A Tale of Two Substacks: What They Don't Tell You About the Platform

The platform everyone thinks they understand is actually two platforms in disguise.

I’m Drowning But Pretending Everything’s Fine

Last month, I watched a creator friend spiral into what I can only describe as Substack hysteria. She was posting notes three times a day, responding to every comment within minutes, and crafting increasingly desperate subject lines designed to boost her open rates. When I asked how she was feeling, she laughed that hollow laugh we all recognize… the one that means "I'm drowning but pretending everything's fine."

"I'm just trying to follow all the advice," she said. "Everyone says you have to be everywhere, all the time, all at once."

I've been there.
We've all been there.

The moment when a platform that promised creative freedom starts feeling like a hamster wheel spinning at maximum speed.

The truth about Substack advice right now? Most of it is borrowed from the playbook of platforms that have nothing to do with why you probably came here in the first place.

I have insights about Substack that I wish someone had told me when I started. There's too much here to absorb at once, so I'm breaking it down into a series, this being part one.

The Hustle Culture Invasion

Substack can be overwhelming, and not just because of the learning curve. Within months of the platform gaining momentum, it got invaded by the same voices that dominate every other corner of the creator economy: the gurus promising five-step systems, the growth hackers selling the dream of instant audiences, the productivity coaches insisting you're failing if you're not posting constantly.

The advice sounds familiar because it is familiar. Post three times a day. Engage with everyone. Optimize everything. Hustle harder. Move faster.

It's the same prescription for burnout that's been repackaged for every platform since the dawn of social media. The only thing that changes is the terminology—now it's "notes" instead of "posts" and "subscribers" instead of "followers." (And Substack actually has all of those 🙃)

But here's what I've learned after building and burning out on multiple platforms: when you import the hustle mentality to Substack, you miss the entire point of why this platform exists.

My Fresh Start Experiment

I came to Substack for a fresh start. Not because my previous work was bad, but because I wanted to try something different. I chose not to upload my existing email lists. I wanted to grow organically, to see if my writing could attract people who actually wanted to be there—not people who'd been lured in by a killer listicle titled "10 Things You MUST Do Before Your First Coaching Session."

I wanted authentic engagement, not engagement theater.

The honeymoon phase was intoxicating. The platform's emphasis on long-form content and thoughtful discussion felt like a refuge from the chaos of other platforms.

But honeymoon phases end. And when they do, you're left with what actually is, not what you hoped it would be.

The Reality After the Magic

I love Substack. I also know what it is and what it isn't.

The platform isn't magic. It's not immune to the same dynamics that play out everywhere else in the creator economy. It's not a guaranteed path to meaningful work or sustainable income. It's not a solution to the fundamental challenges of building an audience or creating work that matters.

What it is, though, is something more interesting than most people realize.

What Nobody Tells You About How Substack Actually Works

This might challenge everything you think you know about building an audience, but here's what I've discovered after watching hundreds of creators succeed and fail on Substack:

Substack rewards depth and patience in ways other platforms don't, but creators keep importing hustle culture tactics that actively work against them.

While every other platform trains you to optimize for speed, frequency, and viral moments, Substack is designed around the opposite principles. It rewards consistency over frequency, depth over breadth, authentic relationships over broad reach.

But here's why this is so hard to see: Substack looks like it has the same features as other platforms. There are posts (newsletters), there's a social feed (Notes), there are followers AND subscribers, there's engagement (comments, likes, and restacks).

So, creators naturally assume the same strategies will work.

They don't. In fact, they often backfire spectacularly.

To understand why, you need to think about Substack not as one platform, but as two distinct systems that operate on completely different logic:

The tech stack - your newsletters, subscriber relationships, and long-form content. This operates on what I call "invitation energy." People choose to be there. They want depth, consistency, and authentic voice.

The discovery platform - Notes, community engagement, and finding new audiences. This operates on "browsing energy." People are sampling, deciding, moving quickly through options.

Most creators try to use both systems the same way. They treat newsletters like social media posts (optimizing for engagement and shareability) or they treat Notes like newsletters (posting longer-form content that works better in email).

Understanding this difference is what separates creators who burn out from creators who build something sustainable.

Why This Changes Everything

Understanding that you're working with two distinct platforms—each with their own logic, their own rules, their own opportunities—transforms how you approach Substack entirely.

It explains why some creators feel overwhelmed and burned out despite having "great content." They're trying to optimize the tech stack like it's social media, or they're treating the discovery platform like it's email marketing. Neither works.

It explains why some creators with smaller subscriber counts seem to have more engaged communities and sustainable practices. They've figured out how to use each platform for what it's actually designed to do.

Most importantly, it reveals why the typical growth advice doesn't work on Substack. The strategies that work on Instagram or LinkedIn or Twitter aren't just ineffective here—they're actively counterproductive.

When you understand what you're actually working with, you can stop fighting against the platform's design and start working with it.

What's Next

I want to explore this further over the next three posts:

Next article: What I've learned about mastering the tech stack without burning out.

The following article: How to use the discovery platform strategically instead of performatively.

The final article: The feedback loop between both systems that creates sustainable creative momentum.

This stuff isn't taught anywhere—I had to learn it through trial and error. Hopefully sharing it saves you some of that trial.

The creators who last on Substack aren't the ones following the same growth playbook from every other platform. They're the ones who've figured out something different. For them.

And once you see it, you can't unsee it.