What I Realized About Substack That Will Shock You

It was never about writing—it was about people

Today I sat quietly and thought about my journey on Substack.

Not the numbers. Not the posts. Not the growth.

The people.

And what hit me wasn’t loud. It didn’t come as some big realization. It came slowly, through moments I almost overlooked.

A while back, I wrote something simple:

Life did not happen to me. It happened for me.

I wished people peace. The kind that stays. The kind you don’t have to chase.

It wasn’t a strategy. It wasn’t meant to perform. It was just something I felt.

Then I saw a response from Simone FM Spinner.

“I needed this today. Thank you.”

That was it.

One line.

But it stopped me.

Because in that moment, something became clear—what we write here doesn’t just sit on a page. It reaches someone. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes exactly when they need it most.

And we don’t always see that.

Then I came across Daniela Grothe trying to figure something out. She was confused about going live, unsure what button to press, unsure how it all worked. You could feel it in her words—she wanted to try, but didn’t want to get it wrong.

And then Zach @ Substack stepped in.

He didn’t ignore it. He didn’t rush it. He helped her.

Simple.

But it mattered.

Because that’s not just support—that’s community.

Then there’s Dragonheart Jo.

She shares her art in a way that feels personal. Not just showing it, but explaining it. Letting you step into it. And she always ends the same way.

Namasté 💟

You start to recognize that.

You start to feel it.

It becomes more than a signature—it becomes part of who she is.

And then there’s rhonda doruiter, who writes in a way that makes you slow down. You don’t rush through her words. You sit with them. You think about them after you’ve finished reading.

Mary Ann McGee, who has been there quietly, consistently, encouraging me. Not loud. Not over the top. Just present.

And that presence matters more than people realize.

Amy Thomas —always there. Supporting. Showing up. The kind of person who believes in you even when you’re not fully sure of yourself.

Bridget, who sees the world through the lens of humanity. Always searching for something better, something deeper.

Judi Bailey, M.Ed, who I’ve had conversations with that go beyond writing. Conversations about purpose. About life. The kind that make you stop and reflect on who you are and who you’re becoming.

V S Uma regularly checks in to see how I’m doing. I remember when she started; her initial posts were quiet, but over time, she’s grown and blossomed.

And Lynn J. Broderick.

She writes about her life, her family, her stories. And I don’t think she fully realizes how good she is. How natural it comes through in her words.

There are so many more.

Too many to name in one place.

And that’s when it hit me.

These weren’t just interactions.

They had meaning.

Then today, I was on a Zoom call with Megan Youngmee.

She was talking about the Book Library for Substack Writers. I didn’t have to explain it to her. She understood immediately. She’s worked in publishing. She knows how hard it is for indie authors to get seen, to get traction, to get their work into the hands of readers.

And without hesitation, she started connecting me with others.

Not for her.

For them.

To help.

That’s when it all came together.

Substack is not what I thought it was when I started.

Most of us didn’t come here because everything was perfect.

We came here because we were tired.

Tired of the noise.
Tired of the arguments.
Tired of feeling like everything had to be filtered, polished, or defended.

We were looking for something else.

And whether we realized it or not, we found it.

Tiffany and I talked about this on the podcast. About how the energy shifts depending on what you focus on. When you lean into politics, things get heavy. Divided. Tense.

But when you lean into creativity, into stories, into connection—it changes.

Danni Levy said it best.

The energy shifts.

And you can feel it.

That’s why people stay here.

Not just to write.

Not just to promote their work.

But to understand themselves a little better. To share something real. To read something that reminds them they’re not alone in whatever they’re going through.

Yes, people come here to become better writers.

Yes, they come to share ideas, to promote books, to build something.

But what I realized today is this:

That’s not the reason they stay.

They stay because of the people.

Because of the small moments.
The simple responses.
The quiet support.
The unexpected connections.

Substack is not just a platform.

It’s a community of people who are trying—each in their own way—to be a little more honest, a little more creative, a little more human.

And when you really see that…

It changes the way you write.

Because you’re not just writing into space anymore.

You’re writing to someone.

And sometimes, without even realizing it—

you’re writing the very words someone was waiting to find.

Thank you to everyone who has ever said, “I needed this today.”

So here’s something to carry with you—

What if life isn’t happening to you… but for you?

And what if Substack is simply one of the places helping you see that?

Your Fellow Writer,
— Rinaldo

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Here are 10 things I’m grateful for on Substack—real, simple, and earned:

1. I’m grateful for the quiet reader who never comments but never leaves.

2. I’m grateful for the one message that says, “I needed this today.”

3. I’m grateful for writing without feeling judged or filtered.

4. I’m grateful for the slow growth that taught me patience.

5. I’m grateful for the writers who showed up for me before I found my voice.

6. I’m grateful for the freedom to write truth, not performance.

7. I’m grateful for the conversations that made me think deeper about life.

8. I’m grateful for the moments my words helped someone I’ll never meet.

9. I’m grateful for the courage this platform gave me to be vulnerable.

10. I’m grateful that this became more than writing—it became connection.

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Thank you for reading. This work is reader-supported, and your presence here matters.

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About the Author

John Rinaldo writes Soul & Stories, a weekly publication centered on soul work, reflection, and the quiet process of becoming. He also hosts the live podcast Stories, Soul Work & Substack every Monday at 4 PM EST, where written ideas open into honest conversation.

He is currently working on The Hole: Forgotten in the Shadows, a documentary written and hosted by John Rinaldo and Hassan, telling the story of Italians who resisted and secretly helped smuggle Jews to safety during World War II.

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© 2026 John V. Rinaldo. All rights reserved.

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