Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Danielle McCoy. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Danielle , looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Are you able to earn a full-time living from your creative work? If so, can you walk us through your journey and how you made it happen?

Absolutely, but it wasn’t instant, easy, or romantic.

I didn’t wake up one day with a perfect niche and a six-figure brand. I built my blog, The Rustic Elk, over time with tons of late nights, babies on my hip, and burning out and coming back. I had to learn how to write SEO without sounding like a robot, and constantly asking myself, “Does this still feel/sound like me?”

When I started, I was writing about homesteading because that’s what people were searching for. It worked. I made money. But eventually… I outgrew it. The content no longer fit my life, my voice, or my values. And that’s where things got hard: do I stay in the box that makes money, or do I risk everything to build something honest and authentic?

I chose honesty and authenticity. Slowly. Strategically. I started shifting toward content that felt real. Something feral, seasonal, grounded, and unapologetic. I updated my design, my brand voice, my photography, and eventually the content itself. I let go of performative homesteading and leaned into ancestral food, wild living, and the kind of kitchen magic that doesn’t require a prairie dress and a fear-based mindset.

It wasn’t about making a ton of money overnight. It was about making the right kind of money. Something sustainable, values-aligned, and rooted in content I actually care about.

Could I have sped it up? Maybe. If I had known more about SEO and affiliate strategy earlier on. But honestly? I think the slow build was the lesson. I needed to evolve personally before I could evolve professionally.

Now I earn a full-time income from my blog and digital products, and I’m building a second brand that’s even more aligned with who I am today. And the best part? I’m doing it without losing myself, or my soul, in the process.

Danielle , love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I’m Danielle McCoy; writer, creator, seasonal rebel, and founder of The Rustic Elk.

I started this brand in January 2016, back when modern homesteading was really starting to take off. At the time, I lived in the suburbs, but that summer, pregnant with my third child, we moved to a one-acre lot and built a little homestead from scratch. It was messy, real, and filled with trial and error. We lived that way for eight years… gardening, raising animals, preserving food, and learning what it meant to live close to the land.

But in 2017, I lost my mom. And with her, I lost a part of myself. For a while, I moved through it all like a shadow. Still creating, still building, but disconnected. My husband, my biggest fan and my anchor, stood by me through all of it, reminding me that what I was doing mattered… even when I wasn’t sure it did.

Then came 2020 and with it the perfectionism and the pressure to “purify” everything. It all became too much for me. I was tired of curated content, and fear-based living. I wanted something real again. Not romanticized, not staged, just grounded, feral, seasonal truth.

So I began to shift.

What started as a homesteading blog became something deeper: a raw, unapologetic, feral way of living. I let go of the rigid expectations and leaned into practical traditions, ancestral skills, and the rhythm of the seasons without needing to prove anything to anyone.

Now we’re back in the suburbs of a large city and honestly? I love it. I grow herbs in the windowsill, tomatoes in pots, shop the farmer’s market and local farms, cook wild game, and preserve food like I always have. I’ve learned that you don’t need 40 acres to live close to the earth.

You just need intention.
You just need to pay attention.

At The Rustic Elk, I create long-form content, seasonal guides, wild food recipes, DIY body care, preservation techniques, and grounded ways to reconnect with your life. My content is built for women who are done with perfectionism, sick of the rules, and ready to reclaim the fire they’ve been taught to quiet.

What sets me apart? I don’t fake it. I show up gritty, poetic, practical, and fiercely intentional. Everything I create is built around one question: Does this serve the version of me I’m becoming?

That’s what I want for my readers, too. Not just tips or recipes, but a reminder that they can live wild and rooted, even in the middle of everything.

Because it’s not just about food. It’s about fire. And I’m proud to have built a brand that reflects that without watering myself down to do it.

What I’m most proud of isn’t the income, the traffic, or the social media numbers. It’s that I’ve built something that resonates. Something that reminds women they don’t have to do it all, be it all, or purify their entire lives just to feel connected.

I want people to know that The Rustic Elk isn’t about homesteading perfection or food purity. It’s about reclaiming seasonal, grounded, wild living in whatever way works for your life. Whether you live on a farm, in an apartment, or in the messy in-between, there’s a place for you here.

My work exists to remind you that the old ways aren’t lost. That you can still cook, preserve, craft, and connect without guilt. That the rhythm of the seasons lives in you, even when life feels chaotic. And that you are allowed to create a life that feeds your body and your fire.

How about pivoting – can you share the story of a time you’ve had to pivot?

We moved last May. Less than a year ago, and it changed everything. We left the one-acre homestead we had built from scratch, garden beds, animals, the works, and landed in the suburbs of a large city. Not because we wanted to, but because it was necessary.

We tried to find land that fit our vision, space, budget, location, but it just wasn’t there. So eventually, I let go of the dream. Not just the acreage or the animals but the ideas that came with them. I let go of who I thought I had to be to be successful in this space.

And that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

When we first moved, I honestly thought it was the end. Of the brand. Of the identity. Of everything I’d worked so hard to build. Because for years, I thought I had to live a certain way to be taken seriously in the “homesteading” space. I thought I had to do everything from scratch. To raise the animals. To grow everything. To filter myself, my voice to keep it palatable. To stay in the box of purist, romanticized, farm-core content. And honestly? I did a fantastic job of performing it.

But the truth is, I’ve always believed, and pushed the idea that people can live seasonally, intentionally, and self-sufficiently wherever they are. On an acre. On a balcony. In the woods. In the city.

Moving didn’t strip me of that, instead, it liberated me. It reminded me that this life isn’t about location. It’s about rhythm. Intention. Connection. Now I grow herbs in the windowsill. I buy produce from farmers that live right down the road. I preserve food. I hunt. I cook wild game. I create. I live without censoring myself or subscribing to someone else’s version of “authentic.”

Letting go of the animals was hard. Letting go of the expectations was harder. But this pivot? It gave me my voice back. It gave me me back.

And that’s worth more than any acreage.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

I had to unlearn the belief that in order to be successful, I had to be palatable.

When I started in the homesteading space, there was this intense pressure to romanticize it all. To curate the lifestyle, to filter your voice, to be gentle and soft, and always a little bit performative. The house had to be pristine, the food had to be homegrown, the tone had to be sweet, and God forbid you bought refrigerated biscuits from the store or said something with edge.

And I did it. I played the part. I created content that looked the way it was “supposed to.” But I hated it.

I loved the chickens. The goats. The garden. But I also had a year where weeds were ten feet tall because I had foot surgery and I still fed my family with grocery store produce. That’s real life. That’s balance. And that was the moment I realized: I’m done pretending.

The homesteading space, and really, the online lifestyle space as a whole, is full of all-or-nothing messaging. If it’s not 100% from scratch, it’s not valid. If you’re not doing it all, perfectly, you’re doing it wrong. And it’s exhausting. Dangerous, even.

So I let it go. I stopped curating. I stopped softening my edges. I stopped filtering my voice to fit inside someone else’s box.

And what I’ve learned since? My honesty, my sarcasm, my no-bs truth? That’s what actually connects. That’s what brings people in. That’s what builds loyalty. And that’s what will make me more money, and more impact, than any amount of purity performance ever could.

Because my voice isn’t for everyone. But for the people it is for? It’s exactly what they’ve been waiting for.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.therusticelk.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/therusticelk
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/therusticelk/
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@Therusticelk
• Other: https://www.tiktok.com/@therusticelk

Image Credits

Danielle McCoy