I was lying in bed on Sunday morning with a little extra time and absolutely no reason to get up.
So I did what I tell my 21-year-old daughter not to do. I started scrolling.
I was flipping through Substack, reading articles and comments, when I eventually landed on my own publication page.
And I decided to spend ten minutes doing something I had only done once before, but hadn’t done since.
I liked my own work. Not just my most recent article. I liked all of it.
I went through every article and every Note I’ve published and double-tapped the heart until every single one was filled in red. I deleted a few duds along the way, but I was mostly on a like-roll.
If you use Substack on your phone, you may recognize the moment. There’s a tiny vibration every time you hit the heart. A little pulse back confirming that you did, in fact, fill in the blank.
I don’t know about you, but it kind of makes me laugh. It’s like a confirmation of self-love.
I told my husband what I was doing and he said, “It’s like getting a warm hug.” It kind of was.
Later that morning, we were sitting outside on the patio while I drank my matcha, and I wrote a Note about it:
The responses were so fun to read.
Hell yeah.
I didn’t know we could do that.
I thought it might be taboo.
I’ve always wondered about this.
And then someone added a fifth:
Why not comment on your own work, too?
I loved that.
Why not?
Add a little meta.
“This was one of my favorite articles to write.”
“This one means a lot to me.”
“I keep coming back to this idea.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I wanted other people to hit the heart, yet I hadn’t bothered to hit it myself.
Ten minutes and a whole lot of red hearts later, I started thinking about how weird we are about self-promotion.
Actually, what really got me thinking about this started the day before.
I was reading through the comments on one of my most recent articles, How to Write a Personal Essay Without Overexposing Your World. There are currently 115 comments, although roughly half are mine because I respond to the people who take the time to leave me thoughtful comments.
Hint, hint. I love comments.
But buried in all those comments was one that really caught my attention. Not just because of what they said about my article, but because they did something no one else had done.
They asked me to subscribe to theirs.
“i’m building something over at SILENT WITNESS that i think u might really enjoy… it’s very much about the things underneath the obvious story n the signals we tend to edit out of our own lives.
if u fancy it, subscribe for free… i’d genuinely love to have u there ❤️”
I loved the ask.
It was simple. If you like what I have to say here, you might like what I’m doing over there. Come join me.
And out of all comments, they were the only person who did it.
I immediately subscribed, of course I did. The use of the word “fancy” made the invitation even better. I need to use that word more often in that exact way.
I loved the confidence of the ask. I loved that this person believed enough in what they were creating to tell me I might enjoy it too.
Which made me wonder why more of us don’t do the same.
Why are we so reluctant to tell people about the things we’re proud of?
When I first came to Substack, I knew absolutely nothing about the platform.
I was surrounded by writers, authors, journalists and publishers doing really remarkable things while my imposter syndrome was alive and well.
One of the things I couldn’t understand was why people weren’t promoting their own articles in Notes.
You spend hours writing something. You edit it. You publish it. And then it lands in an email inbox somewhere else in the world. At the same time, it lands in the “Post” category of your publication.
And then…that’s it?
I jokingly told my writing coach that Substack seemed to be the place where articles go to die. Which in some cases is entirely true. If an article doesn’t sprout wings and go viral with restacks, it just lands in the graveyard of articles you’ve published. Entombed on Substack until someone randomly decides to browse your work.
I asked him, “Do you ever promote your articles in your Notes?”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
Neither had I.
But once I did, I couldn’t unthink it. In fact, this is something I am working on and look forward to sharing: how to keep your articles alive after hitting publish. I’ve been quietly working on this project for a while and will self-promote the heck out of it for everyone’s benefit when I am done.
Why wouldn’t we promote the work we’re most proud of?
Somewhere along the way, many of us seem to have absorbed the idea that believing in ourselves is acceptable, but publicly demonstrating that belief is a little embarrassing.
I did develop a little elevator speech to share when people ask what I am doing, but I find I rarely use it. (I wrote about it in this article). Long gone are the days of handing out business cards with our information on them. Perhaps that needs a revival as well.
It seems like privacy is the new black.
And I get it.
I lived the last two decades married to a man whose career was very public, but whose personal life, by choice, was decidedly not. My late husband was deeply private and loathed social media, so I certainly understand the movement toward protecting more of our lives. Those boundaries are important and sometimes even necessary. And to his point, not every meal, vacation, relationship, accomplishment and private moment needs to be turned into content. Not everything needs validation from others and not everything needs a witness.
There are plenty of things that don’t belong on the internet, and I appreciate that for myself and others.
