Hi friend,

My first book, THE YEAR OF LESS, turned 8 last week. 🥳

It was published in hardcover on January 16, 2018—and the minute it was out of my hands, it went on a journey beyond anything I’d dreamed of. To celebrate, I decided to collect some data. I don’t write about personal finance much anymore, but I still love numbers! Just for fun (and because I know some of you are hopeful writers), I thought I might share them with you…

• THE YEAR OF LESS has sold over 300,000 copies in English

  • 55,000+ in physical books (hardcover + paperback)

  • ~250,000 in a digital format (ebook + audiobook, which have sold over 100,000 each)

  • Audio makes up the largest piece of the pie1 👀

• My original advance was $35,000 USD + $10,000 USD for the audio (a separate deal from a second publisher). Enough copies sold that I earned out both advances within six months, and started earning royalties right away (royalties = a small amount of money for every copy sold)

• The book has been translated into 12 other languages, a couple of which are still being translated/haven’t been released yet

  • Enough copies have sold in 7 of those languages that I’ve earned out the advances from their publishers and am now earning royalties from them too. If you’re curious, they are: simplified + traditional Chinese (2), German, Polish, Russian, Turkish, and Brazilian Portuguese

• In English, it’s best year for sales was the year it was first published: 2018 (87,000 copies across all formats)

  • It’s “worst”/lowest year was 2022 (17,000 copies across all formats)

  • It has consistently gone up and up, since 2022—perhaps following the cost of living crisis, politics, and the global economy…? 👀

  • It’s second-best year was 2025 (42,000+ copies in just the first six months of the year—and I only have data to June 30th, 2025!)

• It’s hard to calculate exactly how much I’ve earned from this book, because I get paid in USD, then exchanged it into Canadian dollars (when I was still living there) and now British pounds (since 2022). But I’ve been trying to calculate it in Canadian dollars and keep track of that every year, because I’m Canadian first! So I’ll start with that number, then compare it to the other currencies via today’s exchange rate:

  • Since 2016 (when I got the book deal), I have earned over $350,000 CAD / $253,000 USD / $188,000 for THE YEAR OF LESS

  • Spread out over 9 years (got the book deal in July 2016 and only have data to June 2025), that’s an average of $38,888 CAD / $28,111 USD / £20,888 per year

• And my initial sales + success helped me get a six-figure book deal (in USD) for my second book, ADVENTURES IN OPTING OUT. So between my two books, I’ve earned ~$480,000 CAD / $347,000 USD / £258,0002

  • Over 9 years, that’s an average of $53,333 CAD / $38,555 USD / £28,666 per year

  • My three highest earning years were 2018-2020 (though I’m very curious to see what the data is from the second-half of 2025! Won’t have all of those numbers until June 2026…)

I’ve been looking at these numbers for days, wondering if there was a “story” here. There are certainly a number of milestones I could celebrate. But are there any takeaways I can offer readers? Especially for the hopeful writers who read this?

I’ve known I was nearing the $500,000 (CAD)-mark in earnings and wondered if that might be the story. Kind of like when people write posts about how they earn six figures on Substack, or through their niche online business, etc. Soon, I’ll be able to say: “I’ve earned half a million dollars from two books.” But that’s not interesting to me, because it can’t be replicated. (This is also how I feel about those posts: they can’t be replicated, so it’s not helpful. The only person they do help is the writer who puts them behind a paywall or makes a course about it, and continues to earn more money each time someone wants the “secret formula.” Ohhh, the great pyramid scheme of the internet!)

The reason I say it can’t be replicated is because I know an extremely unique combination of time + experience + skill + luck is what decides any book’s outcome. I believe writer’s work hard and try to write the best book they can at that time. I also know we all have our own backgrounds, starting with our educations (mine includes writing and A LOT of media training, which would’ve helped with all the interviews and events I did for TYOL). I also had a popular blog with a “large audience3” of loyal readers I’d spent 8 years connecting with online, before the book came out—and I know many of them were huge supporters of it.

As for the luck? Well, that’s out of our hands—and is in the hands of our readers. The agents and publishers who think we might have a book in us. The people who buy it and read it and love it and share it. The people who see it get shared and decide they need to read it. The people who connect so deeply with your words, they then want to read everything else you’ve written. You might get lucky and have a big publication, or someone with a big audience, choose to share it. You might do one interview that happens to go viral. And you might, as seems to be the case with TYOL, write a book that hits a cultural moment and goes viral again—7 years after it first came out.

Something my agent says is that the topic of your book should be both timely and timeless. It should also have a universal theme, but be told through a unique point of view. I suppose what happened last year shows that TYOL might fit that bill. But I still can’t, and won’t even try to, tell you how to write books that might earn you half a million dollars in advances and royalties. My experience with TYOL can’t be replicated. If it could be, I would’ve had the same experience with my second book—and I didn’t! (It also came out during the pandemic and got lost in the sea of it all…)

But that’s not the story here.

