Learning to gratefully receive

An ill paved road to my first paid subscriber

July 2012.

My sweet little cottage on the hill had been severely flooded.

You heard right….HILL.

No-one was more surprised than I was. Houses on hills couldn’t flood, could they?

Hmm…..yeah, they can.

The insurance company - yes, I will name you, TESCO - were being utter bastards over coughing up and rehoming my family, which included my seven month old baby son.

There I stood in a warehouse of leftover furniture donations. All the best stuff, long taken by people on Facebook.

I wasn’t on social media at all back then.

“Go on, take something!”

Urged a kind volunteer.

“Seriously……what do you need? Look we have sofas, microwaves….”

Still, it felt wrong.

Wasn’t there someone else more deserving?

“Everyone thinks the same thing”

She said sympathetically, as if reading my mind.

“People don’t like to take anything, assume someone else is in greater need. But I’ve helped collect these donations and let me tell you, these things have been given EXACTLY for someone like you. You’re a mum with a young baby! Don’t feel guilty. Help yourself to some stuff, honestly!”

Her words hit home and I re-evaluated my position. Although my son slept in my upstairs bedroom in a Moses basket which hadn’t been affected, his actual Nursery was downstairs and as such, all his toys and clothes had been completely destroyed when the freakish summer rains had struck.

I gratefully picked out a sofa, microwave and washing machine, as well as some baby clothes and play things.

The more I raked it over, I felt okay with it. I had myself helped others in the past, after all, and as such, maybe now it was my turn to accept.

The art of receiving, eh?

I have always been gracious about accepting compliments. When someone expresses kind words about your appearance, personality or something you did or created, I believe it rude to talk it down or make a joke of it.  To play down a compliment is to undermine the giver, challenge their view of things. Beauty (and I don’t just mean in a physical sense) is in the eye of the beholder, and to block that, is to block beautiful light coming your way.

But when someone offers to show their appreciation of you or something you do in a more material manner, it’s different isn’t it? We can’t help but wonder whether we deserve it, if we ‘should’ have something. Need is one thing but what about being offered things we don’t ‘need’?

How does that sit?

Whilst on Twitter, I had a few people wanting to buy me things and give me money because of the Tweets I had written. If that sounds weird to you, believe me, it was bloody odd to me too.

“Please Julie, you’ve really made me smile”

“Your words have meant so much”

I was told, or

“Take it! You honestly make me laugh every day”

(I was my most no-holds-barred, sarcastic self on there!)

Those tributes meant the world to me.

To touch someone with words is a joy,

But money and gifts felt icky.

Would taking them make me the much despised ‘grifter’?

I’d turn them down, didn’t wanna feel like someone’s ‘Private word Dancer’, y’know?  Felt myself come over all defensively Goodfellas.

“Do I amuse you?”

Recompense for writing - something I enjoy - still feels…..a bit strange. Maybe it’s the working class Lancashire lass in me. Feel the need to tag on a shift in’t mill to validate it. Me.

But after writing a web page for a mate free of charge (she offered payment, I refused) and being approached by someone else about paid work on the strength of Facebook posts, I’ve started to think that by keep saying ‘no’ to money, I’m blocking it energetically for the future, and I don’t want to do that.

One day, when my son is grown and flown, I have to consider how I fund my life style. The one where I wander beaches looking for sea glass, have a menagerie of rescue animals and take unlimited photos of sunrises.

And if writing can help me do that, I reckon….fuck it, why not?

A happy accident recently led me to my first paid subscriber on here. My son had been snooping around on my Substack and I wanted a way of capping audiences, keeping certain posts off limits to some. I achieved this by making archived posts ‘paid only’.

And lo and behold, I actually gained a paid subscriber! Someone liked my posts so much, they paid for a whole year. I considered refunding it but that voice piped up again;

“No! Stop blocking this energy of appreciation that really, really wants to come your way!”

And so from now on, I’m not.

If anyone wants to pay to subscribe, or even just ‘buy me a coffee’, they are more than welcome to.

I won’t bullshit you. I *might* buy a coffee, I might put it towards something completely frivolous - a dress, a lipstick or whatever the hell I like. That’s right. LIKE.

Or…..(*quiet conservative voice*), I may just pay my bills.

I’m owning my writing as valuable and should any of you decide to give me some of your hard earned cash (and I don’t care how you made it 😉) for something you appreciate, you won’t get anything different than any bugger else, because that’s not how I operate. Only the swell in your heart that comes from knowing you are supporting my growth as a writer. It’s just archive posts that will go to paid after a few weeks.

I’ll be no-one’s dancing bear, so please only ever give with love.

I shall carry on writing regardless, no matter how many coppers in the hat, it’s my therapy, my little ‘Speak Easy’ in the woods.

I know I’m among friends, many whom I’ve hung out with for a good while now, and as such, you’re all welcome to stay.

This brings me on to ‘followers’ and ‘subscribers’.

It’s not that I can’t market my writing - I know how to schmooze, I’ve worked in sales - but in here, I want organic attraction.

People who genuinely want to be here.

I don’t want subscribes from other Substackers unless they genuinely appreciate my output.  I seek instead, readers.

Nothing makes my heart sink more than seeing my email open rate go down.

I’m NOT (in the words of nearly everyone on Threads) trying to ‘build a community of supportive creatives’ or ‘women following women’.

Purlease! Pass the flamin’ sick bucket.

I write my thing and if it chimes, cool.

That’s the top and tail of it. There’ll be no chocolates on pillows for any of yers.

So if you’re just here out of politeness and don’t really wanna be, please unsubscribe and do one.

And……if you’re still here by the end of this slightly aggressive, overly defensive anti-sales pitch spiel, then I guess that means we’re good.

As such, thank you wholeheartedly for sticking around for my rants, rambles, endless photos of sky and often downright depressing poetry.

I very much appreciate having you around.

And if you were here right now in my living room, I really would break into Andrew Gold’s ‘Thank you for being a friend’ and go all Golden Girls on ya.

Picture it, Hebden Bridge, 2023.