Here's What I've Learned Running an Advice Column on Substack
And here's what I still don't know
If my Substack was a baby, it would be saying its first words right now, because it's coming up to Fictional Therapy’s very first birthday! But my Substack is not a baby, and so it has said reams of words already; maybe a whole novel’s worth. To celebrate my one year anniversary of running the internet’s only literature-themed advice column, I’m turning the tables to tell you five surprising and delightful things I’ve learned from answering your problems over the past twelve months. (A bonus thing I’ve learned is that Americans don’t call it being an ‘agony aunt’, so I’ve tried to transition to ‘advice column’ - but isn’t the former so much more wonderful?)
We are all worrying about the same things…
In a year of running Fictional Therapy, one thing has become abundantly clear to me: there are a handful of core wounds which people of every age, gender and background struggle with (shout out to my one reader in Kyrgyzstan; I know you feel it too). I’d class these core concerns as: ageing/mortality, rejection, finding love, navigating friendship, and finding purpose. In a way, I suppose this was a good discovery, because the premise of this column is to use insights gleaned from classic novels to shed light on readers’ modern-day dilemmas; a project that assumes a degree of universality to the human condition. I’m going to return to these five universal problems soon in a bumper Fictional Therapy reading list, but for now I’ll just say: whatever you are feeling, you are not alone.
…yet at the same time, we are all unique: joyful, generous, horny, curious, scared
It’s a paradox that receiving your messages can make me more aware of the universality of the human condition and more sensitised to the exact opposite truth, but there it is: there’s nothing like getting a bunch of letters from strangers on the internet to remind you that everyone is dealing with their own very unique, very personal story. People are so big on the inside. And, while I take your problems very seriously, they’re all full of funny, specific little quirks as well. I can’t stop thinking about that spooky little neighbour child who stares through the window of the house next door. Our iconic late-sixties sexcapade-having heroine also lives in my head rent-free, still bemoaning the fact that her lover plays on his phone in public. Nothing has ever been more relatable than my correspondent who gets stressed out sharing food in restaurants. And, while similar themes do run through the problems I’m sent, the painful specifics of each letter always break my heart in a new way. The world is infinitesimally complicated, and we should navigate it with the utmost patience and empathy for one another.
There is no right answer to life’s hardest questions…
Whoops, hope this doesn’t make you hit unsubscribe. But ten years ago I listened to this Ted talk by Ruth Chang about the impossibility of “correctly” making hard decisions and I’ve never quite been the same since. Chang argues that when a choice feels extremely difficult, it’s because the two outcomes offer benefits that are incomparable by any logical metric: a shiny job in the city pays more; but a cute job in the country enables you to fulfil your passion. Neither can be said to be logically better, meaning that a pros and cons list will only ever get you so far; a truth also immortalised by the ‘she’s not Rachem’ debacle on Friends. (If you need me to explain this reference to you, you are clearly so pure that I fear to sully your brain. Just go away and carry on skipping through a forest glade.) All we can do in these moments is try and choose the option most in line with our values - a decision which will ultimately have to come from within, rather than from a stranger. I think the best thing an advice columnist can do for you is help you reflect on what those values might be, and hold your problem up to the light, to reveal new aspects of it that might have been clouded by your anger or pain. Literature is a useful tool for doing this with, because talking about ourselves through the prism of fictional characters can feel less exposing.
…But talking to someone, and making a decision, is always part of the answer
I try as little as possible to fall back on the ‘have you tried going to a real therapist about this’ line in my answers, because that’s one of my agony aunt pet peeves. I signed up to be your therapist, and with or without what the “experts” are calling “qualifications” these days, I shall deliver. But you can take it as a given that, after alluding to Shakespeare and Keats, one practical aspect of my advice will almost always be: now that you’ve written to me, and you hopefully have a little more clarity and a little less shame, try talking to a friend or parent, too. The other blanket piece of advice I will always give is that doing something is better than doing nothing. Harking back to point 3), some problems can be puzzled over forever, because the perfect solution simply isn’t there - but remaining stuck is so much worse than an imperfect choice. Even if what you choose to do seems passive - like choosing to accept a situation rather than resist it - you do have to change. Set a time limit for thinking about it. And then do something.
Writing to strangers gives me purpose and clarity
It’s hard to start writing anything - a book, a play, a Substack post - because usually no-one asked you to do it. You have to decide all by yourself that it’s a valuable use of time, and you have to believe that someone else will find value in it too, too; ignoring Substack’s almost perversely detailed engagement metrics for your first few posts at least. However: although this was not something I choreographed intentionally, the advice column format cured me of all this self-doubt. Miraculously, it only took a few months for strangers to start writing in to me (my generous friends were my first correspondents) and from that point on, I could simply respond to a letter I’d received, and forget about everything else. It was enormously helpful to know that at least one person was deeply invested in reading my answer: this purpose kept me productive and made the internet feel intimate. Best of all were the times I received an anonymous thank-you message from the letter-writer afterwards. Now, instead of shouting into the void, I just have lots of pen pals whose identity I don’t know.
The bonus thing I’ve learned is that Jane Austen truly is the master of social commentary, although I did already know this. I’ve turned to her novels more than any other classic texts this year to shed light on your heartbreaks and hardships.
To those of you who have written in, thank you so much for trusting me with your problems. To my almost one thousand readers, thank you for being here! And if you’d like to send in a letter, my inbox is only ever a click away.
If you've enjoyed any of this year's Fictional Therapy and want to celebrate this anniversary with me, I’d love for you to pick your favourite piece and give it a restack or a share. It would mean the world to me. And, if you're able, the best way you can support me is by becoming a paid subscriber. It costs less than the price of a coffee per month and makes a huge difference. Thank you so much!
And this feels like a good time to shout out to my fellow Substack advice columnists
, , and , who all give thoughtful, generous, funny and tender advice.
It's CG but you can call me Carl 😌
As for #3 I'm 'skipping through a forest glade'. I do like JA, quite a bit, but mostly from movies.
#4 spoke to me