I started a blog after having a baby at 40, then discovered how difficult it was to make money from it.

I didn’t start blogging to become an influencer

When I launched Saffron & Cyrus in 2017, I wasn’t dreaming of brand partnerships, free holidays or becoming the next big thing on Instagram. I’d recently become a mother at 40 and wanted somewhere to write about it, preferably somewhere that didn’t need me to leave the house, put on a decent outfit or arrange childcare. I’d spent years writing professionally, but having my own website was different. Nobody was commissioning the articles or deciding what I could cover. I could write about the things that interested me, ask awkward questions and have a good moan.

Pregnancy over 40 was my starting point. I wanted to explore the things women didn’t always discuss openly, such as the experience of being labelled high-risk because of your age. There were also the realities of motherhood, the changes to your body and unsettling discovery that becoming a parent doesn’t automatically make you feel like a grown-up. I wanted other women to share their experiences, too. Not everyone has the time or confidence to start a website, but that doesn’t mean their stories are any less interesting. I liked the idea of giving those voices somewhere to be heard alongside my own.

Making money wasn’t part of the original plan. That came later, along with the discovery that running a blog involves considerably more work than writing a few paragraphs and pressing publish. Despite what social media might suggest, businesses are not queuing outside your virtual front door offering free handbags and lucrative contracts. Most of the time, they’re not even aware your website exists, which is something every aspiring blogger needs to understand before getting too excited about the prospect of becoming an influencer.

If you want a business to take your writing seriously, you need to give it a reason. Having a website is one thing. Convincing somebody that your work is worth paying for is quite another.

Work with brands you’d recommend

One of my early collaborations was with One Dear World, a multicultural family business producing dolls designed to encourage children to appreciate different cultures and backgrounds. As someone raising a child in a British-Persian household, I could see the appeal. I wanted Cyrus to grow up understanding that families look different, speak different languages and celebrate different traditions. It wasn’t something I wanted to make a great fuss about. To me, it was part of everyday life, and I liked the idea of toys that reflected the world children actually live in.

The dolls had a purpose beyond being another toy destined for the bottom of the toy box. That made the collaboration interesting, and it gave me something worthwhile to write about. Over the years, I’ve featured small businesses, children’s products, restaurants and family experiences. Some have been gifted, while others I’ve paid for myself. I’ve also written plenty of articles that have nothing to do with commercial partnerships because, I had something to say. That’s one of the pleasures of having your own publication. You can write about educational toys one week and the indignities of midlife the next.

I may even write about Botox one day, not because somebody has offered me a complimentary forehead, but because and the pressure on women to look younger are subjects worth looking at closely. The important thing is being able to explain why a product or business deserves space on your website. If I wouldn’t consider buying something, using it or recommending it to someone I know, I’m unlikely to find much enthusiasm for writing about it. A collaboration might earn you a few pounds, but losing your readers’ trust is an expensive way to make money.

Before agreeing to work with a brand, I ask myself whether it fits the subjects I cover, whether my readers will find it useful and whether I can write about it honestly, including anything I don’t like. If the answer to that last question is no, I’d rather decline. Readers are perfectly capable of recognising when somebody is promoting a product because they’ve been paid to do so, and I don’t think we give them enough credit for that.

Why should a brand care about your blog?

Here’s something I wish more new bloggers understood. Most businesses don’t care that you’ve started a blog. That might sound harsh, but I’ve worked in PR long enough to know that nobody owes you a reply just because you’ve written a lovely email. Businesses have products to sell, customers to reach and marketing budgets that probably have several departments fighting over them. Your blog is one of countless places competing for their attention, and the fact that you’ve spent three evenings perfecting your homepage isn’t necessarily going to impress a marketing manager.

The question isn’t whether you deserve a collaboration. It’s whether you can offer something useful. If you write about women’s health and can explain a product from the perspective of someone juggling perimenopause. Perhaps you’re a parent who can test a children’s toy in a real household, complete with missing pieces, and a child who might play with the packaging. Those experiences can make an article more interesting than a carefully polished product description. You’re offering a perspective that the business might not be able to provide itself, and that’s where the value lies.

Platforms such as Get Blogged can connect smaller bloggers with companies looking for content. They can be a useful starting point if you haven’t established relationships with brands, although I’d still encourage anyone applying for opportunities to read the brief carefully and decide whether the work is worth taking on. A collaboration should make sense for both parties. Otherwise, you’re just filling your website with material that neither you or your readers wanted, and there’s already enough of that floating around the internet.

