On Growth

When the numbers were climbing, I lost my voice. When they stopped, I thought I'd lost my ability. But in reality, I'd just lost my reason to create.

Nov 17, 2025

I’ve checked my subscriber count 27 times this week.

689 this morning. 693 two weeks ago. 740 when I started.

I know it’s irrational. Obsessing over a number won’t change anything. In fact, I should probably be spending more time thinking about my next piece instead of watching the numbers decay.

But here I am. And I’ve seen it happen before.

The Climb

Four years ago, crossing a thousand followers on Twitter felt like proof I was doing something right.

Every hundred followers came with a huge surge of dopamine.

5,000 became 10,000. 10,000 became 20,000.

By the end of 2022, when I crossed 20,000, I really felt like I’d made it.

This is proof that I’m good at this. Proof that what I do matters.

So I kept going.

But along the way, I lost a little spark of what I genuinely wanted to create.

I spent much more time researching topics that resonated with my audience —leaning into what grew the numbers rather than my creativity.

What I published felt hollow, and a little too much like everyone else.

But the numbers kept climbing, so it all felt worth it.

Until they finally stopped.

The Plateau

January 2023.

New growth goal for the end of the year: 50,000 followers.

It felt logical after crossing 20,000 in 2022. The compound growth should kick in now. Momentum should build on itself. Yes, it’s ambitious but it’s definitely achievable.

However, by December 2023, I’d grown by just 3,000 followers.

Not 30,000. Three thousand.

Same effort. Same consistency. Same quality of work. Or so I thought.

The algorithm changed, my audience had moved on, and I was still there, posting daily, often into the void, watching the numbers barely shift.

Here I was, fresh out of medical school, just about to take a leap into the creator path, diving headfirst into the internet with my newfound passion for writing. And now, of all times, when I really needed the stars to align, my growth was miserably fading.

The Desert

I kept writing into 2024.

I didn’t know what else to do.

Every morning I’d have a very similar routine: wake up, have my coffee, post something, check the numbers, close the app.

I’d completely lost my excitement to write. Friends and connections that made the app feel alive had either moved on or repositioned themselves to write about growth themselves.

It was empty. Almost mechanical.

So by the end of May, I finally stopped.

No explanation of what happened or where I was going. I just didn’t open the app one day. Another day went by, then another week, then another month.

In fact, I didn’t miss it. Even though I’d spent years publishing daily, I knew I had to stop. And when I did, as expected, the world continued exactly as it had before.

The Rebuild

I tried LinkedIn for a while.

It delivered in some ways — I got in touch with several founders, healthcare professionals, and people building cool things. Many of them are still friends today.

But it still felt like I was putting on a mask and still optimizing for the platform instead of the work.

I was performing; playing the role of the new “doctor turned writer” and “startup” guy on the block.

Yes, I was growing. But I couldn’t really be myself on the platform.

What I actually needed was a place where I could just write. No networking for the sake of it. No perfecting hooks. Just me, talking to someone on the other side of the table.

The Next Chapter

When I launched Signal & Story, I brought my email list of around 740 readers with me. Some had been there since 2021. Most hadn’t opened an email in years.

I knew starting over meant losing a lot of them. And I told myself I was okay with that.

First newsletter goes out.

740 became 720.

Then 712.

Then 700.

Now 689.

Watching that number drop felt like I’ve been dragging myself through the mud.

If I’m not growing, I must be failing.

Each time I checked the stats, there was that little voice: _You were wrong about starting over. You should’ve stayed where the numbers were higher._

But last week, I looked deep into the actual data.

Open rate: 50%+ for every post. Engagement rate rising from the average 3.36% to 4.59%.

The people who stayed were actually reading. The ones who left weren’t.

The filter is working.

Maybe my writing has evolved. Maybe it’s just not for my previous audience anymore. And maybe that’s a good thing.

More than just the stats, the comments and messages I’ve received in recent weeks — both with Signal & Story and Citizens of the Internet — are exactly what I needed to hear.

To me, that’s what real growth looks like.

The Reason

I can name around ten people right now who genuinely care about my writing.

That might sound small. But it’s more than what I had when I had 20,000+ followers.

Back then, growth was all about reach. Today, it’s all about resonance.

So my new growth goal isn’t 1,000 or 10,000 subscribers. It’s 5 to 10 new readers who care deeply.

Those who read every word and are excited when they see my name in their inbox. Those who read from first line all the way to last. Excited about what I build and what I have to create.

I’m not playing the audience game. I know what that’s like.

I spent three years chasing a number that made me lose the reason I started writing in the first place.

When the numbers were climbing, I lost my voice.

When the numbers stopped, I thought I’d lost my ability.

What matters most, is to write something I’d be proud of 20 to 30 years from now. Something that makes someone think differently. Something only I could create.

I want to create art. I want to create magic.

I want to rebuild my reason.

And for the first time in three years, I’m excited to stay up at the early hours of the night and put everything together weeks before rather than rushing everything together the moment I’m about to publish.

That feeling is exactly what I’m going for.

And regardless of whether Signal & Story will grow to 1,000 subscribers or stay at 689 forever, I’m writing again.

And that’s enough.

Talk soon,

— Pranav

P.S. If you’re one of the 689, thank you for staying. This is for you.