I think the real story is in the data. It’s the story I get to tell whenever someone asks what I do for work. After telling them I’m a writer and answering the questions about what I write (“I’ve published two nonfiction books”), there is the question about what else I do… aka, how I make money.

“Well, my first book was actually somewhat successful,” I say, usually quite sheepishly. “It makes up a good portion of my income each year.”

I don’t share this with most people, friend. Because sometimes I still don’t feel worthy of it. Because I know it’s not true for so many other wonderful authors. And because I can’t explain exactly how or why it happened to me. But it’s true: THE YEAR OF LESS still pays most of my bills.

It’s also 8 years old. It was never a NYT bestseller. And lots of people haven’t even heard of it—or me. That’s what feels interesting…

In the world of book publishing, you often hear stories of two extremes: about the books that are huge bestsellers and the authors who get rich and become household names—and the cautionary tales about why writing books isn’t a plausible career path. On this end of the scale, we’re told “most books don’t sell enough copies to earn out their advances” and “you’ll never make money as a writer.” One author I love frequently says something I hate on her podcast: “nonfiction doesn’t sell.”

I don’t know where this narrative comes from. Maybe it is in the data. Or maybe it’s one of those stories that has been passed down since the beginning of publishing. (And if so: who came up with it, and when, and why?) Or maybe it’s because so many authors are self-deprecating, lol. Or maybe it’s just been true of enough people’s experiences that they don’t want to promise hope where hope isn’t often found. I don’t know, friend.

What I do know is that this isn’t my experience. And I don’t think the story about wanting to be an author has to be one of two extremes, where you’re either a successful/rich bestseller or a failing/starving artist. There are other options in the middle, where you might actually earn a median salary from your books. That’s where I live—and when I look around at the authors I follow, I suspect it’s where many more writers are in this industry.

In the middle, there’s just enough money coming in to ease the pressure of having to take on too much work. But just enough that you do have to work/make some money in other ways. Sometimes, a royalty payment comes through and it’s not enough money to live on. And sometimes, a royalty payment comes through and it’s much more than you were expecting. “That’s three/four/five months of my expenses covered!” you get to say, and feel relieved and grateful for the weight this takes off your shoulders, and the newfound space it creates for you to write in. The middle isn’t always an easy place to live, but it isn’t always hard either. It keeps you humble—and motivated.

The middle ground of this industry is a beautiful place to be. I don’t know why we don’t talk about it more often4. Or maybe I should just say: I don’t know why I haven’t talked about it more… but I’d like to. I’d like to be an open book about it, and a safe person for other authors to talk to.

I can’t tell you how to make money from your books. I can’t tell you what to write, or how to market it, or promise you any kind of success. But I can tell you that it is possible to make money as an author, friend. It’s possible for nonfiction to sell. It’s possible for a book to support you financially without being a NYT bestseller, without being a BIG book club pick, without winning awards, and so on. Sometimes that support is slow, cumulative, and uneven—but it all adds up. It’s real.

And it’s possible.

xx Cait

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Support my writing for a year

Hi friend,

This summer, I assigned myself a little writing project: to re-read my first book, THE YEAR OF LESS, and do a chapter-by-chapter follow-up (12 in total). This is the final post in the series and, if I’d followed my usual structure, it would’ve simply included my thoughts on the final chapters and perhaps a few takeaways from this project. But as I started writing, I realized I wanted it to be something bigger… and ended up writing over 6,000 words.

Long-time readers will know I’m not usually one to give how-to advice. But if there’s one thing I think I could help someone with, it’s sharing what I’ve learned about writing and publishing a memoir—and how to protect your mental health throughout the process. This post is long, and won’t be for everyone. But if you’ve ever considered writing a memoir, and sharing some of the more challenging stories from your past, here is my story and all the advice I can give you.

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Chapter 12 (June 2015) + Epilogue

To finish off this series, let’s briefly discuss a few thoughts I had while reading the last chapter and epilogue…

• When I read them with my editor’s hat on now, these final chapters feel a bit rushed. As the writer, I remember I felt self-conscious about the fact that I’d already gone over the word count my publisher wanted, and also that I had a lot of loose ends to tie-up. But the writing doesn’t feel great. You know what does feel great, though? I don’t care! Seriously, I have wasted so much energy worrying about how “bad” the writing in this book is… and now that I’ve re-read it, and actually really liked some of the chapters, I think it’s fine! So, I’m forgiving my younger self for not being a great writer. I hope this gives me the freedom to let go, learn, and keep trying new things in the future.

• One light topic to update you on: I’d forgotten that I mentioned my decision to stop wearing makeup. Honestly, I’d forgotten that was an intentional decision at all! I can’t really remember what sparked it either, but I’m sure it was influenced by whatever minimalist or anti-consumption content I was consuming at the time. It lasted, too—for a solid 6-7 years. I’d wear makeup for certain interviews and book events, but otherwise only put moisturizer on my face. And then sometime after the early years of the pandemic, I started wearing it again. Just the same 3 basics I used to wear before: eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara—and SPF now, too. In the book, I wrote that if I ever started wearing it again, it would be for me—and it is. (Especially the SPF.)

