So, I’m back on Substack.

Today as I was driving home, I saw a large sticker on the back of a lowered truck that read “it’s just paper”. Well, technically, it said “it’s ju$t paper”.

I really want money to just feel like paper to me. I want it to have the same utility as the pieces of paper which built me to the person I am. I really want to loosen my grip on it so the paper doesn’t tear.

I really want to stop worrying about rent.

That’s why I am back on Substack.

The reasons I left are still very much concerns for me about this platform, but Substack’s profitability is not something I have the luxury of ignoring right now.

My husband and I are both autistic. I also have ADHD. It’s extremely difficult for either of us to maintain full-time employment, if we are able to find any in the first place. Our 3-year-old son, who is also autistic and speech-delayed, needs more and more from us all the time. This is a duty and a responsibility which we both are grateful to carry, but the demands of capitalism loom ever-menacingly in the foreground.

I am not alone in feeling pushed, or dragged, in the direction of my dreams in this moment—not because the times are so aspirational, but rather because I see no other path toward having both the time flexibility and the material stability I require in order for my family to thrive. My dreams are to do what I love—write and teach and collaborate—and be compensated well.

For someone who preaches so often about not letting internalized capitalism and systemic shame drive the car, I still find these things lurking in my own corners, grasping at the wheel.

My shame attaches so much meaning to money—my money, specifically—and where it comes from and where it’s spent and what I have to sacrifice in order to acquire it. But when it’s crunch time, and the cycle of housing instability rears its ugly head again, the fog of panic and anxiety grants me a certain detachment from money. How strange it is that paper makes the difference in where I lay my head at night. How bizarre for numbers to mean so much when you have so little. It’s just paper.

When my shame is in the driver’s seat, this detached headspace around money leads to avoidance, and further harm. But when it’s me who’s in charge, I can see how it’s just paper. I can process data without the emotional turmoil previously attached to it. The data told me to stop agonizing, and pivot.

So, I’m back here. And I have so much I’m excited to share with you. To say thanks for being witness to my shame, you can subscribe for only $3/month (and lock in that rate for life) until June 21st.

If you’re no longer vibing with this space, you’re welcome to unsubscribe with zero shame. If you want to join my super secret mailing list and get exclusive access to upcoming offerings and events, you can do that here.

Long live the pivot.