Start Deep, Go Far: Exiting the Social Media Hamster Wheel
I have too many memories of staring blankly at an empty Instagram template, sitting in the same chair looking out at my back yard. My eyes focused on the damn screen with a head full of ideas—ideas that felt meaningful and true—but also a heart full of doubt. Somehow, when faced with that little box demanding my creativity, everything profound seemed to evaporate.
I put my phone face down on the table.
This wasn't my first abandonment of social media intentions. Like many therapists and coaches I work with, I'd find myself cycling through moments of inspiration and commitment, followed by overwhelm and silence. Start, stop. Care deeply, burn out. Post consistently, then disappear for weeks.
What I've realized after years of this pattern—both personally and guiding others through it—is that we're often starting in exactly the wrong place.
When the social media template becomes our starting point for sharing our work, we've already set ourselves up for a fragmented, exhausting process. It's like trying to build a house by starting with the doorknobs.
What if there's a more natural way to approach sharing your work? One that starts with depth rather than clever captions?
Finding Your Source Waters
There's something that happens when I sit down to write a proper blog post or record a voice note about a concept I've been turning over with clients. The pressure shifts. I'm no longer trying to be "engaging" or "algorithm-friendly." I'm just thinking out loud about something that matters, things I talk about every single day.
I notice my breath deepens. My language becomes more nuanced. I'm able to explore the complexities of a topic rather than flattening it into a tip or hack.
This is what I've come to think of as finding the source waters of your content—the deeper springs that can feed everything else you share.
When we start upstream with our thinking—giving ourselves space to fully develop an idea—something shifts. We're no longer creating "content" as much as we're documenting our actual thoughts, perspectives, and hard-earned wisdom.
For me, this often looks like talking into my phone while walking in the nearby woods. Other times it might be exploring a question I can't stop thinking about, like that time I couldn't shake the connection between beam coaching and career transitions or recently comparing falling off the beam to yelling at your kids at night during bedtime routines (wow, beam is coming up a LOT).
The format doesn't really matter. What matters is giving yourself the gift of thinking a full thought.
Why Starting with Depth Changes Everything
When you begin with a more expansive format—whether that's a blog post, a voice memo you later transcribe, or a story you tell in your notes app—you create something different than "content." You create a foundation.
Starting with depth means you actually figure out what you believe about a topic. You follow your thoughts beyond the first layer into the more interesting terrain underneath. You discover connections and nuances you might have missed if you'd started with just crafting a pithy caption.
This isn't just philosophically satisfying. It's pragmatically brilliant.
Because once you've created this foundation, you're no longer facing the terror of constant creation. Instead, you're in the much gentler process of distillation.
That 1,500-word reflection on how parenthood reshapes professional identity? It might contain five distinct insights that each deserve their own social post. It might hold the perfect metaphor for a newsletter opening. It could contain a framework you reference in client sessions for months.
And all of this from one deeper dive, rather than five separate creative sprints.
Creating Your Content Ecosystem (Not Just Another Post)
I've noticed something interesting about the therapists and coaches who sustain their sharing over time. They rarely think in terms of individual posts. Instead, they develop what I've come to think of as content ecosystems—interconnected ideas that flow naturally from one format to another.
This isn't about being rigid with a content calendar (though that can help some people). It's about recognizing the natural relationships between your ideas and letting them take different forms for different contexts.
When a client of mine who specializes in intuitive eating shifted from trying to create daily posts to instead developing one thoughtful article each month about the ways our culture makes us doubt our decisions about food, everything changed. Not only did her writing deepen, but she discovered that each article naturally segmented into:
Client email content that felt supportive rather than sales-y
Social posts that sparked genuine conversation
Talking points for her community workshops
Quotes for her website that reflected her actual philosophy
Instead of trying to come up with 20 separate clever ideas, she was sharing one meaningful perspective in multiple ways—ways that met people wherever they were in their journey of finding help.
The key was starting with what she actually wanted to say—not where she thought she should be seen.
