I won't let my substack make me feel bad

on letting go of perfection

Everyone’s Substack is doing so well.

That’s what Substack tells me via my email inbox. About all the academics and cultural critics and artists and musicians and writers and all these people who have AMAZING Substacks (they do!!).

Yesterday I read an email and noticed that I was feeling like…I was on social media.

You know that feeling, where you think everyone’s life is better than your own?

I felt myself shutting down.

And then I remembered last week, when I had an idea to write about not letting comments, likes or (lack of) shares let me feel like I’m not good enough. And then I remembered that over 50% of you who receive these emails open them, and many of you read them.

I started this Substack as a place for me to write and connect with others without social media. I’d deactivated all of my social media accounts, so I came here.

It’s been three years. I’ve been writing here for three years. My other Substack, which was once called FIRES, was featured by Substack, and I applied for a grant from them and didn’t get it. I watched other writers who were given grant money rise to the top. And I kept writing.

I’ve changed the name of this Substack several times and tried to find a niche, only to run into the same problem I always run into, which is my interest in everything. My niche is the personal. My niche is nature. My niche is self-reflection.

I’m a writer. And I guess that’s my niche here. I write things, and I reveal things about myself and the world. I’m honest and I write with all the honesty I can muster, which is often terrifying (for me). Revealing myself to my readers is not something I do casually. It takes energy. But I know it helps people, because I hear from some of the people helped by my writing.

So, I will keep doing it. Because it’s what I do.

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Some of you are paying subscribers, and I am so grateful for your support.

Writing and reading leads us to wonderful places.

Right now, I have a very small percentage of paying subscribers, but with each paid subscription I am able to dedicate more energy to this space. To sharing myself with you.

It’s not only about the money. Actually, it’s not really about the money as much as what the money symbolizes.

The money is a container for something else.

When someone becomes a paying subscriber, they show me that they see me.

They hear me.

They feel and understand my words.

They receive my transmission.

With each paid subscription I hear: your work means so much to me that I am willing to exchange something for it.

Something of value.

When someone pays to read my words, what they’re really saying is that my work is valuable to them.

And frankly, our work should be valuable to each other.

If you find yourself reading and connecting with my writing, and you aren’t yet a paying subscriber, please consider becoming one.

Don’t worry— I will continue to create a lot of access for those without the funds, and will always give comped subscriptions to those who need them (as other writers have done for me). But if you have the means, please consider participating in this exchange.

I am not currently in the position to pay for every Substack I love (actually I am quite broke most of the time), so I won’t take it personally if you engage a lot but remain a free subscriber.

That said, I want to pay for all the Substacks. Because we all deserve the support, and writing is a deeply important act, especially now.

So, I will keep writing here no matter what. And I won’t let my subscriber numbers or engagement numbers dictate how I feel about myself or my writing. Or, I’ll do my best not to.

If my writing has affected you, but you don’t have the financial means to subscribe, please consider leaving a comment or sharing my work.

Love,

Anastasia