I Don’t Have a Niche — I Have a Life

Stop telling me I need to specialise; I’m already specialised in being me

Last week I organised my Medium stories into topic lists both for myself and my readers. I was thinking it would make it easier for people to find stories on particular themes that they were interested in, and apparently it’s also possible to subscribe to a list.

I was finding it annoying to scroll through many stories to remember what I’d recorded about which memory and when, so I got myself a large mug of tea, politely swatted the adolescent cat off my desk (once) and out of my wastepaper basket (twice), and set to work.

It was trickier than I though it would be, because it turns out I write about a lot of different stuff. My topic list is currently at eight with maybe more to add. Not exactly a niche writer.

There’s also quite a bit of overlap and some stories fit into two or even three categories. My life has been complex and untidy and I’m not very good at making decisions with details. I’m a big picture thinker, so ordering lists is not my thing.

I do understand why some people advocate finding a niche and sticking with it, but what if you’ve got a whole load of niches? I’ve got niches within niches. Stories within stories.

I’ve never fitted into anyone’s box and confining myself to just one particular niche or specialist subject would feel so constricting I would merely feel suffocated and sad.

I feel as though I’ve already lived several lives within this lifetime, and there have been periods of complete juxtaposition. Hippy chick to pastor’s wife to refugee to midwife to therapist to batshit old person — well, soon.

Like most of us, I’m composed of many different elements, and the times I’ve really struggled in life have been when I’ve been forced to express just one part of me and sideline the rest, mainly due to the expectations of others or the requirement of a job.

For example, on a Sunday morning, there was the slight conflict, as the pastor’s wife, of rolling late into the church parking lot with Led Zeppelin blaring out of my car window. Oops! Better make that Twila Paris.

Or being the midwife who also played pool in the local pub, much to the amusement of the dad whose baby I’d delivered two days before. He kindly bought me a pint.

I’m the therapist who suffers from depression — the older woman who still enjoys banging rock gigs at venues with sticky floors. I’m a grandmother and a daughter, a people lover who often prefers dog walking alone.

I want to write whatever I feel like writing, and sometimes that will be heartfelt stories about relationships or spiritual philosophy. There’s lots of memoir, some of which is very traumatic, but other parts are funny.

I can be holy and profane, fearless and terrified, angry and forgiving, but I know for sure that there is one overriding theme under which all the other topics reside, and it’s simply this:

I want to make the world a better, kinder place.

By sharing my heart in many different ways that are relatable for others, I hope that my readers might feel less alone. We’re all doing this life together, so why not support and encourage one another along the way?

I don’t need a niche to do that, and maybe you don’t either.

Here’s a shout out to someone else whose writing is making the world a better place — Sheri Jacobs