The Freedom of Repetition
There's a fear that lurks beneath a lot of our content hesitation: the worry that we're repeating ourselves. That we've said this before. That people will be bored by hearing the same message again.
I smiled in recognition during a session recently when a brilliant coach confessed: "I feel like I only really have a handful things to say about parenting. I'm afraid of sounding like a broken record."
What we forget when we're in that worry is the reality of how information moves through the world now. Your audience won't see everything you share. They won't remember every post. And most importantly, they won't integrate a new perspective the first time they encounter it.
Repetition isn't a flaw in your content approach. It's a needed feature of your brand.
When you allow yourself to revisit your core themes—through different stories, analogies, client contexts (anonymized, of course), or frameworks—you're not being redundant. You're being a good teacher, you’re consistent. You're recognizing that integration takes time and multiple touchpoints.
Some of the most impactful thinkers and teachers I know say variations of the same few things, just through different doorways. They've found their center, their message, their particular piece of wisdom to offer the world. And they don't abandon it for novelty.
Beyond the Blank Page Terror
There's something else that changes when you shift to starting with depth: the emotional experience of creating.
Many of us—particularly those who were steered into helping professions—carry complicated relationships with writing and public sharing. Maybe academic training taught you to hide your voice behind citations and jargon. Perhaps early feedback made writing feel like a place of judgment rather than expression. Or it could be that past professional environments subtly communicated that certain parts of your experience were "unprofessional" to acknowledge.
Starting with social media templates often amplifies these old stories. The public nature, the immediate metrics, the comparison to others doing similar work—it's like being thrown into the deep end of vulnerability without any of the satisfaction of true self-expression.
But when you begin with a format that's just for you—where you're trying to capture your own thinking rather than immediately packaging it for consumption—something softens. You remember that you actually do have things to say. That your experience has shaped a perspective worth sharing. That the questions you're wrestling with are questions others are asking too.
I've seen this shift happen with client after client. The blank page terror transforms into curiosity when they give themselves permission to start with what matters to them.
Finding Your Own Rhythm
My invitation isn't to start a blog if that format doesn't call to you. It's to find the expansive starting point that does.
Maybe you're more comfortable talking than writing, so voice notes become your foundation. Perhaps you think best in conversation, so a monthly coffee with a colleague to discuss a topic becomes the source spring that feeds everything else. Some people find that teaching a workshop helps them articulate their ideas in a way that can then be distilled into smaller pieces.
The format matters less than the principle: start with the space to think a complete thought. To follow an idea where it leads rather than where it needs to fit.
When you honor this natural rhythm—beginning with depth and moving toward specificity, rather than trying to start with the perfect soundbite—content creation becomes less of a hamster wheel and more of a gentle, flowing stream.
Your ideas evolve. Your voice strengthens. And most importantly, your sharing begins to feel like an extension of your work rather than a separate performance you need to maintain.
And isn't that what we're really looking for? Not just more content, but a way to share our work that feels as meaningful and aligned as the work itself.
I'd love to hear—what's your most natural starting point for developing and sharing ideas? Where do you find yourself thinking most clearly and completely? The answer might reveal exactly where your content creation should begin.
Where Might We Begin Together?
If you find yourself nodding along—feeling that familiar mix of recognition and relief that comes when someone names a struggle you've been carrying—I'd love to explore this approach more deeply with you.
I work with therapists and coaches who have important perspectives to share but find themselves stuck in the content creation cycle. Together, we develop personalized AI systems that honor your natural thinking process, create foundations that can be repurposed without feeling repetitive, and shift the experience of sharing your work from draining to energizing.
This isn't about following a formula or creating more content. It's about finding the way of sharing that feels true to who you are and the work you do.
If you'd like to explore how to create your own depth-first approach to content, I invite you to reach out for a conversation. We'll talk about where your ideas naturally want to flow, what's getting in the way of sustainable sharing, and how we might create a rhythm that supports both your voice and your wellbeing.
