Substackiversary

Half a year of truth-telling, risk-taking, and unexpected community

Six months ago, I came to Substack quietly, unsure of what I was doing or what I was willing to share. I thought I was here to build a platform, but something very different happened. Today I am looking back at how this space has changed me.

Today is my six month Substack anniversary. What a ride it has been. I am here to celebrate, but also to write my way into understanding how this space has come to mean so much to me in such a short time.

In many ways, Substack has become one of the main relationships in my life. I am not sure what that says about me, but here we are. As many of you know, this space started as a business venture for me. I had just finished a memoir manuscript and I was advised to “build a platform.” I chose Substack only because it allowed me to remain anonymous. As a working psychotherapist, I did not feel ready to expose my inner world to my patients. And if I am being honest, I was not sure I wanted my friends or family to see my work either.

My very first post, titled Before I Tell You Everything, Let Me Tell You This (https://becomingreal.substack.com/p/before-i-tell-you-everything-let), said it all. Even though I told myself I was here for business, the truth was that I came here to experiment with sharing my story. I came to try taking down the mask I had worn for so long that I mistook it for my own face. I came to see what might happen if I let myself be real.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I know what I got came as a surprise. I started with a plan to write one reflection every other week and to post a chapter summary from my memoir once a week. Instead, I found myself writing a reflection every single day, and then some. At the moment, I have sixty seven already written reflections waiting in the queue. I am not entirely sure if that is impressive or mildly concerning. Regardless, since I started writing, I haven’t wanted to stop. I had no idea that speaking honestly about my life and my feelings would feel so freeing.

It was not the writing alone that freed me though. It was the sharing. It was the interaction. What has moved me most are the conversations I have found here. The comments, the messages, the small moments of connection with people I have never met. Most interactions are brief, but even those have shaped me. I am more aware than ever of the thread that ties us together. I see how often we struggle in parallel, each of us trying to make meaning of our lives.

Some of you have not come and gone. Some of you have stayed. And a few of those few have become something more. Real people who now live in my day in a very real way.

I respond to every comment I receive. Every single one. Sometimes that feels like too much. I have a therapy practice, three kids, a husband, and more friends than I can count. I have a full and beautiful life. And still, the back and forth that happens here, with people who let me into their lives, whether that is daily or only every now and then, feels like a gift I do not want to squander. It matters to me to honor the time someone takes to write something in my direction.

Over time, these interactions have given me the courage to be braver. They helped me feel safe enough to invite friends and eventually some family to read what I share here. That was something I never imagined I would do. It has opened conversations I didn’t think I would ever have with people I love. It has helped me see that when I open myself, others often follow. And when they do, our connections deepen in ways that surprise me.

I want to acknowledge something else that has changed me. It is not only writing that has helped me grow. It is reading. It is watching how others think. It is seeing how others write their way toward truth, how they take risks, how they make themselves visible. There is something incredibly moving about witnessing the courage of strangers. I have learned as much from reading you as I have from writing to you.

Of course, Substack is not perfect. It is social media, and it can raise my blood pressure. Every time someone unsubscribes, I feel it. My rational brain knows it is not personal. My nervous system, however, disagrees. The platform has its flaws and blind spots, and I have no illusions about that.

But still.

Despite all of that, this place has given me something I did not know I was looking for: a space to tell the truth. A community of people who feel like neighbors in a small town. A reminder that our stories matter, not because they are extraordinary, but because they are shared.

I started this Substack because I was told it was necessary for my book. I stayed because it has become necessary for me.

Cheers to whatever comes next.