You can't just quit Substack

Why 'Dinosaur' is the answer to what's happening here

A friend of mine left Substack, I think.

And I tried to sit in quiet silence about it.

I wrote about my nipples to let off steam and truth. That’s what I do in moments where it feels like, “Are you fucking kidding me?” collapses into, “not again.”

(Abandonment is a hard one to metabolize when it feels consistent. I know this isn’t about me.)

So in her honour, I did what I rarely do. I took a direct hit at someone who happened to cross my notes feed at the very wrongest moment. I believe it will make a difference.

Here’s my truth about being here: Substack is not my home. Neither is Threads nor Instagram. In a past business life, I used to run a successful Facebook Group which had thousands of live videos, resources, etc. In July 2025, Mark warned us he’d be pulling down that work. He did. It’s gone. I tried to scrape it, but the idea of going back through that felt like a headache I couldn’t handle at the time. Goodbye. So long.

When I started on Substack, I started on Threads. Once again, Mark Zuckerberg personally pulled the rug out from under me as I was starting to gain traction after four days.

This traction was not fast, no. We’re not the most trusting bunch with our likes, shares, and follows these days. We make sure the connection is real. We hold our hearts back like they’re in limited supply. We stand before a post that made our eyes water or pussy’s tighten like a simple comment might cost us a piece of ourselves.

Fuck. People can barely take a compliment (myself entirely included).

It’s a funny paradox, wanting to be simultaneously held like you never have before and then afraid of eyes that might be able to. So, I dance in this lane of truth-coated jokes, because that feels safer. For those who can see the centre of me, they understand what I’m saying, and for the rest, they laugh. That’s fine. As long as you felt something.

I don’t think leaving is the answer anymore. I used to. I used to run when anger felt easier to handle on my own. Except for most of my life, I wasn’t allowed to run. So I ran toward an internal home I had carved out for myself (Adrelak) and processed inside it beside characters I’m writing about. Or I didn’t, instead shoving feelings so deep that I numbed out my abdomen. People say the body remembers, I think the body holds it until we’re ready to release it (if ever).

Now, alone-but-not-alone as I was, I’m thawing out these parts of me that care deeply.

Simultaneous to the fact that I think our power comes from speaking out.

I have this visual in my head from the movie Dinosaur where the Allosaurs all start barking at this big meany dinosaur who eats the old crabby dinosaur, and their barking allows them to pass by unharmed.

(We’re the Allosaurs, btw. And the Carnotaur is the Spam-Daddy of Substack [see my notes for more information] and her ilk, the algorithm, the orange checkmarks, but also—the part of us that we rarely recognize)

It’s easy to see the people who are using this platform like a fucking sub buffet. And not the good kind. I mean, the kind that spam-posts and fracks subscribers, then sells the sweet, sweet snake oil back to the unsuspecting (or very much aware). I flip between which is worse.

We can often easily pinpoint the hierarchy model of the Orange Checkmark. It’s flagrant, it’s fragrant— it stinks. It’s fucking annoying. It won’t change. Substack is a publicly traded company. They don’t care. It’s only going to get worse (see more below).

So, I want to speak to you, dearest reader, about the part of us that can relate to and even understand why Carnotaur culture even exists.

It’s simple, basic even. It’s Survival with a capital “S”.

We can understand why someone who finds a hack and exploits people does what they do. We can understand the hustle game. It feeds the system that says, “You must be on top, or you die.” We can understand all of these pieces of survival in theory, especially in times that feel unsettled, like the rocks slipping away beneath Kron’s (the former power’s) feet as he falls prey to the Carnotaur.

(You really need to watch this movie to fully understand who everyone is inside of this metaphor. It’s phenomenal. The movie, too.)

We GET the motivation, we GET the seemingly easy route, and yet, somehow we’re not surprised as we watch people who once held steady, barking back, fall prey to it, too: whether by joining and becoming another Carnotaur, or getting eaten by it.

Sometimes getting eaten by a Carnotaur is giving up. Because we see inside the psyche of it, and it’s too painful to imagine submitting or becoming.

I get it. I get that perspective.

I really do.

I’ve shared before that my background is in branding and marketing. Yet, every time I tried to follow the strategies and hacks, I felt sick to my stomach, even when what I was delivering beyond that point was GOOD. People came into my world, and felt held, and I made a difference, and they made money without losing their god damned minds (“finally”).

It’s also why I watch things unfold on Substack and flinch, because I can see the game. It’s so predictable that it makes my stomach turn FOR those people.

And they will likely never change—that’s fine—it just proves my point. The allure of being the top predator is strong. It’s fed on a diet of societal pressure and a growling tummy desiring “success”. It isn’t something we can rightly dismiss, because, if the tables were turned and you were writing bullshit copy and paste straight from GPT’s milky nips, and people gobbled it up and paid you, it would be very, very hard not to admit what you were doing was exploitation and grifting.

But it is.

That’s what it is.

There is no positive endgame here except personal gain: making as much money as you can, as quickly as you can, on the backs of the people who are here trying to do good (or not, but fuck those people), before it blows up in your face. If ever.

It makes me angry for the people who are genuinely trying to grow here and connect.

It makes me angry on behalf of people who want to share their work and have no marketing experience, and don’t know what to do who find these grifts.

It makes me angry that the people who care enough leave before hearing that staying is the most powerful move they can make. It’s the biggest “fuck you” possible.

The more people who are angry enough and care, the more we can spread and root out this problem. Stomp on those Carnotaur eggs, smash them to smithereens before they can grow, and show people, REAL growth here takes time, but you are not alone.

My friend, who may have left, is a brilliant writer. I shared her work consistently. I watched her numbers grow. I had no idea she was watching them. Otherwise, I would’ve written this way sooner.

I posted a few weeks ago about how an Orange Checkmark shamed my subscriber growth because she didn’t like that I was direct with her. I shared because it’s absurd. 84 subscribers in 14 days is astronomical growth for someone not playing the fucking sub 4 sub game, with no published work, with no niche. I came here to understand the texture of the people in the places I wanted to see if I could nest in.

Substack is my nesting ground; it’s not my home. I have laid many eggs here, many baby Allosaurs are all nestled together, waiting to hatch. And around me are many of you, doing the same thing. I know you’re waiting for your eggs to hatch.

This matters.

We cannot abandon the nest.

The last thing to remember is this: Substack (the company) is a potentially life-ending comet. Except they choose when, where and how it strikes. We have no say. We have no control. It’s why you MUST connect outside of here. You MUST. WhatsApp, social media, or Discord* (this is ours). Just do it.

Because while some of us choose to leave, others will be kicked off the platform. We all remember #FREEBRIANRAY.

In conclusion:

This is all a joke coating a deadly serious truth. I’m not even joking a bit.

If you want to fully understand me when I say the Moovement is a thing we’re building, watch Dinosaur. I’ve never related more to a fictional prehistoric character in my entire life, and it’s exactly what we’re fucking doing. DM me, let’s connect. Let’s keep our eggs safe. Let’s build something worth standing together for and barking back at the Carnosaurs who think they can bully us into submission.

We are strong fucking creatures, Creatures.

xoxo