I Treated Substack Like Every Relationship I’ve Ever Had

Phase: 3 Reclamation

I didn’t expect to lose myself here.

But if I’m being honest…

I didn’t lose myself here. I repeated myself here.

I treated Substack the same way I’ve treated most things in my life, especially relationships. I showed up ready to give. Ready to prove. Ready to be seen, chosen, valued.

And without even realizing it, I started asking the same quiet questions I’ve always asked:

”What do I need to be for this to work?”
”What do people want from me?”
”How do I keep this?”
”How do I grow this?”

And just like that… it stopped being mine.

It became performance.
Adjustment.
Guessing.
Throwing things at the wall, hoping something would stick.

All of it coming from one place:

Somewhere in me, I don’t fully trust that what’s real is enough.

That’s the part that stung.

Because this was supposed to be different. This was supposed to be mine.

And a bit over a year later, I feel it in my body the same way I’ve felt it in the relationships that drained me:

tired
disconnected
a little resentful

That kind of tired doesn’t come from nowhere.

It comes from overextending. From overthinking. From trying to make something land instead of letting it be real.

I threw a lot at the wall.

Posts. Notes. Ideas. Strategies.

A lot of it wasn’t me. It was me trying to figure out what would work. That realization hit harder than anything else. Because it forced me to look at something deeper.

I don’t fully trust myself.

I move fast when fear is driving. Fear of being overlooked. Fear of staying stuck. Fear that if I don’t do more, I disappear.

So I do more.

And eventually, I burn out on something that was supposed to feel like mine.

That’s the cycle. And I see it clearly now.

At the same time, I’ve been telling the story of my life in a way that keeps me stuck. I zoom in on what’s missing.

The money I used to have.

The stability I used to have.
The life that blew up twice in five years.

That version of the story leaves things out.

I’m still here.

I don’t spend 8–10 hours a day pouring myself into something that drained me. I’m surviving, even when it feels tight. I built something from nothing.

Over 900 people chose to be here. Real people. Real conversations.

Every week I sit down and talk to someone for an hour. That’s something I didn’t have before. That matters. I’ve spent a lot of time looking at what I don’t have. That’s the same thing people have done to me:

overlook what’s there, focus on what’s missing. I see that now.

I write what’s real.
I post when it feels right.
I let it grow how it grows.

Because I already know what it feels like to build something that works while losing myself in the process.

I’m not doing that again.

Author’s note:

I’m really proud of the human I continue to become, especially considering how I’ve been treated.

I carry weight in this world because I’m different.

I don’t do surface level.

I don’t follow “rules” that were never made for me.

I don’t look like what I was told I was supposed to look like.

I don’t talk much about what it’s like to move through the world this way, as a masculine-presenting lesbian.

I act like it doesn’t affect me.

Truth is, every room I walk into, I feel it.

I wonder who actually sees me and who’s already made up their mind about me.

I did that here too. And maybe that’s part of what this whole piece is really about.