• And one bigger topic I’ve been thinking about: the story I told about why I moved back to Victoria. If I’m going to be really honest with you: it’s the one story in the book that I twisted. I painted a picture about how my decision to move back was about community, the pace of island life, etc. But the real reason I moved home was to help my family, for reasons I won’t share. I’m not entirely sure why I wasn’t comfortable saying this, when I wrote the book… other than my usual fear, which is that I probably (safely) assumed one person in my life wouldn’t like it. But maybe I tried to make it sound more positive and hopeful, compared to the temporary solution I knew it was. (I was still living in Victoria when I wrote the book, but moved to Squamish shortly after.) Maybe I tried to tell myself this story to make it feel ok. But that’s the full truth, friend.

My Complicated Relationship with THE YEAR OF LESS

If you remember, the reason I decided to tackle this project was to see if I could change my relationship with TYOL. Before this, I would’ve labelled that relationship as “complicated” at best, and my attachment to the book as “avoidant” at worst. I often tried to avoid conversations about it. Would tell people no, they didn’t have to read it. Would add that I was “so young” when I wrote it, as a way saying: you’ll probably think it’s bad and that’s ok, I totally understand and won’t be hurt by your judgments. And generally avoided talking about my work altogether, especially with anyone I had just met.

In fact, I do know one of the reasons I had a complicated relationship with the book: because people put me on a pedestal, after it came out. Not everyone. Mostly new people, people I had just met and might want to be friends with. And then I’d eventually understand they didn’t want to be friends with me because I might be a nice or interesting person, but because they thought it was cool to say they were friends with an author. Or worse, because they wanted something from me—like a connection to my agent or publisher. I’m a firm believer in supporting other writers, but this isn’t the way. Authors are people, not their books. And I’m already someone who is sensitive to interactions that feel inauthentic, or leave me feeling used and/or unwanted. After yet another person contacted my agent and pretended they were friends with me (after we had exchanged ONE email), to try to work with her, I really struggled to trust new connections.

Outside of that, I had a few other ideas that might explain why I had such a complicated relationship with this book. I didn’t really care about the subject matter anymore, and didn’t want to talk about it. (Read: I won’t sell minimalism to you.) I felt some shame about the fact that I’d talked about my weight, as my feelings and beliefs about diet culture and body positivity had shifted a lot since publication. (I discuss this in the chapter 1 review.) And truthfully, I did feel the writing showed my age, which was young and a little immature—both as a writer, and as someone who hadn’t yet gone to therapy to work through any of this stuff.

For all of these reasons, I’d been a little anxious about opening it back up and revisiting the words in these pages. But it only took reading the first chapter for me to see the real reason I had such a complicated relationship with TYOL…

…it’s because the process of writing and promoting it took a massive toll on my mental health. This is something I haven’t talked about publicly before, but feels important to reflect on and share now—especially as I begin to think about working on another book. I can’t do it again, if I don’t implement what I’ve learned from my first experience of writing and publishing a memoir.

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Hi friend,

Turquoise water. Sandy beaches dotted with towels and umbrellas. Cliffs and hills along the coastline. Steep mountains (we hiked Snowdon!) surrounded by waterfalls and lakes. Dark slate rock on them all. Colourful buildings. Cool castles. Warm coffee shops. A lunch spot run by a Canadian (and with homemade Nanaimo bars!). Not-so-great dinner options. A picnic in bed, instead. And a lot of love and laughter, with the best adventure partner I could ask for.

We’re back from an incredible week in Wales. And while I’m normally happy to return home from a trip, I actually felt some post-vacation blues this time. A little anxious. A little sad. Quick to tear-up. I don’t need or want to dissect it. They were just feelings and they passed, the way feelings do. But it’s safe to say that’s one of the best trips I’ve been on… certainly the best trip with a partner. And it would be too easy to say it’s because of the person or the place. I actually think it’s because we both took (and take) such good care of ourselves.

As you know, I don’t like to tell other people’s stories. I’m always trying to think about how I can share something that’s true about my life in a way that protects anyone involved. And what’s true for me is: something I value in my romantic partnership is that I can trust Tall Man will take care of himself and his mental health. I trust he will do the things he needs to do, in order to feel most like himself. And I trust he wants me to do the same for myself, too.

From the beginning, there’s been a clear understanding that, yes, we are in a partnership and our relationship is important. But our relationships with ourselves are important to us too—and to each other. I want TM to feel connected to himself, and I know he wants me to do the same. And, the more we feel connected to ourselves, the more we bring ourselves (and the best parts of ourselves) into our relationship. (At least, that’s how it feels for me!)