Stop telling brands how much you love them

I’ve spent enough time on both sides of a PR pitch to know how quickly a poorly written email disappears into the abyss. The same applies when approaching businesses about blogging opportunities. Telling a company that you absolutely adore its products might be flattering, but it doesn’t explain why it should work with you. Neither does sending the same generic message to 50 brands and hoping somebody takes pity on you. If you’re serious about securing collaborations, you need to think about what the business is trying to achieve rather than concentrating entirely on what you hope to receive.

Do your homework. Look at what the company sells, who its customers are and whether your readers would genuinely be interested. Then suggest something specific. If you’re approaching a fitness brand, for example, you might explain how its products fit into the life of a woman in midlife who enjoys exercise but also has a full-time job, a family and a washing basket that appears to reproduce overnight. That’s a more useful starting point than promising an amazing article about an amazing product, particularly when you haven’t tried it yet.

I would also be wary of anyone offering a glowing review before they’ve even opened the packaging. If you’ve already decided everything is wonderful, what’s the point of reviewing it? A sensible pitch explains who you are, what you write about, who reads your work and what you can offer. Include examples of relevant articles and be clear about the arrangement you’re proposing. You don’t need an enormous following to produce worthwhile content, but you do need to demonstrate why somebody should pay for your time and expertise.

Can you make money from blogging?

Yes, although I wouldn’t recommend handing in your notice on the strength of your first gifted face cream. Bloggers can earn money through sponsored articles, affiliate links, advertising and paid writing commissions. Some also use their websites as portfolios to attract freelance work. The difficulty is that income isn’t guaranteed, and there’s an extraordinary amount of work involved in maintaining a website, particularly if you’re fitting it around a full-time job and family life.

Writing is only part of it. There’s photography, editing, search engine optimisation, technical maintenance and the occasional evening spent wondering why something that worked perfectly yesterday has suddenly stopped behaving. Then there’s the business of persuading people to visit. You can spend hours researching an article that attracts very little attention, only to discover that something you wrote months earlier has started receiving visitors through Google. It’s difficult to predict, which makes blogging a rather unreliable way to pay the electricity bill.

I also think bloggers need to be careful about accepting exposure as payment. A mention or backlink might be useful in some circumstances, but it doesn’t automatically compensate for hours of work. Not all backlinks are valuable, either. Paid placements need to be properly disclosed and use appropriate link attributes, and there’s little sense in accepting a commercial arrangement that could damage your website’s credibility. If a company wants substantial editorial work, there’s nothing unreasonable about discussing a fee. Nobody expects a plumber to repair a boiler in exchange for a flattering Instagram post, and I don’t see why writers should be expected to work for nothing.

Not everything needs to earn money

One of the reasons I still enjoy running Saffron & Cyrus is that I can publish something because I want to. Not every article needs a sponsor, an affiliate link or a commercial purpose. Sometimes I write because something has annoyed me, amused me or made me think. Some ideas come from conversations with H, while others come from motherhood, the gym or memories that resurface while I’m doing something completely unrelated. I can spend an entire afternoon thinking about a subject that nobody has commissioned me to cover, and there’s something satisfying about that freedom.

Those stories matter because they’re what make the website mine. If every article exists to promote a product, readers will eventually notice. They may not object to advertising, but they probably didn’t arrive at your website hoping to browse an endless catalogue of things to buy. There’s a difference between running a blog that earns money and turning every personal experience into a sales opportunity, and I prefer the former. If I want to write about a Persian family tradition, a particularly difficult gym class or the realities of perimenopause, I don’t need to find a sponsor before I can justify publishing it.

A website should still feel like it belongs to the person writing it. Otherwise, what’s the point of having your own publication?

Your readers don’t all have to look like you

When I started writing about being a new mum over 40, I could easily have assumed that my audience would consist entirely of women of a similar age with young children. But people don’t only read about people who resemble themselves. A woman in her twenties might be curious about pregnancy later in life. A grandmother might recognise the pressures of modern parenting. Someone without children might enjoy an article about fitness, Persian traditions or the expectations placed on women as they get older. The subject might bring somebody to your website, but it doesn’t mean they need to share your circumstances to find it interesting.

