Substack Isn't Changing In 2026 (So You Don’t Need A New Strategy Just This Framework)

The 3 hidden levers behind every growing substack

If you’re posting consistently but still feel invisible, you’re not imagining it. The internet tunes out anything that sounds familiar. This masterclass teaches you how to sound unmistakably you. The version people remember.

If you want your writing to stick, start here.

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Every December, the same panic carousel rolls back into town.

“Substack is changing — what you must do in 2026.”
“Stop writing like it’s 2024.”
“10 new features that will save your newsletter.”

As if the right toggle or shiny new button could fix the ache most writers don’t say out loud. The fear of being invisible. The fear of being late. The fear of doing all this work… and still being ignored.

I know that ache.

When I started writing online, I spent months publishing into silence. No replies. No subscribers. Just the quiet hum of: What if I’m not special enough for this?

My early Substack posts felt like dropping pebbles down a well and waiting for a splash that never came. But here’s what shifted everything for me — and for the writers I coach now:

Substack doesn’t run on hacks. It runs on trust.

Which is why those “everything’s changing!” headlines don’t matter. Because every writer who grows uses the same rhythm.

It worked in 2024.
It worked in 2025.
It will work long after the next feature announcement disappears down the feed.

It’s the 3E Trust Framework:

Evidence. Expertise. Empathy.

Here’s how to use it:

1. Evidence is how your reader knows you’re real

The turning point came one rainy Tuesday when I finally did the thing I’d avoided for months:

I showed the truth. Not a heroic milestone. Not a manufactured success story. Just a screenshot: 7 new subscribers this week. Here’s what I changed. I expected eye rolls. What I got was curiosity. Because evidence grounds your work.

It says: I’m not theorising from a mountaintop. I’m here in the mud with you.

Most writers hide their early wins because they think small proof makes them look small. But that’s the myth whispering in the corner. The one insisting your results must be dramatic before they’re worth sharing. That myth keeps people invisible for years.

I’ve seen this again and again. In my own journey and in every coaching session:

Small proof beats big promises. Every single time.

Your reader trusts what they can see, not what you claim. And when a writer starts sharing their experiments. Screenshots, replies, honest metrics. Their audience shifts. You can feel it. They stop being sceptical observers and start becoming believers.

Evidence is your fingerprint. It’s how people know you’re building something real. Share the proof, even when it feels tiny.

Trust doesn’t grow from what’s shiny. It grows from what’s true.

2. Expertise is how your reader knows you can help

Every writer hits a moment when they stop sharing inspiration and start sharing instructions.

For me, it happened the day I finally shared a content-planning model I’d been using quietly for months. Nothing fancy. Nothing “industry-defining.” Just a clear, usable framework someone could apply that same afternoon.

My subscriber growth doubled that week.

Not because the idea was groundbreaking. It wasn’t. It worked because it was useful. Most writers treat expertise like a trophy you earn. But it’s not a trophy. It’s a trail of breadcrumbs:

I’ve been where you are. Here’s the step that moved me forward.

The villain here is the ghost of thought leadership. That floaty voice whispering, Be profound. Be original. Impress them. Ignore it. Your reader doesn’t want to be dazzled. They want to move. Clarity beats cleverness every time.

When you teach from your experiments. The things you’ve tested, broken, questioned, and rebuilt. You stop sounding like a commentator and start sounding like a guide. And guides create momentum.

Give your reader something they can use today. If it helps them move one inch, they’ll trust you again tomorrow.

3. Empathy is how your reader knows you’re human

This is the part writers resist most.

Not because they don’t feel deeply. They do. But because being real feels like stepping onto a stage without armour. I felt that last week when I published a story that lost me 54 subscribers in under ten minutes. I sat there watching them blink away. Tiny rejections disappearing across my screen.

I almost deleted the post. Instead, I breathed… and pressed send. The replies floored me.

Thank you. I thought I was the only one afraid of disappearing.
I’m 47 and terrified I missed my chance — this helped.
I didn’t know we were allowed to talk about this.

That’s when it clicked:

Empathy isn’t softness. It’s solidarity.

It’s the bridge that lets someone feel less alone. It’s the moment they whisper, If you’re allowed to be human here, maybe I am too. You need to resist the dark shadow of perfection. Quietly insisting you stay polished so people take you seriously. But readers don’t bond with perfect words. They bond with truth.

Vulnerability isn’t a risk. It’s a magnet.

Your humanity is your most scalable asset. When your reader feels seen by you, they stay.

The shortcut that isn’t a shortcut

Evidence = prove it.
Expertise = teach it.
Empathy = feel it.

Trust = all three.

And none of that depends on:

• algorithm shifts

• new features

• dramatic platform updates

• next year’s hype cycle

Platforms evolve. Human psychology doesn’t.

Your reader still wants what they’ve always wanted. Someone they believe. Someone who helps. Someone who feels real. That’s the work. That’s the craft. That’s the quiet engine behind every writer who actually grows.

Which is why you don’t need a new Substack strategy for 2026.

You just need to build trust. Slowly, consistently, visibly. Get that right, and your writing compounds.

Not because Substack changed, but because you did.

Derek