’t ask for it.

Every call to action creates a responsibility. Leadership means knowing what you can genuinely hold and writing from that place, rather than from obligation or ambition.

Honesty is important, but it doesn’t require exposure without discernment. Being real doesn’t mean processing publicly while you’re still inside the hardest part. It means sharing once something has settled, when clarity has emerged. There is a steadiness that comes from hearing from someone who has taken the time to orient themselves before speaking. That kind of honesty builds trust without destabilizing the relationship.

Whether you intend it or not, your newsletter is already teaching people something. It shows them how you communicate, how you pace yourself, and how you relate to your own boundaries. Long before anyone works with you, they already understand what it feels like to be in your world. That familiarity is not the result of strategy. It’s the result of relationship.

There is one place where I draw a very clear line.

Your newsletter should be written by you.

Not outsourced. Not automated. Not generated. Tools can absolutely support the editing process. They can help you refine your thoughts or polish what’s already there. But the words themselves — and the intention behind them — need to come from you. A newsletter is not a content asset. It’s a conversation. And conversations require a real voice.

In a world that increasingly rewards speed and automation, presence stands out. Care stands out. Attention stands out. People can feel the difference, even if they can’t always articulate why.

A grounded newsletter isn’t about visibility. It’s about reliability. It isn’t about growing faster. It’s about building something that can be held.

If you’re creating meaningful work and you want it to last, this is one of the most important places to begin — quietly, intentionally, and in relationship.