Thank You, While I’m Still Here to Say It

For Substack that gave me a voice, and for you, who chose to listen

I’ve been meaning to write this for a long time.

A full article saying thanks again to you my reader, but also to Substack.

To explain what Substack has given me, not as a writer, but as a person surviving something unspeakable.

And I kept thinking: I’ll do it next week. I’ll do it when I feel stronger. I’ll do it when there’s more peace in me than rubble…

But there’s no such week here, so I’m not going to wait.

In a war, “tomorrow” or “next week” are never guaranteed. And in a world of platforms and policies, even voices like mine can disappear in a heartbeat.

So I need to write it now, before I no longer can.

But first let me tell a little how everything started.

'Defender' by Mariia Loniuk

I didn’t come to Substack with a plan. I came with a pulse.

A pulse that was fading after too many nights of fear, and a voice that didn’t know where to go anymore.

I looked outside and saw a war that wouldn’t stop. Inside, a soul so crushed that needed to do something urgent to restore the strength to carry on.

And so I started to write.

I didn’t start writing because I thought anyone would read me, but because I felt that I had to.

Because the war demanded me to do something that I had never done before.

I never thought seriously about being a writer, but I always dreamed about something that spreads humanity and kindness.

To collect reasons to believe the world still has reasons to exist.

And when I read the words I was writing, I saw a world that I was not even recognizing myself.

I didn’t realize I was capable of writing, for example, about love. Especially in moments when my heart was completely full of anger, of rage, of desperation.

And I realized that I needed to share these words with the world because desperation made me write things that I never took for granted I would write someday.

Probably because I was not writing from myself, from my standpoint.

I was writing from the standpoint of Ukraine.

From the standpoint of a human being in any part of the world.

'Refugees' by Alessandra Barli

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Before here, I wrote for a whole year only in my tiny blog on BuyMeACoffee, where I poured my words but only a handful of people would ever stumble upon it. And I also tried Twitter, where, well, no comments are needed…

So a friend from the United States suddenly told me about here.

A strange and interesting space for writers called… Substack.

Where, of course, I would never be read by many people because the most incredible writers in the world are here, for sure.

But at least I would feel inspired by them.

And I had the hopes of getting a little more readers than my 20 or 30 wonderful friends who were reading me before I came here to this platform.

No likes chasing likes. No algorithm playing God. Just words. And people. And something fragile in between .

So I started writing like no one would ever see it. For three years.

And that’s when you showed up.

You read. You stayed. You reached out.

You didn’t scroll past.

You told me: I see you.

You made me feel like I wasn’t shouting into the ruins anymore.

And in a world so loud, so complex, so saturated like this one, that’s the most unexpected miracle of all.

That’s what Substack gave me.

Not just a platform or a better interface.

It gave me the miracle of being heard.

And you my reader, my friend, you gave me a reason.

A reason to get up and write again, even when the sirens have kept me awake all night.

You made this more than a page.

You made it a place.

A place where a contry under invasion could be felt, not just read.

Sometimes I think you don’t realize what you’ve done.

You gave me a shelter, without ever asking for anything back.

You gave me a future, simply by caring.

'Ukraine in mourning' by Daniela Herodesova

Substack is a world full of interesting and intelligent people who pay attention to whatever is meaningful in the world.

And I am so proud to be part of the meaningful crowd.

I am so proud of being here.

You have been so amazing.

And yes, some of you went even further. You chose to support this with a paid subscription, even though I said everything on this journal would always be free and with no paywalls.

You didn’t do it for access. You did it because something here felt worth protecting. You kept it breathing.

And I will always be grateful for that. But the most important thing here is having you here.

Reading, interacting, commenting, sharing.

Much more than the kind of subscription you opt for having. Not even if you are subscribed.

Every time I read your comments, I feel more motivated, and with a sense that the world still has a way to thrive.

That the world does not reduce itself to Putin, Trump, missiles, and destruction.

The world is still a beautiful place. To be.

With beautiful people to connect.

And Substack has provided me that.

So that’s why I need to address my compliments to Substack.

To this generous platform.

To everyone who makes it possible.

If not for them, we would not meet each other.

So thank you.

Thank you, Substack.

Thank you, reader.

Thank you, life,

For giving me one more day to say what must be said.

And someone to hear it.

🇺🇦

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🔖 All content in this journal is free to everyone. That’s only possible because some of you choose to support it with a paid subscription. If you’re new here and this voice speaks to you, thank you for finding it. You’re welcome, in any form.

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🔖 Please take a look and join (if you liked, of course) my second journal I just launched recently in honor of our common fight:

When Survivors Speak, You Listen

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📖 “The Divine Comedian: Ukraine’s Journey Through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise” is my first book: about Ukraine, seen from inside the fire, and the hope that refuses to die. Download it for free (PDF & Kindle).