What Turning 40 Taught Me About Sharing My Work

A personal reflection on voice, visibility, and not needing to be liked to be trusted

This month on Strategy with Soul, we’re in Gemini season – exploring a four-part series on voice, visibility, and the power of clear expression.

Not the loud kind. Not the polished kind.

The kind that says what you actually mean – in your work, your marketing, your decisions, and your pricing.

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I used to post on Instagram to be liked. Now I post – rarely – to be honest.

At the time of writing this, I’m a few days shy of 40. But something has already shifted – quietly, definitely. Not in a “new decade, new me” kind of way. More like a clearer me.

Less interested in being palatable. Less willing to explain what I already know. Less tempted to share things before I’ve actually lived them. Dare I say it, less f*cks.

I used to post for approval – and I don’t say that with shame. It made sense at the time. I equated visibility with connection, and connection with safety. If people liked me, they’d trust me. And if they trusted me, they’d buy from me. Simple.

Except it wasn’t.

Because the kind of “like” I was chasing wasn’t about trust at all – it was about comfort. I was curating a version of myself that was likeable enough to follow, palatable enough to share, and relatable enough to buy from. I told myself it was brand building. But it was really just a soft performance of belonging.

I shared everything. My elopement to New York. My home renovation. My health scares. The colour of the tiles I chose for my hallway.

Then my marriage ended, and the internet wanted answers. People I didn’t know felt entitled to explanations I hadn’t even found the words to give my closest friends.

There’s a name for this – parasocial relationships. Where strangers confuse familiarity with entitlement.

If you’ve seen the public reaction to Emilie Kiser’s loss, you know exactly what I mean.

That was the rupture.

Now, I have firm boundaries around what I share and what I don’t. Not out of fear – but out of self-respect.

Because I’ve learnt the hard way that sharing everything doesn’t equal intimacy. It doesn’t equal trust. And it definitely doesn’t equal sales.

What I didn’t realise back then was how much of my voice was still shaped by who I thought I needed to be – online, in business, in my own head.

Turning 40 hasn’t made me louder. It’s made me braver. More blunt. More willing to be honest, even when it doesn’t sound strategic. More likely to swear in a newsletter. More likely to write something I stand by, even if not everyone claps.

I’ve been told I’m opinionated. A bit much. Blunt. I’ve also been told I’m warm, funny, relatable.

(I’m starting to suspect it’s all the same thing, just viewed through different mood filters.)

That’s what’s changed. I’m no longer performing consistency. I’m letting myself be complete.

I talk in metaphors. I write how I speak. I’m less polished now – but I trust my words more.

It’s not that I don’t want to be liked. I just no longer need to be liked in order to say something true.

That’s the difference.

You don’t have to be turning 40 to feel this shift.

Maybe you’ve felt yourself getting quieter online. Not because you have nothing to say – but because you’re tired of translating it.

Maybe your voice is changing. Softening. Sharpening. Becoming less frequent but more you.

Maybe you’re not here to perform anymore.

And maybe that’s not the end of your visibility – maybe it’s the beginning of your real one.

Maybe it’s not about how loudly we say things.
Maybe it’s about finally saying what we mean – even if no one likes it.

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❤️ If this landed, tap the heart to give it a Like (and even if you’re reading in your inbox) or Restack 🔁 to share with others – it helps more than you know.

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I’d love to hear where you’re at with your voice. You can drop a sentence in the comments, reply to the email, or just sit with one of these:

▸ What have you stopped sharing – and what did it give you back?
▸ Where do you feel clearer in how you express yourself now?
▸ What version of you no longer belongs in your voice?

See you next Monday, from the other side of forty.