The way we do this looks different, because we are two different people. TM has his things. And on my end, some of the ways I took care of myself on this trip included: having slow mornings, not feeling attached to many plans, and hiking at my own pace. (I can be a slow hiker, and if I just let that be true rather than wishing I were different, I have so much more fun—and don’t hurt myself.) But there’s another way I took care of myself, before we even hit the road:

We decided to stay in most places for longer than 1 night. That was a we decision, not a me decision. But even if TM hadn’t been on board, I would’ve advocated for it. Because something I’ve learned about myself, over the years, is that I don’t like moving around quickly. It’s actually terrible for my mental health. A one-night getaway is different, because you know it’s a tiny adventure! But when you’re in a new place every night for 5, 6, 7+ nights in a row… my body and mind just don’t do well. There’s no time to settle in. No time to find a rhythm. No time to feel connected (I can even dissociate) or really understand where I am.

So, when I read chapter 11 of THE YEAR OF LESS, where I outlined what it was like to be away from home for 24 of 31 days that month… and to have been in so many different places (Port Moody, Toronto, Victoria, NYC, Boston and Cambridge, back to NYC, Philly, Washington, DC—2 nights in 2 different hotels, and we also dipped down to Virginia to visit an old blogging friend). Well, reading this chapter was exhausting… and I finished it knowing the only thing I wanted to update you on is that I do not like travelling the way I used to. I’m not even sure I liked travelling that way back then.

Chapter 11: May (2015)

By “that way” I mean: fast-paced. Moving around constantly, not being anywhere for very long. On the one hand, I’m good at it—which feels weird to say but also feels true. I’m good at packing a bag, I’m good at taking my life wherever it needs to go, I’m good at connecting with the people I spend time with in these places. I think these are skills I learned as a kid, moving around as often as I did, and also having a dad who travelled for work too. I know how to live out of a bag. And in a way, it’s something I still do every week when I head over to Tall Man’s house (though his house also feels like home).

But there was a period of my life where I was travelling so much, I was sometimes home for as few as 4 days per month. In May 2015, I was home for 7 days. There were things I liked about it—experiencing so many new places, and spending time with my people in each one. But then I struggled with other aspects of it.

I could never seem to establish healthy routines—with personal habits, exercise, food, etc. My sleep was all over the map, with the constant timezone changes. I always felt like I wasn’t actually getting to see anyone often enough, or for as long as I wanted. Like our time together always ended too soon. And trying to build a local community wherever I lived felt impossible. How can you make friends or have a relationship or integrate yourself into a community when you’re constantly saying: sorry, I’m leaving next week, but I’ll be back in 10 days… or 2-3 weeks… or I’ll be in-and-out of town constantly for the next three months, but I’ll message you next time I’m home and we will find a date that works!

I’m lucky that I found a few friends who did make that work, but most of my relationships were fairly surface level—I suppose, by choice. I wasn’t building a life anywhere. I was living a series of great one-off interactions. That’s a distinction I don’t think I understood until a 6-week trip to the UK in 2018, where I learned the hard way that I had to stop moving around at such a quick pace (more on this next week). I learned more when I decided to spend 4 months in one city (Cardiff) in 2019, rather than continue to hop around. I learned even more when I spent 2 years with my family during the pandemic. And more again, when I immigrated to the UK in 2022 and rented my first home. I’ve barely left since.

Travelling and getting to see the world (and all your favourite people in it) is a gift. It’s something I’d wanted to do since I was a teenager, but didn’t have the money for it because I was always going into debt for other things. I finally went on my first solo trip when I was 28, and it changed me forever. I know I want to continue to travel—both solo and with my people—for as long as I can. And, when I reflect on my first few years of solo travel now, I can see something I didn’t see back then. Something I haven’t shared with anyone yet… because it feels incredibly vulnerable to admit:

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Hi friend,

I can’t believe we’re nearing the end of our summer re-read of THE YEAR OF LESS! Something you’ll notice in these last three chapters is that I don’t write as much about the shopping ban anymore. Being 10 months into a 12-month experiment, it was more like a way of life by this point. But as I outlined in this chapter, I had also come up with a proper savings goal… for maybe the first time in my life!? And it fueled most of my financial decisions.

I didn’t have to think about not shopping, because I wanted to save as much money as possible so I could quit my job. In chapter 10, I outlined some of the thought-process that went into that decision. There’s always been more I wanted to say about this, but I felt too close to the situation. As we know, with time and age (and therapy) comes perspective. Apparently, it took a decade for me to figure out what feels good to share. I’m excited to dig into these last few chapters now…

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PRE-S: I’m on vacation this week! Tall Man and I are on a road trip in Wales. It’s my first time going back and I’m SO excited to explore all new parts of the country together. So I won’t be here to reply to comments, but will be back at my computer on Monday, August 12th. I hope you have a beautiful week!

Hi friend,

For a title like “Lightening Up,” I have to be honest: this chapter actually felt pretty heavy to read—at least, for me personally. This was a heavy time in my life, and those aren’t easy to revisit. And, similar to what I said about chapter 8, this one also showed me why it stands out amongst others in this genre.

