Frustration
How to get suspended by Substacks auto detect and unsuspended within 24 hours.
Yesterday, I missed a day—not because of laziness or lack of time, but because Substack auto-blocked my account. It wasn't for anything malicious—I was sending a link during a conversation with another writer yesterday evening. Suddenly, 26 days of writing, thoughts, and effort were erased instantly. It felt like a punch to the gut. Frustration started.
The Frustration was overwhelming. I work in cybersecurity, so I understand the need for vigilance. Still, the lack of communication—not even a bloody automated response even after submitting three appeals—made it worse. Every time I refreshed the page that evening, hoping to see my publication back, I was reminded of how fragile online ownership is. We think we "own" our space online, but we don't. Even if you buy a domain, it's still under someone else's control. Outside of the "dark net" - (I can't believe I just typed those words.) But that's the only place where "ownership" is at least possible. I digress. Filled with Frustration and overwhelming annoyance.
I went to my partner. She looked at me and asked, "What are you writing for?" Then she reminded me, "Your words are your own. Your work isn't lost, love." She has this way of reading the books in my mental library, quickly saying the words that so easily need to be heard. The Frustration dies down a bit; sadly, I let it leak a bit too much into today, and it's still at the edges of my day. The Frustration was grounded in the idea that if I didn't do something, I would be breaking the promise I made to myself. 30 Days of Just Creating Something and pressing "post"
Left with no other choice, I built a new substack - I went over a few other ideas, switching to ghost or creating a quick website[Frustration builds], etc., etc., many different ways - but those all felt wrong and would take a lot more time than my day allowed so went with the fastest way to hit "post." Reaching out to multiple writers I genuinely enjoy collaborating with here on substack made me feel like starting over wasn't the worst thing. One of those writers reached out to Substack directly, Which led to Substack reinstating my account[Frustration slowly dissipates.]. I am genuinely thankful for that.
I enjoy Substack. It's a great platform, but it's still a tech company. Unfortunately, that means customer service isn't always the best, and specific systems aren't always in place. I could be angry with them for that, but rarely does that help.
Before they meet keys and screens, my words are pulled out of my mind, kicking and screaming, by pen and paper—I own those words. But I don't own this page you're reading or this site where you're reading it.
This incident taught me a valuable lesson: the importance of having multiple locations for your art. Projects like Indie Thinkers and owning your mailing list aren't just nice-to-haves; they're essential. Our words and our creations belong to us. But the platforms we share them on? They're just temporary stages.
Ultimately, I'm reminded that while the digital space is where our creations live, it's not where they should solely reside. We must find ways to own our art in every sense of the word—whether building our own sites, maintaining our own lists, or even sharing it at your local coffee shop.
Special Thanks you's to the following:
Seth Werkheiser
Johnathan Horsley Sr
Tobi Odeyale
Linda @ Substack
Mills, ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔔𝔲𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔞
And the greatest of thank you to the only holder of my mental library card Jalesa Dodson
Until Tomorrow thankfully
John D