Journal

Why We Buy Online Courses and Never Start Them (And Why That’s Perfectly Fine)

Let me share something I’ve noticed after years of running online courses and talking with creative people: we’ve all got that folder of good intentions. You know the one – filled with courses we bought with genuine enthusiasm, promising ourselves we’d finally learn that new technique or tackle that project we’ve been dreaming about.

Then life happened, and those courses became silent witnesses to our supposed creative failures. But here’s what I’ve discovered – that story we tell ourselves about being course-collecting failures? It’s missing some important context.

The Three Types of Online Courses We Buy

After countless conversations with members of my creative community, I’ve noticed we buy online courses for three very different reasons. Understanding which category your purchase falls into can save you from unnecessary creative guilt.

1. The “Support” Purchase

This is when we buy a course primarily to support a maker whose work we value. Maybe you’ve been following someone’s YouTube channel for months, enjoying their free tutorials and insights. When they offer a reasonably priced course, you buy it – not necessarily because you need to learn that particular skill right now, but because you want to show support.

I experienced this directly when I created a charity course for making patchwork stars. People bought it knowing they already could make those stars, or knowing they’d never sewn a stitch in their lives. The point wasn’t the star – it was supporting the cause.

The key insight: You’ve already done the important work by purchasing. The guilt about not completing it? That’s the real problem, because it can actually damage your relationship with creators you genuinely enjoy supporting.

2. The “Fantasy February” Course

These are the self-paced courses we buy thinking we’ll tackle them “when things quieter down.” You know – in February, after the holiday rush. Or October, after summer chaos. We’re seduced by the mirage of empty calendar space that never actually arrives.

The truth nobody talks about? There is never going to be this open empty time. Life doesn’t work like that.

These courses trigger our deepest creative guilt because scheduling time for something we want to do (rather than need to do) feels selfish. When someone asks us to do something else during our planned “course time,” we immediately abandon our creative plans. After all, it’s just for us, right?

Two approaches that actually work:

• The skim approach: Watch the videos (perhaps on double speed) just to absorb techniques and approaches that inform your general making practice. You paid for access to knowledge – you don’t have to make the exact project to get value.
• The realistic schedule approach: Choose ONE course, calculate the actual time needed, and block it in your calendar like any other commitment. Be brutally honest about timeframes and stick to your creative appointments.

If neither approach appeals to you, consider this radical idea: delete the courses you’re not going to do, and stop buying more until you’re ready to properly schedule them.

3. The “Journey” Course

These are the substantial, community-based courses that unfold over weeks or months. They often combine making with deeper themes – the kind that promise to be transformative rather than just instructional.

The stumbling block here is feeling “behind.” Every course I’ve run or taken includes people apologizing for missing a week, convinced they’re the only ones struggling to keep up, certain they’ve blown their chance at the full experience.

Here’s what course creators won’t tell you: We expect people to miss sessions. We design for it. This isn’t school. We’re not giving out gold stars for homework completed.

The rhythm of these courses often mirrors life itself – sometimes you’re deeply engaged, sometimes you step back and observe, sometimes you jump back in halfway through. That’s not failure; that’s how humans actually learn and grow.

When Guilt Kills Creativity

The real damage happens when we carry guilt about our course-purchasing habits. Guilt kills creativity – it’s the fastest way to shut down the very exploration and joy we were seeking when we bought the course in the first place.

Your relationship with online learning doesn’t have to follow anyone else’s rules. Some courses are meant to be fully completed, others are meant to be browsed, and others are meant to be supported. The key is recognizing which is which, and releasing yourself from the obligation to treat every purchase the same way.

Creating Better Courses (And Better Relationships with Them)

These insights are shaping how I design my own courses. The next project I’m launching – called Threaded – incorporates everything I’ve learned about how people actually engage with creative learning:

• Built-in gap time so people don’t feel behind
• Regular, predictable rhythms rather than front-loaded intensity
• Permission to engage at your own level without guilt
• Community support that acknowledges real life

The course begins on the autumn equinox and explores folk tales, making, and creativity through the lens of midlife awakening. But more than that, it’s designed to work with how we actually live, not how we think we should live.

Reframing Your Course Collection

If you’re carrying guilt about unfinished courses, try this: go through that folder and categorise everything. Which ones were really support purchases? Which ones were fantasy February optimism? Which ones still call to you?

Delete without guilt. Keep without obligation. And remember – your creative journey belongs to you. There’s no wrong way to learn, and there’s no timeline you must follow except your own.

The courses will still be there when you’re ready. And if they’re not? Well, perhaps that tells you something important about what you actually needed from them in the first place.

If you’re curious about Threaded and want to hear more about this gentler approach to creative learning, you can sign up here to receive details before the course begins. And if you found this perspective helpful, I’d love to hear about your own experiences with the courses sitting in your digital library.

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