The Truth About My First Year On Substack

Don't open this: there are no growth hacks in it

Welcome to monthly musings! This is a once per month email (not my usual programming), where I share random things that have tickled my fancy over the past four weeks. Some will be related to the content of this newsletter, and others…well…won’t be.

Hope you enjoy a little glimpse into my world!

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Image created by author using DALL-E

It's been exactly one year since I eagerly launched my newsletter on Substack.

65 posts, countless hours, and another year of changing nappies between writing later, I've discovered some unexpected truths about the platform, my writing, and why I keep showing up week after week—even when the engagement doesn't reflect my effort.

My newsletter journey began during a challenging period—I had lost my job while on maternity leave. Between chasing my energetic toddler and managing life with my older child, writing became my sanctuary. I committed fully: publishing weekly content plus monthly roundups, each post requiring 3-5 hours of careful crafting.

In the beginning, I invested extraordinary amounts of time not just writing, but reading and commenting on others' work (something I genuinely enjoy). Around months 6-9, I hit a sweet spot—publishing content that resonated with readers, building engagement, and feeling the momentum of a growing newsletter.

Then reality set in. I launched my AI start-up, and suddenly my precious free time—already limited to about an hour daily as a working parent—became nearly non-existent. My capacity to engage with other creators diminished dramatically.

What's more disheartening is the disconnect I've noticed on Substack. The platform seems dominated by full-time writers—often single, childless individuals with abundant time—constantly promoting growth tactics and monetization strategies that feel irrelevant to my circumstances. For me and many others, writing is a side project, a creative outlet squeezed into the margins of already full lives.

Now I find myself making time each week to write for an audience that sometimes barely engages—no reads, likes, or comments. It leaves me questioning whether this weekly ritual is simply a waste of my limited time.

So why do I continue writing when engagement has dropped and my available time has shrunk? Is it because I've become more emotionally stable than when I started, or because new priorities have emerged as my life has evolved? Why does writing still feel like something I "have to do" despite everything?

I recently reconnected with my original motivation. Writing was never primarily about building an audience—it was about maintaining my sanity during a difficult transition. It was therapeutic, necessary for processing my emotions and worldview.

Perhaps I don't feel the same dedication because I've found stability, or because my growing company now provides the fulfilment I once sought exclusively through writing. Yet something keeps drawing me back to the keyboard each week.

I've intentionally kept my deeply personal struggles out of this newsletter, assuming subscribers interested in productivity tips wouldn't want glimpses into my sometimes chaotic reality. But perhaps that authenticity is exactly what's missing.

Writing has become more than a habit—it's part of my identity now. Even as engagement fluctuates and time constraints tighten, the act of sharing my thoughts continues to provide value, if only to me. And sometimes, that's enough reason to continue.

Here are 9 lessons I’ve learned from publishing every week on Substack for a year:

1. Effort does not equal impact

The amount of time you spend writing, reviewing and editing doesn’t equal the level of engagement you’ll get on your posts and notes. I wish it were that simple.

2. The only person you can rely on is yourself

The people that I found in my little Substack circle disappeared after a few months – some of them just stopped writing – maybe life got in the way, maybe they got bored, but I miss them.

3. Don’t let envy distract you

Some people can easily ignite your envious side – and that is a good time to use the mute button, and stop seeing regular posts from them, until you can make peace with this and find your own way again, then you can always unmute them.

4. Comparison makes you unhappy

Only focus on yourself. Don’t compare yourself to others who are light years ahead of you in terms of subscriber numbers, engagement levels, etc. There’s no point. You have no control over any of that. Just focus on showing up each week when you said you would.

5. Don’t focus on what you can’t control

Try not to focus on the analytics dashboard, it can get depressing if you still ‘haven’t gone viral’ and gained 5 million followers in the last 24 hours. But if you must focus on one metric, make it the number of posts you’ve written – that’s the only thing you can control.

6. Engagement matters more than numbers

Subscriber numbers mean nothing if those subscribers don’t like, comment or acknowledge your existence. Keep writing anyway. At some point you will reach the people that you’re destined to reach: it just might take a lot longer than you think.

7. There are many silent observers

Just because you don’t get much engagement, doesn’t mean that no one is reading. I’ve had a handful of messages over the last year from people who never like/comment or engage to tell me how much they love my articles, or how I’ve inspired them with my words. That is priceless and to be honest is the only thing that keeps me going now that I have a very full plate again.

8. Trolls are everywhere (yes, even on Substack)

If you don’t like what someone writes when they do eventually comment, just ignore it. Engaging with it or muting them simply for having a different opinion to yourself just adds fuel to the fire. Let it go.

9. Be kind to yourself if you can’t give as much as you want to right now.

When you have as little time as I do, you won’t necessarily have the time you need to comment, and engage and, and, and. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, it doesn't mean you aren’t doing things right. It just means that growth will be slower in these periods. When you have more time, give more of your time. Give more of yourself and the rewards will come.

So... why keep going?

Because in a world that constantly demands our output be optimized for clicks, conversions, or clout, sometimes the most productive thing we can do is create something that feeds us.

Writing every week hasn’t just made me a better writer—it’s made me a better thinker, a more grounded founder, a more present parent. Not because I’m “managing my time well” in the traditional sense, but because I’ve learned to make space for what matters, even when no one else is watching.

So if you're someone trying to juggle ambition with reality—if your time is fractured, your focus scattered, your engagement sporadic—consider this: productivity isn’t always about maximizing output. Sometimes, it’s about sustaining a meaningful input.

For me, that’s writing. For you, it might be something else. But whatever it is, make time for it. Even in the margins. Especially in the margins.

Here’s to making space for what fuels us—even when the world isn’t clapping.

If you enjoyed this article, please let me know with a 🤍 or a comment.

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Here are some of the blueprints I’ve uploaded to the paid community this month:

An AI agent that can query your knowledge base for you (website, shared drive, even your Substack!)

An AI project manager that knows the status of your projects and you can communicate with hands-free!

An insane automatic proposal / quote generator - go from meeting to draft email with attached pdf proposal in under one minute!

Want me to build these for you? Book a call with me here.

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This months’ articles in case you missed them:

Your feet have the answer to better productivity

This is the simplistic difference between burnout and boredom

2 new tactics for prioritization when you’ve had enough

Is this Viagra for motivation? This weird trick is all you need to know

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