February 13-19, 2026

February 13–19 , 2026

The memoir continues. Every day I sit down with Carver and go back into it, piece by piece. It’s keeping me steady. Not euphoric like the end of last year, when everything felt electrically alive and slightly out of control, but steady in a way that’s probably more sustainable. I haven’t been able to recreate those manic highs, and maybe that’s a good thing. Still, something is working. Whether it’s the Diane Method itself or just the the act of creating something, I don’t know. I’ve stopped trying to separate the two.

My day job filled most of the week, but I kept returning to the pages. Editing. Tightening. Remembering things I hadn’t thought about in decades. It gives structure to the days. Something to move toward.

Then yesterday, something shifted. I watched a tech YouTuber I’ve followed for years talk about how he lost his Google ranking. Completely fell off. From top ten to invisible. On a whim, he let AI rewrite his website. Within a week, he was back at number one. His business recovered overnight. But he admitted something unsettling: it didn’t sound like him anymore. He got his visibility back, but lost his voice.

That hit me harder than I expected. Because I spent all of December building the Diane Method website. Every sentence deliberate. Every word aligned with the truth of what I was trying to do. The goal wasn’t manipulation or optimization. It was honesty. And the AI I worked with knew that. It helped refine the language, helped shape the structure. But it never once said the obvious thing: that a site built purely around personal truth, with no strategic entry point, was almost guaranteed to sit in silence. When I brought this up yesterday, the response was immediate. Of course it wasn’t getting traffic. Of course it needed a different front door. Of course the memoir should have come first.

Of course.

That lingered longer than it should have. Because it wasn’t obvious to me at the time. I was building something clean. Something real. And now I was being told I’d done it backwards.

For a few hours, I didn’t know what to do with that. I wasn’t interested in pretending to be a memoir expert. I wasn’t interested in turning the Diane Method into a marketing funnel. Both options felt dishonest in different ways. So I stepped away from the logic of it and went back to the only thing that had actually been working: the writing itself.

Then I made a decision.

I discovered Substack yesterday. I had never used it before. Within hours, I set it up. Today, I published the first chapter of my memoir. From here on, I’ll publish one chapter every Friday. No grand rollout. No strategy beyond consistency. Just the work, released into the open.

The Diane Method website will remain as it is. I paid for the year. I’ll keep writing these weekly blog entries, even if no one reads them. The memoir will live alongside it, not as a product, but as evidence. The method isn’t something to explain. It’s something to demonstrate.

Maybe the order was wrong. Or maybe this was always the order.