My interests have changed since 2017. Cyrus is older, I’m older, and I spend more time thinking about hormones and strength training than I did when I was reviewing baby products. It would be strange if the website remained permanently stuck in the nappy years. That doesn’t mean writing about absolutely everything. A publication still needs a recognisable identity, and readers should have some idea of what they’re coming to you for. But I don’t believe in defining an audience so narrowly that you exclude people who might have enjoyed your work.

I’d rather write for curious readers than spend my life trying to appeal to an imaginary 38-year-old woman who likes yoga and beige kitchens. Besides, I’m not entirely sure she’d like me. I think there’s room for a publication that speaks to women at different stages of life without assuming they all have identical interests, experiences or opinions. What matters is giving people something worth reading, whether they’re 25, 45 or 75.

Write for readers, not search engines

Search engine optimisation matters. There’s little point publishing a useful article if nobody can find it. But there’s something depressing about reading a blog post that appears to have been written entirely for Google. You know the sort. The same phrase appears in every paragraph, the introduction tells you what you’re about to read, and 800 words later you’re still waiting for the writer to say something interesting. I’ve read enough of those articles to know that ranking in search results and being worth reading aren’t necessarily the same thing.

I want to know what somebody actually thinks. If you’re reviewing a restaurant, tell me whether the food was worth the money. If you’re testing a beauty product, explain what happened when you used it. If you’re writing about motherhood, don’t pretend every moment is wonderful when you’ve spent half the morning searching for a missing school shoe. Those details are what make a story worth reading, and they’re often the things readers remember long after they’ve forgotten the headline.

Good writing also takes a little confidence. You don’t have to agree with everybody, and you certainly don’t have to make every article relentlessly positive. Sometimes the most interesting thing a writer can do is admit that something didn’t work. Search engines may help people discover an article, but the writing has to give them a reason to stay. I’d rather have somebody finish a piece feeling that they’ve heard a genuine opinion than leave with the impression that they’ve just read a carefully arranged collection of keywords.

Blogging takes patience and a thick skin

When I look back at starting Saffron & Cyrus, I realise how much has changed. The internet is noisier, social media is more competitive and almost everybody seems to have something to sell. There’s also a lot of pressure to make ordinary life look more impressive than it actually is. Perfect kitchens, perfect bodies, perfect families and carefully photographed cups of coffee have become so familiar that it’s easy to forget how much effort goes into making everything appear effortless.

I’ve never been particularly comfortable with that. Real life is untidy. Children grow up, bodies change and people occasionally make mistakes. Some days you write something you’re proud of. Other days you spend an evening trying to work out why your website has rearranged itself. I’ve had plenty of those evenings, usually when I should have been doing something more sensible, such as going to bed.

There will be rejected pitches, quiet periods and articles that don’t attract the attention you hoped for. There may also be unexpected opportunities and messages from readers who recognise something of their own lives in what you’ve written. For me, those messages are worth far more than another meaningless social media statistic. It’s reassuring to know that something you’ve written has made another person feel understood, particularly when the subject is one that doesn’t always receive much attention.

I started this website but I didn’t know where it would lead, and I didn’t expect to still be finding new subjects to write about nine years later. The possibility of earning money is welcome. I enjoy writing, but I also appreciate being paid for my work. What I don’t want is to lose the freedom that made me start in the first place. There’s enough carefully managed messaging in the world without turning my own website into another corporate brochure.

Would I start a blog again?

Yes, although I’d probably spend less time worrying about what everybody else was doing. I’d choose a subject I cared about, write articles I’d want to read and learn the practical side of running a website. I’d also be more confident about discussing payment when businesses wanted to use my work. What I wouldn’t do is measure success entirely by the number of brands willing to collaborate with me, because that tells you very little about whether your writing is any good.

A good blog is more than a collection of sponsored articles. It can be a place to develop your ideas, record experiences and discover that your interests have changed considerably since you first sat down to write. Mine began with a baby and a head full of questions. Nine years later, the questions are different, but I’m still writing, still learning and occasionally still wondering why I’ve spent three hours adjusting something on the website that nobody else will probably notice.

Have you thought about starting a blog, or are you already writing one? I’m interested in whether you do it for pleasure, income or a bit of both. And if you’ve worked with brands, what’s the one thing you wish somebody had told you before your first collaboration?

Occasional stories, experiments, discoveries and questions from Saffron & Cyrus.