The Queer Agenda has a new home

Leaning into letting go and making space for the unknown

Hello there, and welcome to The Queer Agenda’s shiny new location on Substack!

In order to explain to you why The Queer Agenda has a new home and what it means for you as a reader, it’s necessary to back up to January 2017 when I first started my business.

I didn’t initially set out to become an entrepreneur. All I knew was that I was miserable working as a lawyer and something needed to change. At the time I was very into fitness and nutrition (working out was one of my main stress relievers during law school and when I was at my law firm), so becoming a personal trainer seemed like it would be a good fit for me. I also liked the idea of working for myself and having more control over my days.

Cue disappointing my parents with my career change and jumping headfirst into things I knew absolutely nothing about, like filing paperwork to become an LLC, tax write-offs for businesses, graphic design, marketing, building an email list, social media for work instead of pleasure, podcasting eventually, and so much more. It’s astounding the number of things I learned how to do (many out of necessity) in the past six years of working for myself.

The handful of you who’ve been around since the beginning may remember that the original name of my business was Glitter & Grit Fitness LLC. Eventually I dropped the word “Fitness” as my business expanded beyond strictly personal training to include weight-inclusive wellness and intuitive eating coaching. Over time, my business evolved further and I pivoted to doing self-trust coaching, so I changed all of my social media handles to my name and became Shohreh Davoodi Coaching LLC instead. Every new version of my business brought me more into alignment with my purpose, but all of the changes were disruptive and costly.

Even though at times it felt like my business was my whole life, I did have a life outside of it. Scattered amongst the rocky landscape of multiple rebrandings and new offerings were tripwires in the form of an ADHD diagnosis, coming out twice, a divorce, and a global pandemic, all of which threatened to break me and shut down my business.

Nevertheless, I persisted.

Those who know me well know I don’t half-ass things. I’m either all the way in with a fiery passion or all the way out, and I can say with conviction that I have whole-assed my coaching business every step of the way.

I have poured innumerable amounts of time, energy, and money into trying to make my business succeed financially. I worked most nights and weekends for years, only pulling back when I met my current partner in 2021 because I finally had the desire to spend my time elsewhere. I bought courses, read books, made vast amounts of free content, and hired various coaches and independent contractors—all in the name of “fixing” whatever was wrong with my business so I could finally get ahead.

Business woes aside, my work with clients has always been great. I’ve offered excellent service and been damn good at my job throughout every iteration of my journey as a coach, and dozens of people will tell you the same. I actually think that’s been the toughest pill for me to swallow over the years. How is it that I can be so great at what I do and still not be able to make a living on it? How is it that I can receive emails, comments, and DMs daily about how impactful my work is and how I’m changing lives and still struggle to fill my coaching calendar and group programs?

I’ve accepted that I’ll never have good, concrete answers to those questions. After years spent thinking about and trying to get to the root of the issue, all I have are guesses, some of which are specific to me and some of which are systemic. Regardless, not having answers has led me here.

In the past, when I would ask myself, “Is it time to let this dream go?” I could always find a reason to keep pushing—a new thing to tweak, a better person to hire. I could always shore myself up and convince myself it was worth it to keep weathering the storm because of how much the work itself mattered.

Until now.

The truth is, I’m tired of fighting this fight, y’all. Earlier this week I told my therapist that for as long as I’ve been a small business owner, I’ve never known peace. It was sobering to admit. Especially since I left my job as a lawyer because I wanted to do work that was more fulfilling and would make me happy.

And to be clear, the work itself has been fulfilling, especially since I started doing self-trust coaching and working with mostly queer folks, and I have experienced many moments of joy over the past six years. I am filled with gratitude over the fact that I’ve gotten to run a business for this long. But the hustling? The constant disappointment? The torment of trying everything and still not succeeding? That has made me anything but happy.

So, effective immediately, I am no longer going to be offering coaching services; I’m not going to be launching any more group programs or courses; and I no longer consider myself a small business owner.

I will continue to create the kinds of content I enjoy making for Instagram and TikTok, and I’ll continue to write The Queer Agenda (more on that in a minute), but I’m releasing almost everything else.

In some ways, this decision feels reminiscent of my decision to leave my marriage. When I asked for a divorce, I gave up a version of my future I had always thought I wanted, and it catapulted me into a deep pit of grief that took a long time to climb out of. But I did it because I hoped that by letting go, I would be creating space for something better, even though I had no idea what that might look like at the time. Less than a year later I met the love of my life, and I suddenly had a new, more beautiful future to look forward to.

I’m not sure if there’s a career equivalent of finding the love of your life, but I’m hopeful that by turning away from the entrepreneurial path I’ve been on—even if it means getting a little lost in the woods in the meantime—I’ll discover new, better paths I can’t even picture right now.

I have no idea what things are going to look like for me career-wise in a year, five years, or further down the road. All I know is what I’ve decided on for the immediate future, which brings me back to The Queer Agenda’s move to this platform, and why I think it’s important for me to keep writing.

I’ve been reading and writing to better understand myself and the world around me since I was a little girl in big glasses. While so much of my life has changed between then and now (I wear contacts these days, for starters), my drive to read and write has been a constant.

Over the years, I’ve written my thoughts and dreams and worries in diaries and journals. I’ve written about both the dramatic and the mundane parts of my life via online blogs like Xanga, Livejournal, and WordPress. I’ve written short notes and bulleted lists and long letters. I’ve written scholarly law school papers, a published Law Review article, and binding legal documents.

Since starting my business, I’ve written enough social media posts and captions to fill the pages of several books, and I’ve been regularly sending out essays in my email newsletter for over six years. Last year, I also started planning and writing a novel, and I’ve decided to make completing that manuscript my top priority in the coming months.

I’m a writer. I always have been, and I always will be. And I want to see where my writing can take me if I get really intentional about my craft.

Even though I’m no longer going to be offering coaching services, I believe in the power and value of The Queer Agenda newsletter, and I want to continue to have a dedicated space to connect with all of you through my writing.

While the container for The Queer Agenda is new, its heart and soul remain the same: It’s a newsletter dedicated to supporting and uplifting LGBTQIA+ folks (where allies benefit too) by sharing thoughtful tools, strategies, and encouragement to help us heal and come home to ourselves. It’s a newsletter I write to remind us how to be more of who we are so we can let go of who we think we’re supposed to be.

What I gain by bringing The Queer Agenda to Substack is the opportunity to be compensated for the time, energy, and emotional labor that goes into writing a newsletter and sharing it with all of you. By creating an (optional) avenue for reciprocity, I’m honoring both myself as a writer and the messy, murky, magical craft of writing.

Free subscribers will continue to get The Queer Agenda newsletter in their inboxes each month, no strings attached, similar to how my newsletter has always worked. Paid subscribers will get The Queer Agenda newsletter plus exclusive content like queer book reviews and curated playlists.

Whether you become a paid subscriber or not, please know I’m honored you find my words worth reading and that you’re here with me in my little corner of the internet. Running a business may not have turned out how I hoped, but I am walking away from entrepreneurship (at least for now) with the satisfaction that I gave it my all, learned so much along the way, and got to change people’s lives because of it.

I’m looking forward to focusing on my writing in the coming months while figuring out what else may be next for me, and I promise to give you all the updates. Just because I’m not a business owner anymore doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere. You can’t get rid of my glittery gay ass that easily!

Queerly yours,

Shohreh

To get in touch, shoot me an email at hello@shohrehdavoodi.com. For more from me, follow me on Instagram, TikTok, and Threads.

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