Why I Cancelled Paid Subscriptions on Substack

First, let me say there's nothing more generous than telling a writer "I value your work so much that I'm willing to support you."

That said, I've turned off paid subscriptions for this newsletter. Here's why: I was never fully comfortable charging. Not because I'm above it or don't think my writing is worth paying for—it's purely practical. I'm just not popular enough to value money over eyeballs.

If you have a massive audience, monetizing makes sense. You can justify creating some content for everyone and even better content for paying subscribers. But that's not my situation. If my goal is to help entrepreneurs understand the BS they've been fed, don't I want to share it with as many as possible?

Every week, I was torn between writing for those 20-something folks who gave me their credit card or the larger group that gave me their email address. I could never justify putting my best effort into something for a small group, then felt guilty for charging people for something I wasn't fully delivering.

So to those who signed up for paid subscriptions: I'm grateful, I know who you are and I won't forget it. But now you can put that $5 toward whatever you want.…well, whatever you want.

One thing you won’t be able to put that toward is a subscription to Glennon Doyle’s Substack. Now, I was too caught up in moving and Mom-ing and all that during the Great Glennon Doyle Substack Melee of 2025, which means that I’m way late weighing in. In case you missed it, here’s what happened: Glennon joined Substack, quickly amassed over 200,000 followers, got bullied by people who were super jealous and fled.

Now, I have been so jealous of Glennon Doyle that I even made a video about it. But realizing so many people shared my jealousy made me feel somber rather than gleeful.

Instead of wanting to heap on the hate, I wanted to ask myself: What is it about her that triggers people? I don’t think it’s as simple as “women like to tear other women down.” There are plenty of incredibly successful women that no one wants to tear down.

Glennon Doyle, whether it’s true or not, just seems like she got lucky. She’s not brilliant and ethereal like Elizabeth Gilbert. She’s not goofy and down to earth like Colleen Hoover. She’s not plucky and sassy like Marie Forleo. She’s just…there. Saying and writing things that many others have said and written before.

But I think that’s her shtick: it's her very basic-ness that catapulted her to stardom. I am basic, hear me roar.

And this makes us jealous.

Despite Glennon’s massive success, her brand, if you will, is about how hard things are. It’s the name of her podcast! Her New York Times headlines are about how a good 50% of her life is miserable. 

This also makes us mad! I mean, if she’s gotten what we all want, can’t she at the very least be happy about it (even if we know that success doesn’t bring happiness)?

Mostly, we’re just mad we didn’t double down on trauma bonding with our audience the I’m in this with you vibe ourselves. It really seems to work! When I followed Glennon on social media, there were often posts about how “we” had done it—“we” had made her book a #1 bestseller! She went on and on about “us” and how together we had done this incredible thing and it was all just so brilliant: by buying her book, you were partnering with her to do something terrific! Yet she was the one who benefitted from that success, not the millions of strangers who were “in it” with her.

Those of us who aren’t in it with her come for her. Not because we hate to see women succeed. We love to see women succeed when they seem like they’re humble or plucky or grateful. But as best as I can understand it, when it’s someone who just seems to have gotten lucky, we get triggered. It’s certainly part of what has fueled the Blake Lively backlash.

We’re so unhealed—so untamed, if you will—that seeing someone get lucky triggers our fear that we’re never going to get what we deserve.

But what if we’ve gotten what we deserve? What if we’ve already gotten more than we deserve? Who decides who’s deserving anyway?

It’s easy to be jealous. It’s much harder to ask questions like: why am I so triggered by someone who seems to have gotten lucky? Does it remind me of my childhood, where I was always second best? Does Glennon feel like the favorite child, reminding me of when I felt left out in the cold? And does hating her make me feel better? Or do I just tell myself it does because that tinge of superiority I get distracts me from the despair that lurks on the other side?

Jealousy is an instinct rooted in our very survival and can be a great indicator of what we want. But it can also show us the work we still need to do.

I’m never going to be as popular as Glennon Doyle and I am 100% fine with that. So now I just need to heal that part of me that thinks tearing her down is going to make me feel better.

We can do hard things. Right?