I’ve been on Substack for just two days, and already, I feel like I can breathe again!
It’s like stepping outside after being locked in a room with no ventilation for years. Just air. A fresh, clean, unpolluted breeze that smells like possibility.
No algorithms squeezing my voice into some tiny little box. No MAGA trolls popping up every five minutes to call me an ape, a monkey, the n-word, the b-word, or the c-word, or threatening to r*pe or blow my brains out.
I never thought I would write. I never thought I would lay myself down and open myself up to be seen. I never considered a life lasting disease. Or even a short one.
I wasn’t writing for you. I was writing for me, for healing.
But I gave a copy to my social worker of my poem, “ A Farewell To Breasts” who gave it to a nurse who gave it to a patient and in the small world of my hospital, it went viral.
Now I can’t stop trying to get through this, this, unexpected, unwanted journey. Fear not, we can find joy!
You made it, you own it
You always own your intellectual property, mailing list, and subscriber payments. With full editorial control and no gatekeepers, you can do the work you most believe in.
America cannot long remain free, nor first among nations, if it becomes the kind of place where universities are dismantled because they don't align politically with the current head of the government.