#65 I'm removing my Substack paywall

Alternately titled: ease

TLDR: I’ve taken the paywall off of my writing on Substack and eliminated a “free” vs. “paid” audience. Paid subscribers and free subscribers now have access to the same content (paid still are the only ones who have the ability to comment).

Details on why, and what it means for you if you’re a paid subscriber, are below.

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I bought an Apple watch for myself for Christmas in the year 2020. That, and a pair of waterproof running shoes. The shoes I wore into the ground and the watch I put into a drawer.

I recently took that watch out of the drawer, and because it had been so long since I’d used it, I had to pair it with my current phone, and that process for some reason changed some of my phone’s settings.

One change was that it took the privacy blocker off of my incoming text messages. Now when I get a text message, instead of it simply alerting me I have a text message and from whom, I get to read the whole thing. Even when my phone is locked. Even without touching the device.

That I no longer have to open my phone every single time a person texts me, but can just look and immediately see what they want to tell me, has made my life better in a clockable way.

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I started traveling to Italy in 2013, a few months after I stopped drinking, and then I went back a bunch of times.

Italians use a 24-hour clock, also known as military time, and in 2016, after having spent close to half a year of my life there (in Italy), and having been confronted, constantly, with a timekeeping system I could not translate on the spot, I decided to change my phone to a 24-hour clock so I’d be forced to learn it.

One would think having your phone set to a 24-hour clock for 7 years would teach one to tell time according to a 24-hour clock, but that’s not what happened for me. Instead, for the last two thousand days, every time I’ve checked my phone for the time I’ve had to do math in my head.

I never learned that 22:00 is 10:00 PM — when I saw 22:00, I always had to subtract 12. I always had to think.

The other night, marveling at how joyous it was to see a text message without opening my phone, I noticed the military time and I thought, I don’t have to do this anymore either! I could just…use…the actual time format…I understand.

🤯

So I opened up my phone settings, and changed from a 24-hour clock to a 12-hour clock, and then I looked at my phone and it said 4:18 instead of 16:18 or something, and I felt my entire body relax and I sighed an audible sigh and I felt cozy on my insides.

To look at the time on my phone and not have to do math in my head.

To make my life easier in these silly little ways.

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I started writing this newsletter two years ago.

I sent the first one off on December 31st 2021 at midnight to some five thousand people whose emails I’d started collecting that previous April, when my life had blown up and I’d thought “Better start a mailing list.”

That first email was so terrifying to send because I believed at the time I’d lost my right to communicate at all. I imagined some sort of revolt in response, a group of folks waiting with pitchforks to tell me I wasn’t allowed to write anymore. Instead, people poured their love out on me. They sent me notes and letters and comments and art and gifts and kindness and thank yous.

And money.

On January 1st, 2022, because of that initial newsletter, I made my first sustainable, wrought-from-my-own-hands income in eight months, after thinking for eight months I’d never make money again. To be paid; to have inflow instead of outflow; to have people value me and my work enough to basically front my next gig. It was a miracle.

I didn’t set out then to make Substack my primary income source, but that is what happened, and that’s in part because so many of you were so generous and encouraging and financially supportive. And: It’s because every time I sent a newsletter I made money, which in a way created a kind of inescapable feedback loop. Just enough to keep pouring my effort in and hope it comes back out in dollars.

For a long while now writing Recovering for money (in a pay per content way) has created a kind of conflict within me, not because I don’t think I deserve to be paid for my work or because I don’t value what I create, but because tying my creativity this closely to my income generation (as in—each newsletter is also a product that may or may not generate enough money to cover my bills OR may cause enough people to unsubscribe that I lose money and therefore have to redo my budget) has murdered my creativity, and turned writing here from something I am burning to do just because into something I measure in likes, comments, open rates and conversions.

It’s also created that same age-old pressure to produce and deliver more content, to think you’re only as good as your last post, to create more value, to try and sell that value, to use sales tactics (paywalls at the right cliff-hanger so you have no choice but to click through and pay me to read the rest), and engage in other practices that I don’t want to engage in anymore and don’t even want to think about. At least not when it comes to my writing.

I don’t want to look at charts and think about why engagement dipped in September or readers didn’t want to renew in January. I don’t want to look at a piece of art I loved making and love seeing out in the world and feel terrible because no one read it or liked it or paid for it.

I want people to read my work if they want to, and pay me if they want to. I want to send newsletters and write because I’m inspired to or because I have something to say.

