Why Creative Sustainability Is Your Substack's Most Valuable Asset

What if the foundation of a thriving Substack isn't your typical metrics, but something more heartfelt and fundamental?

In the world of Substack, it’s easy to focus on subscriber counts, GAR, open rates, content strategies. We look at our likes, restacks, comments and chat feed. We may feel competitive / insecure / excited / anxious. Are we growing fast enough? What else do we need to do? What are we doing wrong? What are we doing right? Do we have a business plan? A content plan? When should we flip the switch to paid, and when should we change our layout?

What if the true foundation of a thriving Substack isn’t any of these metrics, but something more personal and fundamental?

The Power of Creative Sustainability

Creative sustainability is the practice of creating and engaging consistently without depleting your energy, enthusiasm, or well-being. It’s about recognizing your natural rhythms, honoring your authentic voice, and developing practices that energize rather than drain you.

Flourishing Substack writers build long-term success by developing sustainable approaches that allow them to show up consistently over time, in ways that align with their values and energy patterns.

This asset—creative sustainability—becomes particularly valuable as you learn and grow here. The practices that help you create with joy and integrity are precisely what lead to meaningful long-term connection with subscribers. Readers don’t just want your content; they want the authentic voice and perspective that only you can provide.

My Journey to Creative Sustainability

A few years ago, I made a personal decision to minimize or eliminate engagement on almost all social media (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter/X). I stayed on LinkedIn because I manage my husband’s account and also … it’s LinkedIn, which I find fairly pointless and static. 🙄

I didn’t become active on Substack until November 2024 because I was worried about being sucked into a churning machine of content creation and never-ending engagement.

Been there, done that.

I was experiencing massive content burnout after 10+ years of running a food blog while writing novels and actively engaged in other book projects. I had three kids and a partner at home who needed my support and presence. Both of my parents were nearing their 90’s, living apart, and having health issues. Things started falling through the cracks. It wasn’t just an issue of time management—I was feeling resentful that I had no time and anxious that I wasn’t doing enough.

I sold my food blog in 2021. When I handed over the reins, I felt a moment of longing. I flashed back to the excitement I had when I first launched it, when I’d had so much joy about what I was creating. What had changed?

I had allowed myself to get so busy that I wasn’t checking in to see if my actions were aligned with how I was feeling inside. I was responding rather than actively deciding how I wanted to show up. I hadn’t made room for the reality that as I was changing as a person and creator, what I was doing might no longer be a fit.

When I made the decision to give Substack a try, I set a few parameters.

1. I would have fun.

2. I would be okay making mistakes and trying new things.

3. If I hated it, I would walk away.

4. If it became a time suck or made me feel bad about myself, I would walk away.

5. I would stay open and curious.

6. I would use it as a place to experiment with a new way of connecting to writers/readers.

I also made some other decisions, such as using it more as an instructional Substack (teaching the art of micro prose and helping others tell their stories) and not publishing my personal work (which felt a bit random and risky). I may change on the latter; I haven’t decided yet. But my original why—celebrating micro prose with others—remains true to today.

Building Creative Sustainability

Here are a few exercises to help you get started with identifying how creative sustainability might look for you.

Exercise 1: Creative Recovery Inventory

Take 5 minutes to list activities that reliably restore your creative energy throughout the day. Categorize them by time: 5-minute resets (deep breathing), 30-minute refreshers (short walk), and full-day renewals (time in the art studio). The next time you feel creatively depleted, match your recovery action to your available time instead of pushing through.

Recovery actions are a temporary stop/reset so we can evaluate what we want to do next before we just do it. When we keep going without checking in, it’s like the analogy of furiously climbing the ladder to get to the top of the building, only to find that the ladder is leaning against the wrong one.

Exercise 2: Content Buffer Building

Identify three low-energy tasks that support your Substack (gathering quotes, organizing ideas, writing a 10-minute micro essay). Keep this list accessible for days when your creative energy is low but you still want to be working on your Substack. This helps prevent an all-or-nothing mindset that leads to burnout.

This list serves as a psychological cushion so you know you have something if you need it, but you actually don’t have to use it. I have a spreadsheet of possible Notes ideas that I generated (on the suggestion of a growth Substacker); I think I’ve used 5 out of the 100. What works for me on Substack is to be organic and in the present moment, which isn’t always efficient time-wise, but right now efficiency isn’t my priority. Being authentic is.

Still, knowing its there is a kind of security blanket in case the well ever runs dry (it won’t). It’s also a great creative exercise to help you build some excitement and momentum.

Exercise 3: Your Substack Anchor Statement

Complete this sentence: "Even on my most challenging days, I am on Substack because..." Write without overthinking for 3 minutes. Circle the words that carry the most emotional resonance—these represent your deeper "why." Keep this anchor statement visible when you work on your Substack to remind you of your authentic purpose. When making decisions about content or schedule, check whether they align with your anchor statement.

On Paid Subscriptions

When someone asks if they should flip the switch to paid, I ask what kind of experience they want on Substack. The minute you turn on paid, everything changes: there’s obligation to provide regular, fresh content. The sense of exploration fades because you’re less inclined to take chances when people are paying you to have it figured out.

Run the numbers. Have AI analyze your stats and posting schedule to project when you’ll hit $5k, $10k, $30k. The possibilities will either inspire you or deplete you.

Revisit your why. Why are you on Substack? What are your goals? Does being here move you closer to, or further from, your creative goals?

I turned on paid subscriptions after a few months and got my first bestseller badge recently. Was it worth it? Yes and no.

When I hit 1,000 subscribers (I was at 95 paid), I offered a huge discount off my annual rate to celebrate. Instead of $50 a year, it was $12 a year (the offer expired after a month). I thought it would be a good opportunity to include readers who were balking at adding yet another subscription to their library, but for $1 a month, there was nothing for them to lose.

I felt that way, too.

For a dollar a month, I felt less pressure to deliver premium, engaging content. I didn’t change what I provided at all—in fact, I ended up delivering more—but I felt less pressure. Like, a whole lot. It’s made me reconsider my entire pricing model on Substack, and what I’m trying to achieve in this space.

For me, the paid model is unreliable. I have no interest in getting paranoid about maintaining a bestseller checkmark (or reaching for the next one) or being on the hamster wheel of creating content because I have to. With everything happening in the world and in my life, I’m too tired to jump through hoops.

One ah-ha moment I had as a result of my $12/year promotion—I’ve released Substack as part of my income model. I regard it as bonus, not salary. In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert said that we shouldn’t make our art pay our rent. She says, “I have watched so many other people murder their creativity by demanding that their art pay the bills.” Substack is not my job. It’s part of how I create and share my creative expression and talent with the world.

Creating from Alignment

Creative sustainability isn’t just about maintaining a Substack—it’s the foundation that makes everything else possible. When you create from alignment rather than obligation, your words carry more power, your ideas resonate more deeply, and your presence becomes a genuine gift to your subscribers. You minimize your chances of burnout or giving up because it seems too hard. By consistently checking in, honoring your creation rhythms, and knowing your why, you’ll have clarity and motivation to keep going.

How will you start building creative sustainability into your Substack practice? Share your experiences in the comments or in our chat. Thank you for being here!