What am I doing here?! (On Substack, not existentially 😉)

On redefining “growth”

After 10 weeks of being active on Substack, I’ve published a handful of longform pieces and posted a couple dozen notes. I’m starting to connect with interesting individuals, thoughtful writers and authentic creators. But there’s an uneasy, all too familiar, feeling that’s been building—which is making this platform less enjoyable than I’d hoped it would be. So, I’m reflecting on what’s going on . . . with me, with Substack, and my reasons for being here.

I initially joined Substack over a year ago so I could participate in Simon Hansell’s slow read of War & Peace. His “Footnotes and Tangents” was the only reason I was on this platform—I didn’t share any of my own writing.

But I thought about it. Boy howdy, did I think about it! 😂 My 2025 journal has several entries dedicated to how much I wanted to write and share my writing—and a litany of reasons excuses for not doing it. Here are a few common ones (with actual journal blurbs):

“I also think perfectionism is why I haven’t explored writing more. My inner perfectionist tells me I can’t start until I have a solid plan.”

“My writing will be criticized if I put it out there.”

“My tendency is to turn things into projects, it feels weird to write and not have it become something.”

After re-reading my journal, a few feelings came up for me:

• Sadness that I wasted several months hesitating to write,

• Disappointment for allowing my fear of “what if” to hold me back,

• But also: A sense of pride for eventually getting past these feelings and sharing my writing.

Writing and putting myself out there was what I wanted to do, and now I’m doing it! So . . . why am I not feeling great about this?? 🤔

Does “Success” on Substack = Specialization + Sh*tload of Notes?

If we can talk about the other platform that “must-not-be-named” for a moment . . . I spent several years on Instagram building up a supportive, niche community centered around wine education.

After painstakingly establishing myself as knowledgeable and approachable in this area, my content became almost entirely wine related. Very few personal bits made it onto my IG page because I felt my voice there needed to stay focused on wine. But I was tired of wearing only the “wine academic” label and wanted to branch out—which is a major reason why Substack appealed so much to me.

I was also tired of the inauthenticity on Instagram. Not just the filters and life highlight reels—but the artificially inflated metrics: the purchased followers, follow-for-follow games and comment pods. And while I’m not seeing exactly this on Substack, I AM seeing “growth gurus” promoting tactics like:

• How I went from 2 to 2,000 subscribers in 2 months!

• How to use ChatGPT to write your notes (and generate more essays!)

• How to “feed the feed” and make $3K/month

Their emphasis on volume output makes Substack feel like a widget factory as opposed to a space for thoughtful, creative work.

To be fair, perhaps I’m seeing a lot of this “growth strategy” content because the Substack algorithm doesn’t know what to do with me. I joined this platform because I’m interested in ALL the things: yoga and meditation, dogs, camper van adventures, reading, midlife challenges and conquests, well-being, photography, astrology, philosophy, writing, breast cancer support and survivorship, happiness and yes, even wine.

I don’t want to have to pick just one of these areas to focus on. Like I wrote in my first post here, I want to mix all these labels together and embrace my “beautiful, luminous soul” in its entirety.

But the notes that continually crowd my feed advise otherwise: “Find Your Niche!” “Post 5-10 Notes Daily!”

Their message being: If you don’t specialize, or post multiple notes daily, You Won’t Grow Here.

Which brings me back to the question that made me reflect in the first place:

What does “growth” here look like to me?

What’s in Your Vineyard: High Yielding Vines or Old Vines?

There’s a wine analogy that I can’t resist using because it speaks so accurately to how I feel about growth here, so please bear with me. And to any wine friends reading this, I am absolutely oversimplifying this concept, so I kindly ask that you please refrain from any “well actuallys”! 😉

In the wine world, there are many different options for growing grapes. One common training method grows very vigorous vines with big, leafy canopies—producing dozens of grape bunches (aka “high yields”). On the opposite end of the spectrum, there are “old vines.” These vines look a little gnarly and chaotic, and their production (yield) is very low—with some old vines growing only a handful of grape clusters each year.

High-Yielding Vines vs. Old Vines

At first glance, the high-yielding vines might appear to have “better growth” because we can easily see what they produce. But the old vines have developed an internal growth that we don’t see: deep roots that allow them to tap into water and nutrient sources far below ground. So, even though their external growth is less than high-yielding vines, that’s not the type of “growth” that sustains old vines.

Neither type of vine is better than the other, they’re just different.

So, how do vine yields apply to growth on Substack?

There are a number of Substackers who hope to earn a living here (or at least some supplementary income) through paid subscribers—maybe they’re also selling a course or writing a book. In that case, things like subscriber numbers, open rates, and overall engagement—the “high yields”—naturally matter more.

And then there are others, like me, who aren’t on Substack to earn money. So . . . why are we here then? Our reasons will vary, but when I look back at what I wrote in my journal last year, I wanted to join Substack to:

• Help me overcome my perfectionist tendencies

• Stop letting fear of criticism or judgment hold me back from sharing my thoughts

• Simply enjoy the process of writing, without forcing it to “become” something

I’m placing high importance on internal growth, like those old vines with deep roots that help anchor and sustain them.

I realize that if I don’t specialize or post daily notes that my words will continue to get only a handful of eyeballs on them—and maybe a “like” from my sweet husband, a friend, or sympathetic Substacker.

Would I like to have more subscribers and engagement? Sure! But what I’d really love is to have deeper conversations online and build real connections here. This kind of growth takes time. I learned that from my years on Instagram, where I found some incredibly supportive people online—many of whom have since become friends offline.

So for now, I’m choosing to worry a little less about the yield, and a little more about my roots.