How I consistently make Fuck-All on Substack

I Bet This One Won’t Go Viral

This is a joke of a world and we all know it.

But at some point, it is time to stop politely ignoring the joke and call out the shit. And if no one else does, I will.

At first glance, I am going to sound bitter, jealous and probably like a bitch. But I am not any of those things. That is just what this social contract (the one that keeps the circus-planet spinning) loves to call someone when they say the truth.

Sadly.

I have always thought that YouTube channels teaching people how to grow a YouTube channel were shady, to say the least. And when I see Instagram accounts with 200 followers selling a course called How I Make Money Online From Home Working 5 minutes a Day as a Full-Time Mum, it feels exactly like watching those men on London Bridge running one of those plastic-cup shell games and taking bets.

What is that called again?

Oh, yes. A scam.

I can see it. I mean, can you?

I can see through the BS. I can spot a liar. And when I meet somebody new, I can feel them, so to speak.

You’re warned 😉

I don’t see auras or chakras. I don’t hear archangels whispering in my ear. There is no choir of angels humming in the background and God, apparently, doesn’t have my number because he never rings.

Don’t be offended. I like to joke like that.

But I do feel energy. I really do. And the more I do this work of going within, excavating the shadows and looking at my own nonsense the more intense it gets.

Anyway, this is not about me.

Well, obviously it is a little bit about me because everything we write is about us, even when we pretend it isn’t.

But I am not going to name anyone on this platform. There is no need. I am not interested in public witch hunts. I am interested in pointing at the thing we can all see but keep pretending not to see.

So I am going to say this:

Every account here - or on any platform, for that matter - whose main thing is writing about how much money they make or teaching others how to grow on the platform can piss off.

There. I said it.

I am not saying they are lying.

I am absolutely sure they do make the money they claim they make. That is not the issue.

The issue is that they make that money from people who, naturally, want to make the same money and are desperate to be told how to do it.

And yet, somehow, the whole thing is presented as if they are being paid for their writing.

Excuse me?

Am I the only one seeing the catch here?

Because let’s be honest. Some of these viral articles about “how much I make on Substack” may come from people who also write about other things. Fine. Wonderful. Good for them.

But can we stop pretending they grew mainly because they wrote a poetic essay called “What I eat for breakfast in the mountains on a Sunday”?

They grew because they published the magic words:

I make money writing on Substack.

Come on.

We are human beings. We want things. And one of the things we want is money. Obviously. So, when someone says, “I am making thousands from my writing,” people click. Of course they click. They are hoping for the secret potion.

(I bet $fuck-all won’t get any clicks 🤣)

They are hoping someone will finally tell them the thing that will make it happen for them too.

And then some of those people will eventually do the same thing. They will publish how much they make, show the beautiful lifestyle, talk about growth and freedom and income, and attract another wave of people wanting the same dream.

And round and round we go.

Smoke selling smoke.

Meanwhile, most people will never get past a handful of subscribers. They will struggle to make $100 a month. They will wonder what is wrong with them, their writing, their voice, their niche, their personality, their offer, their consistency, their “authority,” their bloody nervous system.

And maybe nothing is wrong with them, except that… maybe they are just not selling the dream.

Of course, some people do succeed. I am not saying nobody can. But have you noticed that many of the most successful accounts on here were already known somewhere else for years?

They arrived with an audience, with credibility, with a name. Context matters.

So what is my need to call this out?

What does that show about me? 🧐

I can’t help asking this question every single time, which is exhausting, by the way. “Know thyself” sounds very poetic until you realize it means you cannot even have a proper bitchy rant without immediately dragging yourself into an inner inquiry.

But here we are.

I don’t think this bothers me only because I think some of it is misleading.

It bothers me because of the digital noise.

The endless more culture.

The ridiculousness of it all.

Grow more. Earn more. Post more. Build more. Monetize more. Scale more. Optimize more. Sell more. Be more. Become more. Make more. Prove more.

More, more, more. 🤢

Frying our brains. Shattering our attention. Killing our ability to sit in a room and simply be a human being without wondering if the moment could be turned into content.

And then the question that comes to my mind:

What do you want to make $100K a month for, exactly?

I am serious.

What for?

To keep growing and growing and growing… until when?

This is a rhetorical question, of course. One you can ask yourself if you want. I have asked myself something along those lines many times over the last few years and it has taken me to very interesting inner places.

Uncomfortable places too, obviously, because apparently that is my hobby now.

I’ll share some of it.

It may or may not resonate with you, but as human beings - you and me - we want to feel safe. That is what we want. But “safe” means something slightly different for everyone.

Obviously, none of us want to be killed by a python. I think we can all agree on that but beyond survival, safety becomes personal.

Some of us grew up in environments where money was scarce. Money was something you earned by working hard. Money was not playful. Money was not abundant. Money was serious. Money was survival. Money was “don’t waste that.” Money was “we can’t afford it.” Money was “be sensible.”

I went with my mum to the market on Saturday mornings and we bought the cheapest fruit (they call it wonky now at Tesco). I never had new clothes, only clothes inherited from cousins and we never went on holidays.

We looked at rich people as if they belonged to another species. Something unattainable. Something not for us.

And yet, ironically, I felt safe as a child because I trusted my parents. They were sensible adults. I knew they would do whatever they had to do to make sure our needs were covered. And they did.

But now I am the adult. Now I am the parent.

Now I am the one holding the invisible basket, trying to make sure there is enough fruit, enough rent, enough future, enough options, enough protection from the storm.

And partly because of this insane culture of more, I often feel behind.

Even after having earned more money than my parents ever did, I still don’t always feel safe. Because everything is expensive. Because the world is a mess. Because being responsible for your own life, your children, your future and your nervous system is no small thing.

So yes, money matters.

Let’s not pretend poverty is spiritual.

No money, no life. That may sound brutal, but it is true enough in this world.

So the question is not whether wanting money is wrong cause it isn’t.

The question is: How much do I actually need to feel safe?

And the answer “as much as possible” is not an answer. That’s greed.

That is the culture of more on steroids.

I am not judging it from above. I know this pattern. I have lived inside it. I have chased. I have posted. I have performed. I have fed machines I now want to unplug from.

So no, this is not me standing on a pedestal, pointing at everybody else.

I am in the mud too.

But I am tired. I am tired of the noise, of the digital circus pretending to be wisdom. I am tired of people selling maps to places they only reached because they sold maps. And I am tired of the constant suggestion that if we are not growing, scaling, optimizing or monetizing, we are somehow failing at life.

What if we change the How do I make more? for:

How much do I need before I stop selling my soul to the culture of more?

And I don’t know about you, but I am also tired of feeding the machine with my fear.

So yes, let’s make money but let’s also ask the forbidden question:

More for what?

Because maybe less is where sanity begins.

And maybe the best thing we can do in a world screaming “more” is to pause, look at our own life, our own fear, our own hunger, our own bank account, our own body, and ask:

What am I really trying to feel safe from?

I’ll leave it there.

Not because I have the answer.

But because I think the question is better than another bloody growth strategy.

Love,

Eva (a bit grumpy today)