Refried Neurons

Social media. That thing I swore I’d never need, now basically controls whether or not people find my business. Apparently, if you’re not on it, you don’t exist – especially in the service industry. And I, being the proud owner of two charming cottages in the middle of Roztocze (i.e. the middle of nowhere, Poland), would very much like to exist.

So, I did what every new business owner thinks they should do: I created Instagram and Facebook pages, started posting, and assumed customers would magically appear like mushrooms after rain.

Spoiler: they did not.

I’ve got gigabytes of photos and videos. Literal terabytes of tree shots and fireplace angles. I’ve paid for at least five online courses – digital marketing, editing, Canva wizardry – and haven’t finished a single one. I switched to YouTube tutorials in the hopes of being less useless. I bought a DJI stabiliser. A tripod. A fancy phone that makes my breakfast look like art. I subscribed to Canva, Plann, and about three other apps I can’t remember.

But I tried. Lord, I tried. I posted. I boosted

After two years of trying (and spending), I reached the magical 1,000 followers.  Then… everything stopped.

This was pre-Reels. Then Reels became the thing, overnight. Apparently, if you weren’t Reeling, you were dying. Just as I bought a brand-new book on “Mastering Instagram,” Reels arrived and turned that book into firewood. Perfect for my fireplace, useless for anything else.

Then I met ChatGPT (hi!). I spent hours asking for media strategies, captions, posting schedules. I recorded more material. Most of it never made it online.

I spent evenings planning content like a deranged squirrel, filming clips with “fun” captions like “Escape the city!” (subtext: “I haven’t escaped my own burnout”). I scheduled them. I felt organised. Then life did its thing – a last-minute flight, chaos ensued, and suddenly I was back to posting once every blood moon.

The algorithm, of course, punished me like an angry Catholic nun with a ruler. Post once a week? Nothing. Comment sporadically? Punishment. Take a break to, I don’t know, live a life? Eternal shadowban.

So I tried harder. ChatGPT gave me a proper strategy. When to post, when to comment, how to “engage.” I made posts with Calls to Action and hashtags and emoji-stuffed captions. But the real issue? Consistency. Daily content. Same days. No gaps. Like a loyal Labrador, the algorithm wants to know when you’ll show up.

Unfortunately, I’m more like a stray cat. I travel. I have a full-time job. I am, in every sense, chaotic.

And to be fair, I don’t even use social media to book my own holidays. If a place has thousands of followers, I assume it’s overpriced, overhyped, and booked till 2027. I might be completely unfair, but that’s how my brain works. Also, Booking.com has filters. And cancellation policies.

Still, like any small business owner, I’d rather have direct bookings – they’re cheaper for the guest and save me about 15% in fees. And because the almighty Google is now just a Booking.com billboard for the first 37 pages, I know I need social media.

Friends tell me, “But you’ll meet cool people!” – which is true, I have. “You’ll discover local businesses!” – also true. But then what? Apparently, I’m supposed to comment and interact and build community. I’m more of a “like and scroll” type, thank you very much.

Still, I gave it another go. I used my fancy planning apps. I sat down, created content, added text, music, hashtags, scheduled things like a real professional. I was so proud. Until life happened. Again. Turns out this whole influencer thing requires more time in front of a screen than I ever planned. And frankly, when I started filming Roztocze, it was to share something real – not to tailor clips to five-second attention spans and trend-chasing algorithms.

But I kept going. Hours upon hours of work. Not to mention money. For what? Almost nothing. But no, I didn’t give up.

I attended a webinar from Slowhop (a kind of Polish Booking.com, but fancy, with casting and filters for aesthetics). There, I learned I need fresh photos every year. Not just any – professional ones. Brilliant. More money. So I booked a shoot. Arrived at my cottages ready to roll – only to be told: it’s much better if you have people in the photos. Preferably not just the owner wandering around like a lost hiker.

Cue panic. I started calling everyone I knew within a 20 km radius: “Hey, want to model? In two hours?” Luckily, my cousin – who is an actual influencer and digital marketing master’s student (of course) – showed up with her daughter. Saved the day. We now have photos that scream “two stylish mums on cosy cabin getaway” and I’m into it.

And that’s when I had an epiphany. I don’t have to do this alone.

I can hire people. Real professionals. I can hand the madness over to my cousin, who knows what she’s doing, and let her work her magic. We even had a 3-hour brainstorm session. Apparently, people care more about me and my chaotic life than about the cottage interiors. Go figure.

So here we are again. I’ve got a fresh to-do list. Step one: send my cousin every photo and video I’ve ever taken, which will take days because it turns out I’ve spent the last three years documenting everything except my own rest. We’ll see how much of it is usable – or whether I’ve just wasted hundreds of hours filming tree branches and dogs rolling in moss.

Either way, stay tuned.