What I learned growing my Substack to 500+ subscribers

On the power of slow, intuitive growth in a noisy world

Thank you for reading Beyond Survival, a publication about life after trauma. Over the next few weeks, I’m planning to write about my October favourites, hope (& the US Presidential election) and a juicy Ask Clare column on asexuality and trauma. Make sure you’re subscribed to get these essays in your inbox:

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More than a decade ago, I started an email list to keep in touch with people who were interested in my work. It had 79 people on it. Through many chapters of my life, corresponding with you has been the foundation of my creative career. Recently, I hit an important milestone. There are now more than 500 of you receiving this email. I know it’s a tiny audience by many people’s standards but it feels big to me. 

Photo by Ales Maze on Unsplash

In many ways, Beyond Survival grew from failure. 

For years, I worked as a freelance journalist pitching stories and managing a lot of rejection. I was trying to write about some of the themes we talk about here: grief, sexual violence, and life after trauma. But editors weren’t interested. “It’s too dark,” one said. “We’ve already covered that,” another said. My worst experience was with an editor who asked me to reveal more about my personal experience of childhood sexual abuse, then ghosted me. 

It was exhausting. I didn’t want to keep pouring all my creative energy into work that was never read, so I decided to invest more time and intention into this community and see what would happen. Last November, I relaunched with a new name and creative direction. Since then, my audience has more than tripled. 

The growth has been slow, steady. When I finally had an essay published in the Huffington Post, 24 new subscribers joined the list—my biggest jump thus far. Like the rest of my writing career, Beyond Survival has grown thanks to consistent work. 

Earlier this year, I thought about hiring someone to help me “supercharge my Substack growth”. But I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad I decided to journal my way through this project, experimenting to see what worked and figuring out how to articulate my vision more clearly. The truth is you can’t hack the slow, deliberate work of figuring out what you want to say. You have to learn by doing, building the ship as you sail it. 

Showing up to write this newsletter every week has been a slow process of discovering my own instincts away from what editors are willing to publish. It’s been a practice of trusting myself, and feeling things out. It’s been about finding the path that feels sustainable and resonant for me, which also intersects with what readers are willing to pay for, both with their money and their time and attention. 

How we grow, as writers and as people

I’ve optimized for intuition and resonance, rather than growth. It’s been slow and deliberate, but I’ve built a firm foundation for myself. There’s no one way to grow. As writers and people, we need to find the path that feels right for us. For me, that has been about tunneling into my own instincts to find what feels right, independent of what’s considered “best practice”.

When I posted about this milestone on Notes,

Wendi Gordon

commented that it was unusual to see someone celebrate their audience without trying to sell some quick fix for Substack growth. I have nothing to sell. But there’s one thing I know for sure: put the writing first. 

Don’t worry about hacking the algorithm or shooting for quick wins. I’ve wasted a lot of time making graphics in Canva, or scrolling through Notes¹. But that’s not what makes this newsletter worthwhile. The writing is. That’s what reaches and (hopefully) moves readers. And, that’s the thing I can control. 

If you’re willing to do it, writing has the potential to change your life. Not in the ‘six figure book deal and Oprah just called’ way. But in the quiet, steady way that I wrote myself into a different future. 

The technology of language has been the same for centuries. Our earliest ancestors used language in much the same way as I’m using it now: to communicate ideas. The power and promise of language long predates the latest tech platform’s buzzy rise. I’ve been writing on the internet for long enough to know that I shouldn’t be distracted by the latest shiny platform. 

Instead, I focus on my writing. My voice. My perspective. My stories. 

Writing and re-writing with Martino for company

Writing is hard work. Living in the weeds of my ideas and trying to shape them into something worthwhile is never easy. Each week, I show up to write to you. I aim for resonance, meaning. I want to make you think, and (hopefully) feel less alone. Some weeks hit. Other weeks don’t. But either way, it’s deeply humbling for a writer to have a weekly deadline and a regular audience of readers. 

In the newsletter format, no idea is ever done. I often circle the same themes. I chat with you in the comments and feel my ideas getting sharper. I come back to an old idea, and write it again, pausing for long walks and epic batch-cooking sessions. When I sit down to try again, I know what I want to say more clearly. 

The word ‘essay’ comes from the French ‘essayer’ meaning to try. Everytime I sit down to write to you, I try. 

For the vast majority of us, writing isn’t a lucrative profession. This newsletter won’t make me rich, but it gets my ideas out into the world. Maybe it makes you think or smile or wonder about why our world is the way it is. Maybe it helps you feel less alone. That’s enough for me. That’s more than enough. 

I say it every week, and I really mean it: thank you for being here. 🙏

If you enjoyed this essay, you might also appreciate:

Writing is always beginning again

I don’t have many regrets, but this is one.

💕 If this piece resonated with you, please tap the heart below to help spread the word.

💬 In the comments, I’d like to know what writing (or another creative practice) brings to your life. Do you make a living from your work? Or, does it fuel you in another way? 

💰If these emails make you smile, think or feel less alone, I hope you’ll consider paying me for the work I do here. It means a lot! 

1. Earlier this summer, Substack emailed me to say that I’d scrolled through 134 meters of Notes. 🤮