People…I’m tired.

I’m so very, very tired.

For the past 2 years it feels like I have spent every waking moment of my life sitting at a desk in my house, typing at a screen.

Once upon a time, if you’d asked me, I’d have told you that was my dream.

But after making it through the longest, strictest lockdown in the world and still not officially returning to the office, I’m exhausted.

When what you do for work and what you do for pleasure have a significant overlap, it can cause problems.

For me that comes in the form of spending most of my work day staring at a screen, typing words and then coming home and trying to do the same.

For most of my life it wasn’t a problem. There was a separation between church and state.

Work was where I wore pants. Home was where the passion was.

But the last 2 years have irreparably blurred those lines, and I don’t know how to fix it. 

Part of this slow descent into burnout has not only fucked with my ability to write, but also my brain.

Which has meant more medications, more therapy, more of me trying my best to not be a complete depressed wreck. But with that I have farewelled the last vestiges of any sex drive I had left.

I haven’t felt physical arousal in over a year now.

I can’t review vibrators, I can’t date people, and I’m just so grateful for my understanding partner.

I often find myself staring at the state’s largest collection of sex toys, slowly gathering dust and feeling like the greatest imposter.

How can I write about sex if I can’t even manage to have a wank? 

And the answer is, I can’t. Maybe one day I will again. But for now, I can’t. 

For years I believed an insidious lie, one that’s particularly common for people in creative areas, but kind of pervades every aspect of life.

If you end something, you failed at it. 

Basically, if you start a business you need to run that business forever, otherwise it’s a failed business.

If you start painting or writing, you need to do that forever, otherwise you’re a failed artist.

If you marry someone, it better be forever, or it’s a failed relationship. 

And then one day, I saw this Tumblr post…

One line in particular kept rolling through my head.

“I just think that something can be good, and also end, and that thing was still good.”

I’d been slowly getting there on my own, but once again strangers shit-posting on Tumblr gave me the clarity I often lack. 

Smut Buttons has been awesome.

I have loved this website more than the children I will never have.

It has given me incredible opportunities, allowed me to meet awesome people and taught me how to be a better writer and educator.

I will never be sorry that I started it. 

But it no longer brings me joy.

It’s now a heavy reminder of what I used to be capable of in a time before a global pandemic, before I burned myself out, when I used to enjoy doing this.

It now brings me guilt and makes me feel ashamed when I’m not working on it. 

So I’m gently putting my burden down.

I’m not shutting the site down.

I’ll keep the content here for the time being.

But I’m no longer going to be publishing new content. 

Hopefully, by giving myself permission to move on from this project I’ll find space in my life to do something else that brings me joy.

And if I do, I promise you’ll hear about it. 

But until then, thank you. 

That really is all. 

You may go now.