THE YEAR OF LESS isn’t just a book about not shopping or decluttering. It’s a book about how we might consume things (like shopping, alcohol, food, TV, etc.) to numb ourselves and our feelings—and I wasn’t afraid to share honest and vulnerable examples of what that has meant for me. If anything, what I can tell you now is that doing the shopping ban and then writing this book were just the beginning of understanding what my relationship with binge consuming has been. I’ve learned more since, especially with the help of some therapy. And, there’s enough included in this book to hopefully have an impact on readers it resonates with. I finished this chapter and thought: yes, this was good enough.

Still, there are some things I’d love to share more thoughts on—both for readers of the book, and for any writers here too! Because I’ve learned A LOT about what can happen after you release a book into the world. And one of the most important lessons came from a review of this chapter…

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Hi friend,

Last week, I found myself face-to-face with one of the only things that could stop me on a walk here (outside of an injury): a herd of cows. Not just big cows, but small ones too. Moms and their calves were standing directly on the path in front of me, and scattered all across the field in every possible direction I could go. There were no clear gaps, no obvious next move to make. Just 40+ pairs of cow eyes staring at me, and the knowledge that you don’t want to step between any mama animal and her babe.

This was around the halfway mark of a 7.5-mile (12 km) coastal walk I had decided to do only two days before. A section of the England Coast Path along the Cumbria Coast, from St. Bees to Whitehaven. Coastal walks in the UK typically involve taking public transit to the starting point, walking one way, then taking public transit back. Leaning on infrastructure you don’t often find in North America, it feels uniquely British. I’ve done a few coastal walks down south with UK friends before, but this was my first time going solo.

I parked my car at the St. Bees train station1 and walked to the beach. This is the same beach where you would start (or end) the Coast to Coast Path—something that is also on my radar. After weeks of grey and wet days, I could not believe my luck that the sun had come out for this adventure. From the beach, I headed north and continued to be blown away by the views. (The St. Bees Head Heritage Coast is STUNNING.) With the sun on my skin, and gorgeous colours all around me, I felt happy and more like myself than I had in months. And then, the cows.

I thought about turning back. Since I was halfway done, I would still cover the mileage I’d anticipated doing, and I already knew those views were gorgeous. But I wanted to see what was ahead, and to see my plans through. So, I decided to wait. Thankfully, within a few minutes, a couple I’d been zig-zagging along the path with caught up to me and we decided to forge on together. Him at the front, her in the middle with their dog, me in the back—with my hiking poles out, as some form of protection!? (I did hold them up as a kind of barrier in front of one calf, after it tried to run toward the dog.) We made it through the field, all carried on and zig-zagged past each other a few more times, until I got to the Whitehaven train station and took the short ride back to my car in St. Bees.

This wasn’t just my first solo coastal walk. It was also the first solo trip I’ve done since moving over here. Actually, the first solo trip I’ve done since the pandemic. You could say my move from Canada to the UK was one GIANT solo trip, but setting up a life and settling into a new town is not the same as booking a hotel (which I did here for 1 night) and exploring a new place by yourself. This is the first time I’ve done that in 4+ years. It was a tiny adventure, compared to the ones I used to do. Road tripping through 18 states in the US, or spending half a year exploring the UK. Before booking the hotel, I noticed that I felt out of practice… out of touch with this part of myself. But it only took one tiny adventure to remember who I used to be and how I used to live. To remember: oh yea, this is something I know how to do. I know how to travel solo.

I don’t know why I stopped travelling. I don’t think there’s one specific reason or explanation I can point to and say: that’s it! I think it was a combination of many things. A trauma right before the pandemic. Then the pandemic. Then I spent a huge chunk of my savings on the move to the UK. Then I started building a life and new relationships here. And then there’s the fact that my income took a big dip after the pandemic, and I’ve basically only been earning enough to live and enjoy daily life (grateful at least for that). I also don’t have the most reliable car, which makes the idea of solo road trips feel like a bigger risk than I’ve felt comfortable taking.

I’ve tried to tell myself this feels ok, and it’s fine that I can’t afford to travel much. And it was ok for a while. But recently, I’ve felt a huge pull for adventure again. To enjoy my life here and go explore more—of the UK and the rest of the world. This short trip felt like a quick dip of the toes and now I want to do more. I can’t exactly afford to yet, but I still feel grateful this part of me has returned. I’d wondered if she was lost or gone forever. Now, it feels more like she was resting. Waiting for me to get my life (and honestly, my nervous system) back in a good place. I’m there now, and I feel ready to live a bit of a bigger life again.