But I wonder if, in our effort not to overshare, overpromote or appear too impressed with ourselves, we’ve swung a little too far in the other direction.
Because there’s a difference between protecting your privacy and hiding your pride. Think about how quick and easy it is to share our pride in someone else. Kids’ graduations. First day of school. Other people’s accomplishments. Those moments of pride are easy to hit publish on. But our own work? Somehow that doesn’t come with the same ease.
I also think there’s a difference between self-promotion and self-importance that plays into this. I think part of the hesitation comes from not wanting to look like we’re standing on a pedestal implying grandeur. No one wants to be seen as that guy. But maybe self-promotion is simply self-belief made visible, the empty heart filled with red.
I see this outside of writing, too.
My daughter recently landed an amazing internship. Eventually, she posted about it on LinkedIn.
I loved that she did. She was very conscious of her words and how the post would land. Not because she needed everyone to tell her how impressive she was. Not because every accomplishment requires applause. But because this is what she’s doing with her life right now, and she’s proud of it.
Why shouldn’t she tell people?
That’s part of what LinkedIn is for and I love that her generation recognizes the value of that platform. You let the world know what you’re doing, what you’re learning, what you’re building and where you’re headed.
Not only does it foster connection, it creates possibilities for others. Someone sees it, they may remember it, and they may come knocking six months later when an opportunity lands on their desk or when they could use the advice, knowledge, skills and connections you’ve gained. Talk about win-win.
So posting about it, that’s not necessarily bragging. It’s participating in your own life.
And maybe that’s the distinction I’ve been trying to untangle.
Self-promotion can be an invitation.
I made this.
I’m proud of it.
I think you might like it and perhaps even more, there might be something here for you to gain. That’s always my hope when someone reads my work or when I read someone else’s.
That’s essentially what the person from Silent Witness Press said to me.
And it worked. I subscribed.
There’s something refreshingly confident about someone being willing to say, “I think what I’m doing is worth your time.”
We celebrate that confidence in incredibly successful people all the time. We talk about other people’s rising success. Cool things people are launching. And we listen as other people talk about their businesses, promote their books or movies (I have a friend who is hitting her stride in that world and witnessing her promote the film is incredible to watch. I never tire of seeing her posts and what she’s up to).
Yet when we’re still building something, self-promotion can feel a little uncomfortable. Like maybe we’re supposed to wait for someone else to notice first.
Why?
Why are we asking other people to believe in something we’re hesitant to publicly believe in ourselves?
A friend once shared a quote with me that I’ve repeated for years:
To fly, you must First Love Yourself.
F-L-Y.
I’ve always loved it. Sunday morning made me think about it differently.
We put things into the world because we want them to go somewhere. I want people to read what I write. I love when someone shares it. Of course I’d love for a Note to go viral. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.
So why would I sit around waiting for someone else to press the heart first?
I wasn’t looking for validation Sunday morning. I was simply giving myself a little.
One double tap at a time.
So go ahead and like your own work.
Share the article again. Tell people about the thing you’re building. Post the accomplishment.
Leave the comment. I’m going to be the first to leave one on this article.
Make the invitation. I’d fancy your subscription.
And say you’re proud of something when you are.
None of this means you have to turn your entire life inside out to be seen. That’s something I’m still working on myself. Simply adding my photo and bio to the little section below felt like a big step. But it also felt like I was putting myself on some sort of self-promotion pedestal. Which, now that I think about it, is exactly the point and the one I am here to embrace.
It is my publication. The bio deserves a place. I read them on every book jacket. Why not have one of my own? I hope to read yours, too.
Most importantly though, if I care enough to write it, edit it, publish it and put my name on it, I can certainly care enough to hit the heart.
So Sunday morning I did.
Every single one.
Always EDITing,
Leslie
Thank you for reading this far. As you know, I love comments. Please share what you’re working on, proud of, or have been hesitant to tell others about.
It’s time to be a little boastful. Why not?
I loved writing this article. TBH when I created the graphic I got even more excited. Sometimes articles come together in a way that makes the process both exciting and fun. This one hit that mark for me.
That was the best post I have read for some time. Thank you for that.
You have inspired me.
I have taken the very long road to get here.
I’ve always had an overactive imagination that I naturally use as telling stories and jokes. It’s only been the last 10 years I started writing. I’m still struggling big time with imposter syndrome. But I’m working hard to snuff it out.
I often say that if you could line up the 100 kids in my last year of school and interviewed them on the chances of any of them becoming a writer, you’d have put me last. Yet here I am.
Thank you again for a fantastic post.