One Year on Substack: Observations from a Psychological Perspective

How reinforcement, attention & uncertainty influence the writing experience on Substack.

This is post No. 75, on my Newsletter: Mind Matters. It has been a full year since I published my first piece here on 4 December 2024.

It was my husband who introduced me to Substack. He knows how much I love writing and suggested that I try it. “There,” he said, “you might find readers far more quickly than if you try to build a blog from scratch.”

This idea sounded really appealing, and here I am : 1 entire year later! :)

Which brings me to my observations:

The Reinforcement System

In psychology …

➜ Positive reinforcement increases the likelihood of a behaviour because something rewarding follows it. In these instances, the mind registers the reward and treats the behaviour as worth repeating. For example, when we write a post and it receives acknowledgement, we are more inclined to write again.

But this depends on contingency, which simply means whether the reward consistently follows the behaviour. When this link appears again and again, the mind strengthens the association, driving us to repeat the behaviour.

➜ Interestingly, however, repetition becomes even stronger when the reward arrives intermittently. That is, not every time.

For example, when the level of likes and shares we consider rewarding only appears every now and again (rather than every time), we don’t give up. We keep going! The uncertainty keeps the behaviour active because the mind stays alert to the possibility that the next attempt might be the one that is rewarded.

➜ Punishment, on the other hand, yields the opposite effect of reinforcement. For instance, when we speak or write and receive no response, we become less inclined to express ourselves again.

Punishement reduces the likelihood of a behaviour because the consequence feels discouraging or costly. This is why in society we punish deviant or unlawful behaviour, to (in theory) reduce it or stop it altogether.

But you see, punishment does not teach better behaviour. Rather, it creates hesitation, self-monitoring and avoidance. Especially when the context is social media, where a lack of response feels like a verdict.

On Substack these mechanisms sit in the background and influence how we write.

Readers’ engagement operates through intermittent reinforcement, but it also functions as perceived punishment.

The unpredictability of readers’ engagement keeps behaviour active because the next response could arrive at any moment. And while no engagement is not punishment in a formal sense, it still lowers the perceived value of the effort behind our work.

And once reinforcement and perceived punishement begin to guide behaviour in this way, it becomes easier to see why so much of the platform gravitates toward the chase for virality.

Because the environment rewards what spreads, not necessarily what is carefully worked through.

The Chase for Virality

A system that rewards quick circulation over careful work won’t reliably foster thoughtfully developed writing.

Instead, it encourages the repetition of whatever happens to travel well.

In this type of environment it becomes easy for writers to drift toward what has already proved successful. The result is a gradual flow toward familiar patterns. Writing becomes safer, quicker, more influenced by what has already worked, rather than by what we might want to explore.

At the level of the platform this creates homogeneity. Ideas circle back on themselves and the same themes reappear because they are known to spread, to go viral.

Diversity, then, narrows and content starts to echo other content.

This isn’t because writers lack originality, but because the environment reinforces (rewards) repetition more strongly than exploration.

The Illusion of Control

Virality encourages behaviour dictated by external signals, and it also gives the impression that if we just adjust our approach, we can make the same thing happen again.

Most of the time we cannot.

Growth on Substack often develops in ways that don’t match effort or intention, which gives the experience a sense of unpredictability rather than control.

And the absence of reward can feel like punishment.

And as we discussed earlier, punishment works by signalling that a behaviour should stop. It does not teach or guide.

Here on Substack this is reflected in the way writers frequently describe feeling invisible or overlooked, even when they are doing work that feels meaningful to them!

It is brutal, because the absence of acknowledgement touches something basic in us. We want to feel that we belong, and being seen is part of that.

But I’ve come to see that when signals are minimal or inconsistent, the sense of exclusion says more about our reliance on environmental cues than about the work itself.

What We Can Actually Control

It was only the other day, while tidying up my bookshelves, that I picked up Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning.

V. Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning

On the back cover it read, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

On a place like Substack this feels like an important mindset to adopt as a practical way of orienting ourselves in an environment where so much sits outside our influence.

But how do we “change” ourselves here?

On Substack this usually means returning to what is actually within our control.

☆ Our attention, which determines where we direct our effort (i.e. whether on comparing our outcomes and metrics to those of others or on staying with our own path).

☆ Our consistency, which gives both our writing and our routine a structure that does not depend on outcomes.

☆ The quality we aim for, which is guided by our own judgement rather than by external signals, and supported by the freedom to explore rather than repeat what has already proved successful (for others).

☆ Lastly, our internal standards, which act as the reference point for our work when the environment itself feels so uncertain.

But of couse, when so much depends on what we choose to focus on, the next question is simply:

Why Write?

Writing is one of the few vehicles we have for staying with our own inner experiences.

In a world that constantly competes for our attention, writing creates a small space in which things can slow down long enough to be noticed.

See, thoughts that remain in the mind tend to stay vague. They change quickly, blur into each other or disappear altogether.

Writing stabilises them. It gives them enough form to be examined properly, questioned, or developed.

Even when no external response follows, there is value in seeing a thought clearly rather than letting it dissolve, whether those thoughts relate to our own experiences, to ideas within our professional fields, or to fictional narratives.

Many writers on Substack use the platform in a way that highlights the range of what writing can do. Some focus on explaining concepts within their fields. Others work through questions influenced by their own life experiences. Some create fictional or artistic worlds and invite readers into them.

Taken together, this shows us that, although varied, the reasons for writing come back to the same thing: the need to give form to our thinking.

This becomes even clearer to me when I think about my own year here.

Beyond the Metrics

My husband was right. My love for writing and psychology found readers here.

What neither of us expected was that I would also meet people whose presence has become part of my routine. Some write about their lives or difficulties with brave honesty. Others work within my own field, and their writing has become something I return to regularly.

Substack is a richer space than it first appears.

And if you are new here, it is worth keeping this in mind. The systems that drive the platform can be distracting, but they sit alongside a depth that does not disappear simply because the rewards are unpredictable.

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Thank you !

I want to thank everyone who has supported me over this past year.

Special thanks to Hafsa, my first ever subscriber; Richard, my first paid subscriber; Leon Macfayden, my first collaboration; Promise , the first to recommend my Newsletter; j.e. moyer, LPC , the first to restack one of my posts; Sarah Seeking Ikigai, the first to buy me a coffee; and Wait a minute! and Esther Stanway-Williams, whose comments (and encouragement) have become part of my writing here.

Thank you as well to those who bought my book and to those who have reached out privately.

It means more to me than I can say <3

If you are new here,

I’m Dom, a psychologist with a particular interest in clear, accessible science communication. This is my newsletter: Mind Matters, where I publish weekly posts about psychology & neuroscience.

Welcome :)