There’s still one last part of me that is missing though (and is hopefully just resting). I’ve been calling it my “writerly brain,” in conversations with a few trusted friends. Sure, I can write things. I can string words into sentences, and write enough sentences to warrant hitting publish on something. But I still don’t always see the world in quite the same way that I used to. I don’t notice the same kinds of details, or connect those details with other ideas, and imagine how I can combine them all into one piece. If you’re a writer, you know what I’m talking about. It’s a beautiful and vulnerable way of living and thinking. And, it truly feels like this part of my brain just stopped working. Got shut OFF like a light switch. And it’s been off for the same length of time as when I stopped travelling. Though I think I know the reason behind this one…

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Hi friend,

I’m going to keep this week’s post short and sweet. In chapter 7, I shared some of the reasons why I decided to change the rules of the shopping ban halfway through the year. And, I think the writing in this one is really clear. In fact, this is the first chapter I’ve read where I haven’t felt there was much more I wanted to say—then or now. I honestly thought of sending you a note that just says: I don’t have anything more to say! 😂

But that’s not entirely true. Instead of filling your inbox with 1,500+ words this week, though, I thought I’d give us all a little summer break and write a short bullet-point list of the thoughts I had while reading this chapter. I’ll also give you a funny/interesting update on what happened after I changed the rules…

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Hi friend,

We’re officially halfway through THE YEAR OF LESS 10-year reunion book club! So far, if I had to name one pattern I’ve noticed throughout this project, I would say that most weeks I pick up the book and think: I don’t want to read this chapter. That’s probably not surprising, considering I started this challenge to see if I could change my complicated relationship with this book. It’s probably also not surprising, when you consider how heavy some of the subject matter is.

But this week, I really didn’t want to read the December chapter, because I knew it would largely be about my family. And in the past 10 years, I don’t think one area of my life has changed more than that… and it all started here.

My family is a topic that comes up again (in chapters 7, 8, 9… maybe all the rest of them!?). If I’m honest with you, I feel hesitant about revisiting it all myself. As of this moment, I only have relationships with a couple people in my family. I’ve made peace with this. And, I’ve also realized: I don’t want to say anything more than that in this post. Managing difficult family dynamics is challenging and complicated and nuanced and deeply personal. If you know, you know… and if you’re trying to navigate this yourself, the two books that have helped me most are SET BOUNDARIES, FIND PEACE and DRAMA FREE both by .

I touch on other topics in this chapter, too. It was interesting to see that this is when I started to reveal how my feelings about my last job were changing. I’ve been reflecting on what work/a career might look like for me a lot recently, and am looking forward to sharing some thoughts on those topics as we get further into the book. But there is one topic from chapter six that would feel fun to explore with you this week: holiday traditions (and relationship traditions/rituals)—specifically, the ones we get to create for ourselves, as we grow up.

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Hi friend,

I woke up last Thursday (June 27th) and was afraid to get out of bed. Not again, I thought. I don’t want to deal with this again.

An old back/spinal issue of mine had flared up in the night. I don’t like talking about specific medical issues online, only so as not to seek attention or get advice that doesn’t feel right for the situation. (Anything related to your spine is scary enough!) What I will say is that it’s not a new one for me. I’ve worked with physiotherapists on it a handful of times, over the years. I’d actually just had a flare-up in March. For the past three months, I’ve done everything I needed to do to support the issue, and was finally feeling ok and in a good rhythm with workouts too… and then I woke up last Thursday in the same pain again.

I cried when I told a friend. I cried when I cancelled plans with Tall Man, knowing I shouldn’t drive. I cried because I felt afraid and sad… and deflated. I had just spent three months trying to heal this issue. Would this flare-up wipe out all my progress? Would I have to start all over again?

Still, I got up and went through the steps. Ice. Ibuprofen. Physio stretches/exercises. Walk. Ice. Ibuprofen. Physio. Walk. That’s been my job since last Thursday (though I don’t need ice or painkillers anymore). I have not been on my laptop. I have not been writing (which is why this is coming to you a week later than planned, my apologies) or working on my book proposal. My job has been: reduce inflammation, engage muscles, and keep blood flowing. And it’s working. I’m feeling ~75% better. The last 25% is more of a long-haul (6-12 weeks) but I can do more of what I want to now. I’m even sleeping ok.

Yes, this flare-up does mean I’ll have to take a step back from some things. Yes, it means I’ll have to put most of the workout plan I’d just created for myself aside. Yes, it means I can’t do everything I want to. (It also means I have to think about my posture 24/7.) And yes, I feel frustrated about this, at times. I won’t deny that. But I can’t see it as a defeat. Instead, I’m choosing to see it as the next challenge to focus on. To learn more about my body, and to strengthen the muscle groups that need the most attention and will best support my spine. I am not defeated. I just have a new goal. One that could potentially help me forever, if I work on it now.

A younger version of myself wouldn’t have seen it this way. I would’ve seen any slip or bump in the road of my plans as a reason to quit. To go back to my old ways, and not bother with whatever I’d set out to do (like my weekly writing and my new workout plan). I would’ve considered this a failure and, in turn, seen myself as the failure. And we know nothing good comes from shaming yourself…

Thankfully, the lesson I learned in chapter 5 of THE YEAR OF LESS changed how I experience these setbacks forever.