I want to look at my phone and know what my mom just texted without touching it. I want to check the time and not have to do math.

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Yesterday I spent the day editing every post here to make them accessible to anyone; removing every paywall.

I’ve been considering doing this for a bit of time, especially since my friend

Chris La Tray

made the same move last April (he wrote about it beautifully here) and linked to my words in his announcement:

“If I want to believe in a world where everyone is taken care of and everyone has a sense of abundance and everyone gets to make a living doing things that inspire them rather than destroy them, I have to live that principle myself.” —Transitions, part 2

There were a number of smaller reasons I didn’t follow in his footsteps back then, but the biggest one was that I was terrified if I were to offer my work here for free, or to create no real benefit for paying subscribers other than the opportunity to support my work, or to stop asking every single time I sent an email for money—I’d lose a chunk of my income.

So I didn’t follow him, and in many ways I leaned more in the direction of relying on this as income and tying the value of my work here to how much I make. And it doesn’t feel good.

Turning off the paywall means I’m freeing myself from a huge energy suck I am personally experiencing trying to make money here, or thinking about this project as a monetized one where I’m constantly measuring whether I’m doing okay through analytics that have absolutely zero correlation to whether or not my writing is good, or whether I’m writing about topics that are important to me, or whether I’m creating benefit somewhere in this world, or whether I’m fulfilled by my work.

Turning off the paywall means I’m intentionally not engaging in something that a lot of other people can do without cost (and even with joy), but that I cannot.

Turning off the paywall means this feels expansive again and filled with more potential and possibility.

Turning off the paywall means ease.

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I’m not sure what it means in terms of cadence or volume.

I plan to continue to do basically the same thing I was doing, which is a few emails a month of the same nature (longform). I have few longer pieces I’m working on (psychedelics, book list for 2023) and this doesn’t change that.

I’ll also continue to use this list as my primary means of sharing announcements.

I realize for some of you who are paid subscribers, this may feel like you have paid money and are not getting what I promised, and I understand why you feel that.

If you no longer wish to financially contribute to Recovering:

You can either go here to manage your account (to switch to a free subscription, or unsubscribe entirely). Note that simply changing your subscription won’t trigger a refund—if you’d like a refund you can email contact@hollywhitaker.com for one (make the subject line “refund” and make sure you are including the email address related to your Substack account). I’ll process pro-rated refunds (time-based) within 24 hours of receipt of request.

I also realize this may encourage some of you to support me and this newsletter financially, and that is also a welcome response. You can upgrade to a paid membership, or you can send me a one-time donation through PayPal if you' feel compelled to contribute but don’t want to do it through a subcription.

In any event, please know I encourage you to only do what feels in alignment or is possible for you.

(There’s an FAQ below about this change.)

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Announcements

1:1 Coaching

I’ve started coaching in a 1:1 capacity again, as a transition and life coach, and I’m currently taking a few clients (I have space for two more). If you’re interested in coaching (serious inquiries only), you can add your name to this form to find out more.

Please note I am not working with individuals who are trying to quit drinking or whose purpose for obtaining coaching is to quit a substance or behavior. I am working with folks (in and outside of recovery) who are in transition (or about to be) and looking for support in their process. I’m also interested in talking to folks well established in recovery but are feeling like “Is this all there is?” /questioning. If you are looking for help with quitting drinking, I have references listed in this form here.

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Questions and answers about removing the paywall

Are there any paid-subscriber only benefits?

Yes, the ability to comment is for paid subscribers only (monthly or yearly). Paywalling comments has been one of the healthiest decisions I have ever made for myself and this community and I’m going to keep it that way.

What if I can’t afford to become a paid-subscriber but I want to comment?

I’m no longer comping subscriptions in this new model (comping takes a fair amount of administration) which means if you can’t afford a monthly or annual subscription, you will not be able to comment on a post unless you are already using a comped subscription.

Why did you raise your annual rate from $36 to $50 if you want to detach this work from income generation?

I’ve kept my annual subscription cost less than almost any other newsletter for two years (I tried to raise it a few times but walked it back). Because no one has to pay to access, I’ve raised it to what the general rate of other Substacks are. I also want to be very clear that I do want to make money from writing here, and that I welcome payment and value exchange. I simply want to move away from the more transactional model of “pay-per-content” and toward one that is based simply on “pay because you want to pay and you value it and my work.”

Did you borrow this no-paywall model from

Charles Eisenstein

?

100%. I borrowed some of his terminology, too.

