I vividly remember the first time I’d considered writing on Substack.
I was walking through a rustic-chic clothing store with a friend, feeling the fabrics as we wandered by (while feigning a pay grade that could accommodate them). It was a little over a year ago, and I had been busy dealing with the reality of setting drastic boundaries between myself and my day job, which admittedly helped me find more time to blog.
I was explaining how blogging kept me going — writing had become my passion.
You should start a Substack!
At that time, it sounded like another ambiguous social media platform to learn, and I was barely doing as much writing as I would have liked already. But I smiled, I thought maybe, and I put it in my back pocket.
Six months later, another friend told me that she had started a Substack, and suggested that I should give it a try. She gave me a quick tour of the platform on her phone — it was helpful to see a tangible vision of what it’s all about — and I finally opened an account shortly after to observe the platform and follow her writing.
Her writing is beautifully thoughtful and artfully intimate, by the way. This essay is what finally inspired me to start engaging with the platform:
But the platform came with this idea of visibility. On my own blog, I could post reflective pieces, and there was a certain comfort in knowing that Google probably wouldn’t surface them. It was a half-measure — I could feel like I was putting my voice out into the world, without actually feeling exposed by it.
Eventually, the creative pull grew louder than my reservations. After many months spent learning about SEO and focusing on freelance writing, reading my friend’s work was like taking a big breath of fresh air, which woke up my creative drive.
I was ready to try something new. I wanted to share my work.
I’m not a huge fan of social media. I don’t really use Facebook, and I occasionally post on Instagram if I have a painting or a thematically relevant blog post I’d like to share. So coming in, I was a bit wary of Substack’s note feed and comment sections. But I was intentionally following my inspiration, and so I decided to see what would happen if I just embraced it and participated.
That led to my first Substack surprise: I found that the community is very welcoming and supportive of new writers. There’s the odd offbeat comment here and there — mind you, I don’t think my writing is very controversial, nor is my feed — but overall, the vibes have been very positive, and that’s been a truly refreshing experience.
In fact, the platform is so welcoming to new writers that notes about being new here seem to travel surprisingly far. The feed provided many popular notes about being new to Substack when I first joined, but I also experienced this firsthand when I inadvertently posted such a note myself.
I started publishing here on May 1st, and I had two subscribers (yay!) — my friend (who is also a mother) and my mom (of course!). So naturally, on May 10th, I wrote a cute little Mother’s Day note celebrating the moms who are always the first to cheer you on.
This note took off and is apparently still being circulated today — while most of my notes average around 30 impressions per day, this one is still receiving over 200. In fact, half of my subscribers came from this note — I see you, and thank you so much for supporting me as a newbie to the platform!
As I continued to keep an eye on my feed, I discovered my second Substack surprise: there’s actually a considerable niche of writers like me out there. It woke me up to the large community of people who are here, starting over, pivoting careers, and reconnecting with themselves. They’re writing honestly about the messy middle and figuring things out as they go — together.
I’m thrilled to read about their journeys. My Substack “saved” list is constantly growing. (I typically have three books going at a time — I may have to reduce that down to two so that I can keep up here!)
But there’s a resonance — a sense of togetherness and belonging — that I imagine would be hard to replicate elsewhere.
Writing is lonely work, as they say. Writing in the presence of other writers who are navigating similar stages of life makes the journey feel a lot less lonely, at the very least.
The third, and perhaps the most pivotal Substack surprise: the platform brought me back to my writing roots. Here is where all the reflective writing lives — the kind I’ve always gravitated toward naturally. And here are the people who actually enjoy reading it.
I had been grappling with my own writing style for some time. Somewhere between pursuing my own blog’s mission and developing my freelance writing work, I felt like I was losing the direct line to my most authentic voice.
The SEO-informed, search-friendly styles of writing started feeling like the “correct” ways to write in my mind.
Kill your darlings. Be useful to the reader. Clarity over cleverness.
I’m still sold on the idea that these are all important for good writing. But what I needed to balance it all out was playful writing. True writing. The words that exist for their own sake (and for mine).
A place for the border collie mind to run.
On paper, I came to Substack to share the work I put so much heart into more widely.
But really, I came for a sense of belonging — here are the writers.
A sense of permission — just write how you write.
And an opportunity for play — what shall we make today?
So far, Substack has been the perfect playground. It’s loosened the illusion of certain writing styles being more legitimate than others, and helped me get back in touch with my own voice again.
And in doing so, it shifted my notion of what writing — and online writing communities — can be.
Originally published on Substack: I Resisted Substack, But I’m So Glad I’m Here
Thank you for reading! I also share reflective writing like this weekly over on Substack.
