💬 Share a Note With Us
A Substack Notes share thread and an invitation to our next workshop
I have a confession. I used to hate Notes.
I couldn’t understand what people were doing on there. It felt to me too much like social media. Too overwhelming, too confusing, too much of a time suck.
I didn’t get why some Notes exploded and others received crickets.
I still don’t have all the answers — not by a long shot — but I’ve been observing and learning and experimenting, and I’d love to have a conversation with all of you about getting traction with Notes on Substack.
You’re invited to a Midstack Notes Workshop next Wednesday, October 30th at 1 p.m. Eastern. Sign up to receive a Zoom link and a recording. (If you can’t attend live, it’s totally okay to sign up just for the recording.)
We’ll talk all things Notes. And feel free to ask questions and share challenges about anything else!
You’re also invited to share a recent Note in the comments below. Don’t worry if you’re not sure if it’s “good.”
To share your Note in the comments:
copy and paste the text of the Note
then share the URL of the Note (click on the Note itself to get the URL) and paste it
then find at least 2-3 other Notes and like, restack, and comment on them
Inspired by Kate Brook I got out for a walk first thing. And look at what I would have missed had I stayed indoors 😊
https://substack.com/@valerieoconnor/note/c-73015495
I'm currently halfway through a beautiful book by Alua Arthur, on her journey as a death doula. It's called Briefly, Perfectly, Human and it's a great read.
I've have felt drawn to death doula work ever since my best friends mum died. I lived with them both when I was a teenager and loved her mum very much.
I've often been adjacent to death. My 13yr old next door neighbour died when I was 15, followed shortly by my best friends dad. A neighbour fell from her balcony into my garden on Christmas day three years ago. A work colleague died last year, the mum of three very young children. Each instance devastating. A sudden jolt connecting me to mortality and the fragility of life.
I've followed Alua's work online for a couple of years now. I spent some time singing with a threshold choir and have looked into various training courses, all parked for a future me as I'm money and time poor at present.
Yesterday, I supported a young woman on a bridge in London, who was planning on taking her life. A shocking and extraordinary experience that has left me very vulnerable and tender today.
I called my mum to talk it through and release some tears and I spoke of how I felt so ill equipped, how I didn't know what words to say to this woman in her darkest hour. I spoke of how frightening that was and how the responsibility of the womans' survival weighed heavy upon me. I said how surprised I felt that I did somehow have words in me, and courage in me too. How I felt like a vessel, no skillset to draw on and yet some things of use appeared.
My mum told me that my nan, her mum, was known in their town as the woman who would sit by your side as you died. I never knew this. Neighbours, some strangers, would knock on my mums door when she was a young girl and ask for Mrs Payne, my nan. And she would then spend the night sat by the bedside of the dying.
I'm so moved to discover this family history today, and to see a thread running through my maternal line, of wanting to be there, facing death, celebrating life, putting ourselves in positions where we can be useful even when we don't feel we have anything useful to say.
https://substack.com/profile/25948668-lucy-wadham/note/c-73628728