Writing about addiction on an addictive platform (Substack)

I recently got caught up in the dopamine rush of going viral, and the come-down wasn't fun.

Hi cacti — This post is geared at my subscribers who use the Substack app. However, this post explores a problem many of us struggle with online: Algorithms meant to addict us.

Me, simulating the anxious look I make when checking my newsletter stats.

During what should have been a pleasant walk last weekend, I couldn’t shake a frustrating feeling: My latest newsletter post on romance books with kid-like cartoon covers wasn’t performing well on Notes. (“Notes” is Substack’s social media feature. It basically works just like Twitter, but with an even more mysterious algorithm.)

This was frustrating compared to the last time I wrote about a harmful romance book (and movie). For whatever reason, that post went “viral.” I even got a bunch of new subscribers (hiya!). You can see the big ole traffic spike and subsequent dip here:

What a rush! Followed by the more typical site traffic of brief peaks with long valleys.

If this newsletter paid my bills, this rumination over performance would perhaps be excusable. But I write The Shrieking Cactus for fun and creative expression, not to earn a living. So why did I care so much? Why was it emotionally painful to not see upward traffic growth?

Well, there’s the obvious explanation: My professional work as an online editor has always been tied to performance metrics (like click-through rates). It’s hard not to apply the same expectations for my personal newsletter, even though no one is holding me accountable here.

I was ‘loss chasing’

But as I wandered the neighborhood surveying cactus droopy by a recent freeze, I realized it’s something else, too — something a bit more sinister. I was experiencing “loss chasing,” a term used to explain how gamblers get dopamine rushes whether they win or lose, because unpredictability is exciting.

A part of them wants to lose. The more they lose, the stronger the urge to continue gambling, and the stronger the rush when they win — a phenomenon known as loss chasing. I suspect something similar is going on with social media apps, where the response of others is so capricious and unpredictable that the uncertainty of getting a “like” or some equivalent is as reinforcing as the “like” itself. - from “Dopamine Nation” by Anna Lembke, M.D.

Of course, gambling isn’t a direct correlation to being a content creator or writer (what are gamblers creating? Not a 1,000-word essay! Not a podcast!), but with all the inescapable performance tools baked into writing/creating/streaming these days, the two worlds are closer than many of us would like to admit.

I certainly felt a rush as my traffic quickly soared into the thousands of views…and I wanted more.

Gambling highs are built into the internet

This random taste of glory is baked into the algorithm. It’s part of why social media apps are addictive. Facebook, X, TikTok, YouTube, and gaming/gambling companies covertly use behavioral engineering—like unpredictability—to maximize addictive behaviors that encourage “loss chasing.” Other tools they use include:

• Endless scrolling/streaming (it’s hard to make the experience “end”)

• Endowment effect/loss aversion (it’s hard to walk away as your network, paycheck, or influence grows)

• Social pressure (it’s hard to ignore notification alarms, and even the “hope” of these notifications keeps us checking)

• Tailored algorithms (it’s hard to look away because the algorithm knows your vulnerabilities)

The more you get sucked into this stuff, the worse the experience gets. And once you’re compulsively doing something (checking views/likes/comments) despite negative consequences and diminishing returns (depression, frustration, ennui), you’ve entered addiction territory.

Mindless clicking and phone opening is why I deleted all social media apps from my phone. Yet even with that change, here I was again: Fighting that empty feeling. I don’t want to “quit” Substack, but I also don’t want to feel depleted when I log on.

Writers in recovery: What do they think?

It’s effing tricky — how do we stay true to our art without chasing the dopamine hits of going viral? Without feeling the embarrassing sting of post-virality disappointment?

For ideas, I turned to the people who are experts in this realm of overcoming unhealthy cravings: Writers in recovery. Oh, the irony: To reach them, all I had to do was open my (socially engineered and addictive) Notes platform, and ask:

I loved the responses. It was validating-yet-depressing to learn I’m not the only one pondering the challenge.

Dana Leigh Lyons, who writes Sober Soulful, is reevaluating her relationship to the internet. As she shared in this eloquent post on the push-and-pull of writing on addictive platforms:

“What I feel around this is a growing disquiet that echoes what I felt before quitting alcohol: an internal struggle, a cognitive dissonance steeped in loss and regret, the pain of knowing I’m willingly participating in something that takes more than it gives and costs more than I’d bargained for. Years, moments, connections, feelings. Life. That’s what’s been lost.

And, just like those months before quitting alcohol, I see a choice before me.”

Meanwhile, Kelly Thompson, who writes There’s Nothing Wrong With You (And There Never Was) and edits an excellent column on addiction, taps into her spirituality to guide her internet use:

“It helps to know the difference between chasing and passion. Chasing is empty and leaves me feeling that way (like when your note didn’t get engagement.) Passion is a thumb in the back from my higher power that pushes me to create, make art, and share the unique message of my being (I am the medium) —-I am obsessed in a good way. Think The Magnificent Obsession. When my addiction is turned to passion all bets are off and new dimensions open up!”

Substack is social media, despite the reputation as a writer’s haven

For me, part of my angst is watching another good platform go the way of social media. Substack no longer considers itself primarily a home for writers. It bills itself as “a media platform for video, writing, podcasts, and creator-centered communities, all powered by subscriptions.”

This is why their new features are often frustrating, such as live streaming with notifications automatically set to “on.” And it’s why some of their top cheerleaders keep pushing Notes and short-form content on us.

If I followed the latest guidance and started streaming live video and painstakingly crafting engaging mini-vignettes on Notes, I might gain more followers, but at what cost? I don’t like doing those things!

And even if I did like using Substack like Twitter, there’s limited payoff. Most “creators” and “influencers” will never reap the benefits.

Much like gambling, the system is rigged.

This newsletter is my labor of love for prickly people. If you enjoy my writing, please support my work and buy me a coffee. ☕️🤎