Showing Up Anyway
I have 1,699 subscribers on YouTube, which might sound like a decent number—until you look at the views on my recent tutorials. Most of them barely reach double digits.
It’s an odd place to be: visible, but rarely watched. And yet, I keep making videos. Not because I’m chasing algorithms or waiting for my “big break,” but because the act of creating tutorials has become part of how I think, learn, and share.
This post is my way of unpacking that choice. Why I keep showing up to film, edit, and publish, even when it feels like I’m speaking into the void. And maybe, just maybe, it will resonate with someone else who’s quietly doing the same.
Teaching Is in My Bones
Long before I ever uploaded a video, I was a teacher. Not just by profession, but by nature. Teaching is how I process the world—how I break things down, build understanding, and share what excites me.
When I started my YouTube channel, it wasn’t because I had something polished to present. It was a personal learning project. A way to challenge myself to try new tools, explain new ideas, and grow through doing. I wanted to learn by teaching—and YouTube gave me the perfect blank canvas.
That instinct to explain, to guide, hasn’t gone away just because my videos don’t get thousands of views. If anything, it’s strengthened my commitment. Each tutorial I make is a reflection of what I’m curious about, what I’ve figured out (or am still figuring out), and how I might help someone else take a step forward too.
Creating videos has become part of my rhythm. It’s a quiet kind of teaching—no classroom, no live feedback—but it’s still rooted in the same deep desire: to connect through learning.
Creativity as a Practice, Not a Performance
Making tutorials has never been about putting on a show. It’s been a way to stay curious. To keep learning out loud. To build something—not perfect, not polished, but honest.
When I first started my channel, I focused on what I knew well: Swedish culture, teaching strategies, and the everyday tools I used in my work. Over time, the topics shifted. I moved into tutorials on Google products, graphic design tools, and now, creative AI. The channel grew as I grew.
With some tools, I’ve become deeply familiar—almost second nature after so much use. With others, I’m still experimenting and asking questions. But no matter the topic, I always aim to serve the beginner. That’s who I think about when I record: someone just starting out, maybe unsure, maybe overwhelmed, and hoping for a guide who’s patient, clear, and real.
This work has taught me that creativity isn’t a finished product—it’s a relationship you keep returning to. And for me, these tutorials are one way I stay connected to that process.
The Power of a Tiny Audience
It’s easy to overlook the value of a small audience when everything online is measured in likes, views, and subscribers. But over time, I’ve come to appreciate the quiet presence of those few who do watch.
Every so often, someone leaves a comment that stays with me. One viewer wrote, “This is the best channel to learn about AI generative processes for complete beginners… I hope more newbies like me that are fascinated by the possibilities come across these videos. Thank you for your efforts Pixel Pia!”
That one message reminded me why I keep going. It’s not about reaching thousands. It’s about helping someone—just one person—feel a little more confident, a little more curious, and a little more capable.
I once heard a wonderful tip from Shelly Saves the Day, a thoughtful and experienced creator on YouTube. She said: when you receive a comment like that, take a screenshot and save it in a special folder. Keep it for those days when making videos feels like an uphill battle. I’ve done that, and it works. Sometimes, revisiting one kind word is enough to keep going.
There’s something freeing about not having to perform for the masses. With a smaller audience, I can be myself—curious, reflective, sometimes unsure—and create without pressure. It’s not about chasing trends or staying ahead of the algorithm. It’s about serving those few who are right there with me, learning and growing alongside each video.
Small doesn’t mean insignificant. Sometimes, small means personal. And in a world full of noise, that kind of quiet connection feels like its own kind of success.
What I Learn From Every Video
Every tutorial I make teaches me something—sometimes about the topic itself, sometimes about the process, and often about myself. Even when a video doesn’t land the way I hoped, there’s value in the making.
I’ve learned how to explain things more clearly, how to spot when something needs a visual instead of words, and how to pace a tutorial so it respects the viewer’s time. I’ve also learned how to adapt—when a tool updates suddenly, when a screen recording fails, when an idea that felt exciting on paper falls flat in practice.
But the lessons aren’t just technical. Each video deepens my understanding of how I learn and how I teach.
I notice where I hesitate, where I rush, where I light up. I learn when to simplify, when to slow down, and when to trust that a quiet explanation can be more powerful than a flashy one.
And yes—some of this is pure stubbornness. The kind that keeps me editing at midnight even when I’m not sure who will watch. The kind that whispers, “You’ve come this far, don’t stop now.” Maybe it’s not always graceful, but it’s honest. And it keeps me moving forward, one frame at a time.
Sometimes, what doesn’t make it into the final edit is what shapes me the most. The detours, the failed attempts, the script rewrites. These are reminders that making something—especially something meant to help others—is a layered, imperfect, and deeply human process.
Redefining Success
It’s taken time, but I’ve slowly redefined what success looks like for me. It’s not in the numbers—though I used to check them more than I’d like to admit. These days, success feels more like alignment than achievement.
It’s when I finish a video and know I stayed true to what I wanted to say. It’s when I figure something out mid-edit and feel that quiet spark of “I’m getting better at this.” It’s when someone leaves a comment and I can tell they really saw the heart of what I was trying to share.
Sometimes success is just that feeling of showing up, of not giving up on something I care about, even when no one’s asking for it. It’s in the rhythm of creating, not the reward.
And now I wonder—what does success look like for you? Not the version you’re supposed to want, but the version that feels right in your bones. What keeps you showing up, even when it’s hard?
I’m Still Here
I’ve had more ideas than I can count. So many that over the years, I’ve started several YouTube channels—each one sparked by a different curiosity. One focused on Canva tutorials, another on personal growth and reflection, and yet another was simply about exploring YouTube as a hobby, just for the fun of creating.
But the one I’ve always returned to—the one I’ve kept going with, even when it felt quiet—is PixelPia.
This channel has grown with me. It’s shifted, paused, evolved, and reshaped itself many times over. But it’s never disappeared. Because no matter how many ideas I chase, this space always feels like home.
I’ve thought about stopping. About whether anyone would notice if I let it go. But every time I consider stepping away, something small pulls me back in. A new idea. A comment. A question I want to explore.
So I’m still here. Making tutorials. Learning out loud.
Sharing what I know, and what I’m still figuring out. Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s popular. But because it matters to me—and maybe, to someone else, too.
If you’ve been here—whether for one video or many—thank you. And if you’re out there making something with your own kind of stubborn hope, I’m cheering you on. Quietly. Steadily. Still here.
Keep creating—quietly, honestly, imperfectly. Your work doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful. Sometimes, simply continuing is the most powerful thing you can do.
If this spoke to you, I’d love to hear from you.
What keeps you going, even when it’s hard to see the outcome?
Feel free to share in the comments—or just say hello.
And if you’re curious about where this creative path leads, you’re always welcome to follow along through the blog or the newsletter.
We’re learning as we go—and that’s more than enough.
/ PixelPia
