The self-hate machine only runs if you fuel it

Why I raised a paywall and why I tore it down

When I chose, four months ago, to add paywalls to most of the posts on Everything Is Compostable, I believed the following:

That readers would pay to satisfy their curiosity about what lurked behind them.

That I would spontaneously combust if my thoughts about Lyndon, Geranium, and Lilac appeared without protection.

That I had to maintain some level of secrecy even around the things I no longer wished to keep secret.

Then, last Monday—eclipse day—I paid $350 to join Sarah Fay’s Substack Success Cohort. And started watching the videos in her Substack Success Blueprint, based on her work with hundreds of clients.

I identified my category: Literary/Artistic.

I guessed at what I offer readers: Entertainment and inspiration.

I confirmed that, via Substack, I intend to earn an income.

Late Thursday afternoon, I cued up the video on choosing a paid strategy—and freaked out when I heard Sarah say that Literary/Artistic is the one category for which paywalls don’t work.

In fact, she said, readers hate smashing into paywalls. When they do, they usually turn around and walk away.

I can relate.

Every time I click a link to a New York Times story, only to learn I’ve already used up my one free article per decade, I take my eyeballs elsewhere. I do not whip out my debit card and hurl it at the wall.

So far, on Substack, I’ve gently lobbed my debit card at just two publications: Substack Writers at Work (home, at the Founding Member level, to the Substack Success Cohort), and Café Anne, created by my dear friend Anne Kadet. Café Anne has no paywall. I support it because I love her and want her to prosper, and because I find her hilarious. Even her polls—especially her polls—make me laugh out loud.

I kept watching the paid strategy video, eager to find out what Sarah suggested, instead of a paywall, for Substacks like mine.

The answer?

NPR.

WTF?

What the hell was that? Why, I wondered, wasn’t she revealing what “NPR” stood for?

Did every other Substacker know something I didn’t?

As examples of this model, she pointed to a number of Substacks that don’t paywall content but still attract hundreds or thousands of paying subscribers, who freely choose to offer support.

Thursday evening, I left the Internet deeply disturbed. I believed Sarah’s story. It sounded true. And my brain was telling me that terrible things would happen if I dismantled my paywall.

I turned to my journal and started composting.

I recalled the fear I’d felt before and after publishing a number of posts, with paywalls. I remembered thinking I’d lose friends and receive hate mail. So far, I haven’t. So what—I asked myself—was I truly afraid of?

Self-rejection.

I feared that if someone attacked me for something I said, I would use their actions as an excuse to start attacking myself. I further feared that those who hadn’t paid to subscribe would be more likely to attack me.

And yet: No attack can hurt me unless I take it on.

Years ago, when a VICE video about my Zendik story went viral, I made the mistake of reading the comments. People said some nasty shit. Recalling it now, I shrug. Since I didn’t pick it up and rub it all over myself—didn’t use it to fuel the self-hate machine—none of it stuck.

I practice honesty because it moves me toward self-kindness. Self-love.

Once I’ve thought, felt, or done something, it becomes a fact. When I hide it, I feed the belief that it’s “bad.” When I share it, and treat it with curiosity, I feed the belief that I’m a human, doing what humans do. That any experience I have can strengthen my ties to my fellowbeings, if I want it to.

Thursday night, lying in bed, I realized what “NPR” stood for: National Public Radio—where everyone can listen for free, so long as some contribute financially.

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The bonus goals of Everything Is Compostable are to generate abundant income and provide you, my readers, with delicious, nutritious stories that you can weave into webs  of permission, courage, and insight.

The winning goal—the goal I can achieve no matter how much money I make or how many humans read what I write—is to become a ninja at truth-telling. To keep pushing the limits of what I think I’m allowed to say. To find out what happens when I share what’s true for me, long before I can prove it’s true for any of you.

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As of Friday morning, I still felt scared as fuck to remove the paywalls. But when I imagined conferring with my spirit guides, in the next segment of my life between lives—yes, I’ve been reading Michael Newton’s Journey of Souls—I saw myself rejoicing with them in this giant step forward. This decision to honor why I, in particular, am here.

Also I remembered a vision I’d had, the previous weekend, in a shamanic journeying workshop: I was in what the teacher called my “sacred garden,” checking for anything at odds with the purpose my soul had come to Earth to accomplish. I saw the mycelium within the garden crawling under the walls, into the soil beyond.

That, I realized, was what the mycelial web of my writing wanted as well—to crawl beyond the paywall. So I decided to let it. As an experiment. All I know for sure is that I can’t predict what will happen. Let’s find out.