Welcome to my substack, Things We Don’t Talk About (But I Do). I am so glad that you are here.
So what is Things We Don’t Talk About (But I Do)?
It’s a weekly substack where I write personal essays on a whole range of subjects. There are going to be newsletters on work, making money, being single, looking for love, writing, friendship, freelancing, recovery, the struggle to stay sane and how on earth to make the most of your thirties.
There will be other stuff too, like recommendations, beauty tips (I’ve watched enough YouTube tutorials to constitute an undergraduate degree in the art of contour and I’m desperate to put the knowledge to good use), interviews, and advice. But mainly I’ll deliver honest writing into your inbox on a regular basis in prose as pretty as I can make it. And though the subjects may be heavy, I’ll be sure to sneak in some lolz.
The grand aim of this substack is to make you think, laugh, and perhaps - I do hope - feel a little less alone. Because really, isn’t that the magic of writing?
Who am I?
My name is Isolde. It’s pronounced ‘is-older’ and it’s from an opera by Wagner.
I’m a journalist and I’ve written for The Times, The Evening Standard, The Daily Mail, The Telegraph, The Guardian, The New York Post… all the biggies, baby! I came to journalism in my mid-twenties when I was working in a bookshop, feeling lost at sea. I met a girl at a party who wrangled me a week’s work experience at Woman and Woman’s Own magazines and, as soon as I walked into the office, I knew I’d found the thing I wanted to do.
I couldn’t believe there was an actual job where you got to read the newspapers every morning, discuss the most interesting stories of the day, talk to people about their lives, then write it all up into pieces published in a magazine. Journalism has certainly roughed me up since those halcyon days so it’s good to recall the absolute wonder I felt at having stumbled upon work that made me feel alive.
I did a journalism masters (would not recommend), got a place on the Mail Online grad scheme and quickly skedaddled out of there to join the exclusives team at a press agency called SWNS. This was probably my most fun job - and yet, also the least glamorous. (There’s a life lesson in there).
I managed a tip line which was flooded with stories from the general public. I had to learn how to differentiate the stories that could actually end up in newspapers from the bulk of the tips that came from people convinced their moderately high phone bill was national news or, more sadly, those plagued with mental health problems reaching out because no one else bothered to listen to them.
After a year and a half, the big bosses asked me to move to the New York office. I spent three years in the Big Apple and, despite the pandemic landing half way through, they were some of the happiest years of my life. I felt like Dorothy stepping into technicolour when I moved to that city. I loved the people, the attitude, the fuss they made of my accent, the parks, the blue skies, the sense of opportunity - that unbridled American belief that the sky is the limit and you gotta shoot your shot.
I worked on some juicy tabloid fodder while I was out there - revealing that Jeffrey Epstein had an oil painting of Bill Clinton in a blue dress and red stilettos hanging in his Upper East Side mansion, interviewing poor Dr Dre’s daughter who was homeless and living in her car while her rapper father was worth $800m, plus stories about racial inequality and true crime too sad and grisly to write about here.
After three years, I returned to London and landed a job as a features writer at the Mail On Sunday. My favourite story I did during my time there was an undercover investigation, complete with a secret camera hidden in a backpack, into illegal ayahuasca ceremonies in the UK. I went to one in Stockport, lay on a mattress in an outhouse and pretended to drink the hallucinogen while everyone around me vomited and tripped as the shaman who organised the whole thing prowled around, banging on a bongo drum, and his yoga teacher girlfriend wailed. Sometimes, just sometimes, the stories write themselves.
Then the Mail On Sunday merged with the Daily Mail and the poor old features desk was on the chopping board. I’d wanted to leave for a while and so, with my redundo cash in hand, I embarked on that well-known lucrative and stable career path of a freelance journalist. And that brings us to…
Why a substack?
Since I went freelance - and it’s been a road with highs and lows that I’ll tell you all about in a future newsletter - I have written a couple of pieces that I’m actually proud of. After eight years as a journalist, this was, I’m sorry to say, a foreign feeling.
The first piece was about how taking the antidepressant Sertraline had saved me from a hideous depression but had wreaked havoc on my sex drive. The second was how I could only afford to buy a flat in London with a humongous withdrawal from the Bank of Mum and Dad.
After these pieces were published, I received emails and messages from both people I knew and complete strangers telling me how reading these articles had helped them - either they’d gone through something similar or simply appreciated an honest account of subjects that don’t come up in everyday conversation.
I realised that this is what I want to do. I want to write personal pieces about the things we don’t talk about - things like money, sex, medication, loneliness, friend breakups and more. Because the one constant throughout my life and career is a belief in the power of stories. I know that by honestly sharing your own experience with another person, you can help them. It’s the closest thing I’ve found to magic.
(Also newspapers and magazines are falling down around our ears and this platform, full of engaged readers and some of the most interesting writing around, just might - God willing - be the future. I do hope so.)
So how does this work, then? Subscribe, sweetie!
Once you’ve subscribed, you can read my weekly posts which will drop every Sunday. You can peruse them via email, in your browser or on your phone or tablet in the Substack app. And of course, you can unsubscribe at any time.
I’m also going to play around with these fun-looking features such as notes and chat and voice notes. I’m a big fan of rambling, over-excited 10-minute-plus voice notes but I will try to keep myself in check.
In all honesty - after all, honesty is rather the theme of this substack - I want to offer two versions in time, one free and one paid. Because words are worth something and I won’t be told otherwise. But for now, while I find my substack groove and build what I hope will be a fabulous and supportive community on this adorable app, I’m going to keep it free for all. Enjoy!