What if I’m your friend and I am afraid you’re going to see me unsubscribe or stop paying you?

Okay this isn’t really something that has to do with the subject at hand but I think it’s important to address.

First, I probably won’t see it because I don’t look at unsubscribes, and if you need to ask me for a refund and we know each other, please know I don’t pay people for their work because they are my friends, I pay people for their work if I am actively using it and engaging and benefitting or want them to continue or something like that, just like I pay everyone else. I don’t pay guilt money and I don’t want guilt money!! ILY! 🥰

How often will you publish/what schedule will you stick to?

For now, just a few newsletters a month, and as I’m able to and inspired to, which was the cadence I used before I moved my writing to Substack. I tend to write long-form articles that are between 2,000 and 10,000 words, which take a long time. When I wrote for my old blog (Hip Sobriety) I averaged 30 articles a year, so my guess is something close to that.

I’ll probably also start sending link roundups once per month as a stand alone offering. But we’ll see. I’d like to see what it feels like without the pressure I’m currently experiencing. I believe inspiration will increase when I stop asking my writing here pay for my life.

HOWEVER: Because I’ve spent the last two years with this thrumming sense in the background that I’m never doing enough for this newsletter or paying subscribers, I’m probably going to take a few weeks off to normalize my nervous system.

What are you working on currently?

For this newsletter, I’m currently writing the fourth installment of the five-part series on psychedelics and my year-end book round up.

Otherwise, I’m working on book #2, which I recently changed the topic of. I’m also seeing clients 1:1 as a coach for the first time in years, and working with Emily McDowell on some courses.

Do you think paywalls are evil?

Lols no. I think they are a beautiful tool that allows a typically underpaid workforce to be directly and (almost, sometimes) fairly compensated for their work and labor. I made $50 from one XOJane article I wrote in 2015 and $500 twice from Self Magazine in 2018—so that’s $1,050 over a four-year period in which I wrote hundreds of thousands of words for my own blog that I never made a cent from because we devalue that kind of writing. Substack has been a blessing to me and continues to be a blessing to me and many other writers who have historically not been paid for our craft. (Not to mention what it’s done for journalists and authors, creators, etc.)

(Update: I also think Substack has been a vessel for creatives and has generated more creativity in many ways.)

How do you decide to pay other writers on Substack?

I believe in this model and I love paying other writers for their work regardless if they are sending me a newsletter a day or a newsletter a month or whatever because I know what income writers make and I know how writers work even when they don’t work and how much they need our support. You can see who I pay here.

I typically pay other writers once I cross some threshold of engagement and feel like I anticipate reading more of their work or get happy when it lands in my inbox or they make me think differently and influence my work or if I just want them to keep creating. That said I’m sure there are people I should pay that I don’t but we can’t be perfect about everything we’re just humans.

Do you think turning off your paywall creates pressure for other writers to do the same, or might devalue other people’s work?

I think maybe that’s possible so I want to be clear that other creators use paywalls for various reasons, including safety, or to keep their communities small. They also use it because it’s their only job and they pour all their time into it, or they have limited ways of generating income, or because they came here from another gig, or because they like it, or any number of reasons. I want to be clear that while this move creates a risk for me in how I make money presently, I am not without options and I am not the same as those whose only job is their Substack.

Do you think you’ll change your mind and turn the paywall back on?

I have no clue and never say never but I very much doubt it. One of my pals,

Marlee Grace

, just increased their paywall restrictions and we’re gonna trade notes about our experience. (Also you should subscribe to them because they are genius.)

Isn’t there an Elizabeth Gilbert quote that sums up some of what you’re feeling?

There sure is!

“The whole time I was practicing to be a writer, I always had a day job. Even after I got published, I didn’t quit my day job, just to be on the safe side. In fact, I didn’t quit my day job (or my day jobs, I should say) until I had already written three books—and those three books were all published by major houses and were all reviewed nicely in the New York Times. One of them had even been nominated for a National Book Award. From an outside perspective, it might have looked like I’d already made it. But I wasn’t taking any chances, so I kept my day job. It wasn’t until my fourth book (and that book was freaking Eat Pray Love, for heaven’s sake) that I finally allowed myself to quit all other work and become nothing other than a writer of books. I held on to those other sources of income for so long because I never wanted to burden my writing with the responsibility of paying for my life. I knew better than to ask this of my writing, because over the years, I have watched so many other people murder their creativity by demanding that their art pay the bills.”

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