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Hi friend,

I read chapter 4 of THE YEAR OF LESS at the start of the week, and it took four days for me to know what I wanted to say about it. Once again, this felt like a big chapter—not because the topics are heavy, but because it reminded me of just how much my life has changed in the last 10 years. Specifically, how I’m no longer close with—or even connected to—so many of the people in this book.

While chapter 3 was about romantic relationships, chapter 4 covers the topic of friendships. In particular, how our friendships might change as we change. I’d felt this while paying down my debt (largely because I isolated myself so as not to spend money), and certainly in the first few years of my sobriety. But I hadn’t imagined that something like a shopping ban would affect my friendships… and was sincerely surprised when it did. As I said in the book, that was a little naive of me. Anytime you choose to live in a way that is countercultural, you are, at the very least, going to find that many people don’t understand why.

I don’t think I need to say anything more about this chapter, as my experiences and understanding of this topic eventually became the framework for my second book, ADVENTURES IN OPTING OUT. And out of respect for those old friendships, I don’t need to say anything about anyone in these pages. This is just something that happens in life. We grow up, and sometimes we grow apart. The chapter of the title says it all.

This week, I’d like to do something a little different…

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Hi friend,

It’s wild how much my feelings about reading THE YEAR OF LESS can shift from week-to-week. When I read the first line of chapter 2 last week, I thought: this is an important topic. Not an easy one, but important. And I finished it feeling both glad and grateful for everything I’d chosen to include. But when I got to the third page (p. 37) of chapter 3 this week, I immediately felt afraid.

F*ck, I thought. I don’t want to read about my previous romantic relationships. I don’t want to be reminded about any of this.

And yet, I also had a feeling that this was one of the most important chapters in the book. So, I continued reading… and here’s what I found.

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Hi friend,

I read chapter 2 of THE YEAR OF LESS earlier this week, and I’m happy to report: I really liked it. That doesn’t mean this chapter is perfect. It also doesn’t mean there aren’t little tweaks I would make, or things I would add/change if I wrote it today. It means I read it and thought: I’m really glad I included all of these stories in the book.

Chapter 2 is essentially a brief history of my relationship with consuming alcohol. I opened it with the story of the first time I got drunk (which is one of those stories that is so dramatic, it almost doesn’t feel real). Then I outline what my drinking (and my blackouts) looked like for the next 14 years. And I also talk about all the times I tried to stop, before finally doing so at age 27.

What was most interesting, for me personally, was looking at the start of each chapter and seeing those trackers: 18 months sober, 19 months sober, and so on. Remembering how insecure I was in the early days of my sobriety. And then thinking: wow, add 10 years to that! Because spoiler alert: I’m still sober. And truthfully, I think it’s one of the most boring things about me now.

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Hi friend,

And welcome to THE YEAR OF LESS 10-Year Reunion Book Club! Over the next 12 weeks, I will slowly be re-reading my first book and reflecting on one chapter each week. New posts will come out every Sunday until August 18th.

As you know, one of the reasons I wanted to do this was to give myself the space to write more about THE YEAR OF LESS. To be able to reflect on this experiment I did 10 years ago, and share more of who I am and how I think/feel today. But the other reason is that I’ve had a challenging relationship with this book, since it came out in 2018… and I’m curious if this experiment might help shift that.

After reading just the introduction alone, I realized: this whole project is actually going to be an experiment of its own—and I want to treat it as such. So, here are a few things I want you to know about before we get started:

• I did not re-read the book, before deciding to do this. Until last week, I hadn’t opened it up since a book event I did in 2019. So I have no pre-conceived ideas about what I might write here. I don’t know exactly what the “more” is that I want to say. We will be discovering this together.

• I feel a bit afraid/anxious about re-reading the book. Again, I don’t know exactly why… but it also makes sense, right? Imagine having a challenging relationship with a human. The thought of spending time with them could naturally bring on some anxiety. That’s how I feel, at the start of this. I want to examine how I feel all throughout the project.

• I trust this is an experiment I can complete. I might be a little afraid/anxious, but I also know this is something I can and want to do for myself. And, it feels important to have a little support, whenever you try something that feels new and big. For this experiment, I’ll be checking in with a close friend who has also read my work for more than a decade.

• I feel so grateful to have you here with me—and I can’t wait to hear what might come up for you too, if you choose to read or follow along!

Ok, now that I’ve set this project/experiment up… let’s dive in!

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Hi friend,

It’s my birthday in 47 days. I know because I added two dates to a countdown app I occasionally use when I’m excited about something. Last year, I counted down to all my trips back home to see my family. And a little while ago, I got the idea to countdown to my 40th birthday. That one is 412 days away, and I’m already planning to spend it hiking some wainwrights in the Lake District. (Or if the budget allowed, maybe hiking in another country!?)

