I’m on Substack. I’m Not Sure Why

On validation and the quiet pull to be seen

I spent much of the last couple days setting up a Substack.

That may not sound like much, but for a visually impaired guy like me, it was far from trivial.

I have a pretty technical background, but these days even simple technology tasks can test my skills, not to mention my patience. Most interfaces are designed for how things look, not how they’re navigated. That makes sense. The vast majority of people don’t have vision issues. And for most of my life, neither did I. Until I did.

But this story isn’t really about accessibility, or even vision loss.

I worked through it. Page by page. Step by step. I even set up a custom domain, writing.chrismonnette.com, tied back to my website.

When I finished, and everything was working the way it should, I sat back and looked at it. I felt good. Better than I expected.

It’s a good start, I thought.

Later, I told my wife about it. I walked her through everything I’d done, all the small hurdles along the way, how I had navigated them. The pride of the accomplishment was almost certainly not lost on the person who knows me best, and whose opinion matters most.

“That’s great, baby,” she said. “Good job.”

Then she asked, “Why did you do that?”

I laughed. “Well, because—”

And that was as far as I got.

This isn’t really a story about Substack, though I suspect, and hope, it’s a good platform.

I woke up the next morning with her question still sitting there. As I usually do, I fed the dog, then sat down on the cushion to meditate.

I picked up my phone to set a thirty-minute timer. One notification sat on the home screen.

Substack.

Not all of my meditation sessions are as focused as I’d like.

This was one of them.

Afterward, I sat with my coffee, my wife’s question still echoing in my mind.

I already have a website. It’s been there for years. It holds a lot of what I’ve written, some of it I’m proud of, some of it feels like it matters. But I didn’t have a plan for Substack. Just, why not.

That’s not like me. At least not anymore. I try not to jump into things without thinking them through. This time I did, and now I find myself trying to reverse engineer the decision.

The truth is, my website has a lot of content. Far more content than readers. And if I’m being honest, that’s the part that’s pushing me.

But why?

The site was never meant to be a commercial endeavor itself. It started as a way to promote my memoir, Seeing Clearly, but over time it evolved into something I kept returning to, even as I lost any clear sense of what it was for. So I started trying to answer the question.

Why did I do this?

At first, the answers came easily. Substack is a better distribution platform. That’s what it’s built for. It reaches people in a way my website never has. It makes engagement easier, more direct.

All of that is true, but it didn’t feel like the real answer.

Because the truth is, I already have a place for my writing.

So I asked a different question. Am I afraid of losing the content, or am I afraid no one will ever see it?

Or is it something else entirely?

Maybe I want it to be there, out in the world, as proof. Proof that I’ve thought about things. That I’ve written things that matter. That I’ve done something with my time.

That idea is harder to sit with.

But it’s also closer to the truth.

I told myself it was part of the job. That this is what writers do.

Maybe that’s true.

But there’s something underneath that.

Something quieter, and a little less comfortable to admit.

I like the idea that something I write might land with someone. That it might matter.

And if I’m honest, I like being read.

And that’s where it starts to turn into something else.

A need.

That’s when the email came.

Long. Personal. Full of details about my background. My writing. My life. It reflected my own words back to me in a way that felt almost too precise. And for a moment, I was hooked.

I felt seen.

Then I looked a little closer.

The details were all surface level. Pulled from things I’ve already put out into the world. Rearranged. Reflected back.

I checked the email address. A made-up name at gmail.com.

And I laughed.

What stayed with me wasn’t the email itself. It was how easily it worked. How quickly it pulled me in.

I don’t think that I am a particularly unique person. Like everyone else, I have wants and needs. Some I am aware of. Others operate at a level just below the surface. Cravings that pull me into things, long before I realize what is happening.

I didn’t take the bait with the email. But I am thankful to the sender, whoever he, she, or it was, because it shined a light on the craving.

So I’m launching on Substack.

Not because I’ve figured it all out. Not because I’ve found some pure reason to write or share. If anything, the opposite. I can see the pull for what it is, the part of me that wants to be read, to be seen, to know it matters.

That’s there. It probably always will be.

But underneath all of that, something simpler remains.

I write because I enjoy it. Because it teaches me something I don’t see until I put the words down. Because every now and then it helps me understand my own mind a little more clearly.

So I’ll keep writing. I’ll share it here, and wherever else makes sense.

Not to chase validation. But not pretending that pull doesn’t exist either.

Just writing, and paying attention to what comes with it.

So if any of this resonated, or if you’re as curious as I am, I’d love to have you follow along.