This summer, I’m turning 39. It’s not a milestone birthday, and I don’t really have any feelings about it. I don’t even know why I added it to the app! It’s just another birthday. However, July 7th, 2024 does mark the 10-year anniversary of a pivotal moment in my life: it will be 10 years since I started the experiment that would eventually be turned into my first book, THE YEAR OF LESS.

I got the idea in June 2014. It was in the weeks leading up to my 29th birthday, and I was feeling anxious about what lied beyond that—at age 30. I don’t remember exactly what I felt anxious about, other than this nebulous idea of having to “settle down” in my 30s. (Hard LOL now.) But I do remember feeling as though I wanted 29 to mean something. I wanted to do something with myself, for myself. That’s when I got the idea to stop shopping for a year.

I documented that experiment on my old blog, and unexpectedly got a literary agent on that other side (and then a book deal, but I did the work on that proposal). THE YEAR OF LESS came out in January 2018 and has lived a life of her own. She was a Wall Street Journal bestseller. Has sold 250,000-300,000 copies in English (royalty statements are confusing to interpret). Been translated into 11 other languages so far (and was a bestseller in Russia!?).

It’s had a lot of success, and I’m incredibly grateful for that! And, the most challenging part of publishing a memoir is that it is only a snapshot of who you were at one time in your life. People might read it for the first time and think it’s all still true for you. But a book does not showcase who you are today. I am not the same person I was when I wrote that book (2016-2017), and am certainly not the same person as when I did the experiment documented in it (2014-2015).

Since starting my year of less in July 2014, I have: remained sober, gotten rid of more stuff, travelled a lot/been nomadic at times, lived in a handful of cities, immigrated to the UK, furnished a house, remained self-employed, written a second book, experienced a trauma, done 3+ years of therapy, learned SO MUCH about myself, let go of many relationships, started new ones, changed my mind, started to form an identity, formed real opinions for maybe the first time…

I’ve written about some of this. And yet, I still feel like I have a complicated relationship with TYOL. If I’m honest, I think I’ve even been a little afraid of it. Afraid to open it up and be taken back to another time in my life. I’ve thought about revisiting it several times, but have never known what that might look like. Why do I want to do this? What am I really afraid of? What’s different? What was I right/wrong about? Who am I today? And what do I want to say now?

I don’t have answers to most of those questions. I haven’t opened it up yet, so I don’t know what I’m going to find on the other side of the front cover. But I finally know what revisiting TYOL is going to look like…

…and I am VERY excited to get started!

My idea: I’m going to spend the summer revisiting TYOL. Specifically, I’m going to read 1 chapter of the book each week and write a chapter-by-chapter follow-up here There are 12 chapters in total, which means I will write 12 posts over 12 weeks. I’m going to publish them on Sunday’s (and will continue to write my usual posts on Tuesday’s, which means you’ll hear from me twice/week for a few months*).

Like I said, I haven’t opened the book up yet—so I don’t know how it’s going to feel to read, or what I’m going to write about in advance. This will be happening in real-time. It might seem a bit unusual, to revisit your own work in this way. But I think being able to review/critique your work is an extremely valuable skill for a writer. I think this will be a good writing project (especially in my lifelong pursuit of wanting to feel fully expressed), but also a good editing project too!

A full follow-up on an entire book is a BIG undertaking (I’m essentially challenging myself to look at 60,000 words through a new critical lens). It’s also likely going to be a very personal journey. THE YEAR OF LESS is the most vulnerable piece of work I have ever published (next to the piece I wrote about trauma last year, which I have since deleted). Reviewing it has the potential to stir up a lot. And, I feel equipped and ready-enough for this experience.

For all of these reasons, this 12-post series will only be available to paying subscribers.

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You might enjoy this if you read my blog back in 2014-2015, when I was first doing the experiment outlined in the book. You might enjoy this if you are a fan of TYOL—whether you read it years ago, or only recently (lots of first-time readers subscribe here every week!). And I think you could enjoy this even if you haven’t read the book at all! Because what I want to share is what’s true for me today… and you can’t find that in those pages.

Either way, summer is a great time to consume easy/fun content—and that’s exactly what kind of experience I’m hoping to create with these posts. THE YEAR OF LESS “10-year reunion” series is my version of being able to write a summer read for you! I hope we enjoy it! ☀️

xx Cait

Join THE YEAR OF LESS 10-Year Reunion Book Club 😎📖

When: Sunday’s from June 2—August 25, 2024

What: 12 posts/emails sent over 12 weeks (1 per chapter of the book)

Where: I’ll send out each post via Substack, and we can chat in the comments!

How to join us: Become a paying subscriber

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What you need: You don’t have to read along. You could simply enjoy the emails for what they will be. But if you want to truly understand the comparison of what was true for me 10 years ago and what is true for me today, you’ll want to grab a copy of THE YEAR OF LESS and read one chapter each week. (They are short, and it’s a super easy read!)