When a Place No Longer Holds You
What Glennon Doyle’s departure stirred in me about self-care, embodied clarity, and the courage it takes to choose yourself—again and again.
In the wake of the recent Glennon Doyle conversation, I turned inward—and found that it was time to return to something I’d once offered myself regularly: setting an intention and holding an affirmation. Not as ritual for performance, but as a form of care.
A way of saying to myself: You matter. Your voice, your breath, your unfolding—all of it matters.
Some people may not know who Glennon Doyle is or what this conversation has been about. Glennon is a best-selling author, married to soccer legend Abby Wambach, and together they’ve spoken with rare honesty about their mental health journeys, their past struggles with addiction, and the healing they’ve chosen again and again. Glennon had previously stepped away from social media entirely. And then, in April, she arrived on Substack.
Within days, 250,000 subscribers followed.
And what followed her? Praise. Critique. Questions. Discomfort. Some responses were thoughtful; others were not. And on May 1st, without fanfare, her Substack profile disappeared.
Those on her general mailing list received a letter. Substack, she wrote, had been a “test balloon.” But her body made the answer clear: it didn’t feel good. So she left—not in silence, but in truth.
And that truth rippled through me.
It’s not that I’m a “fan,” in the way that word is often used. But again and again—through her book Untamed, through the We Can Do Hard Things podcast—I’ve felt mirrored. Understood. Moved. And in that recent letter, something landed in my body like a bell.
Because I know that feeling. The one where you gather your strength to return—only to find that return isn’t what you hoped. I’ve been living that story in my own way since February.
That was when I realized I could no longer stay in my country. Not in this body. Not with what it remembers.
I live in a small town in southern Lower Saxony. Safe by most standards. But when I step outside, my nervous system doesn’t register "safe." My chest tightens. My back seizes. My body feels under siege. Ten minutes after returning home, the pain dissolves. It’s not imagined. It’s patterned. It's trauma lodged in the fascia of my being.
And until recently, I didn’t even know it was there. Dissociation is clever like that. Most of my life, I was a version of myself that wasn’t me—a collection of inner children doing their best to survive. Functioning at 200%. Performing safety. Earning belonging. Playing roles I never auditioned for.
I had learned to be invisible when I was too much. I had learned to be small when I dared to be different. Queer. Non-binary. Sensitive. Fierce. Contradictory.
All the things I was told made me impossible to love.
And yet, here I am.
Reading Glennon’s letter, I recognized that place in the journey: when you’ve made progress, peeled back layers, healed enough to try again—and then you find yourself standing at yet another threshold. Another limit. Another “not yet.” And you choose to listen. Again.
That is not quitting. That is courage.
So yes, I am sad that we won’t experience Glennon’s continued unfolding here on Substack. And yes, I will keep following her wherever she writes. But more than that, I honor what she chose. It takes immense courage to prioritize your health. And I believe it takes even more courage when you are a public figure. When every step you take is scrutinized, analyzed, dissected.
I’ve heard people say things like, “She must have a big team—why wasn’t this better prepared?” Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. But your body is not a team. And it doesn’t care about optics or press cycles or follower counts. Your body is entitled to say no more. And each person—celebrity or not—is entitled to walk away without explanation. You don’t owe 250,000 subscribers an exit strategy when what’s at stake is your sanity.
So, with her story echoing in my own breath, I turn toward what feels true for me now. I turn toward courage. And I offer myself the affirmation that best holds what I’m learning to embody:
Courage
Courage is open-hearted bravery. It is when we feel frightened but still act in a way that aligns with our personal truth. It requires that we tap into our inner strength and our vulnerability.
Buddhist interpretation: In Buddhist teachings, courage (often referred to as vīrya or "energy/diligence") is one of the Five Spiritual Faculties and the Six Perfections (Pāramitās). It is the quality of energetic perseverance in pursuing wholesome actions, facing difficulties, and overcoming obstacles on the path to awakening. The Buddha encouraged practitioners to develop courageous effort (viriya) to overcome fear, laziness, and doubt (see, for example, the Dhammapada and the teachings on the Four Right Efforts).
Inspiration for practicing courage
Check with your body often, and tune your ability to distinguish excitement in the unknown from true danger warnings.
Make a plan to try a thing that scares you a little.
Make a plan to try a thing that scares you a lot.
Practice being vulnerable with someone you trust.
Reach out for support with something that evokes feelings of vulnerability.
Volunteer to help someone else with something they find frightening.
Self-reflection
Where in my life am I already being brave?
[exit wounds / entry points]
“I left because my body said no.”
(not a resignation letter. a resurrection.)
— 250,000 silent expectations
still humming in the inbox.
I walked ten feet into my hometown
& my spine screamed
in a language only fascia speaks.
/// clarity ≠ clean lines
courage ≠ staying put
arrival ≠ arrival ≠ arrival
substack is not a sanctuary
but neither is silence
some gates aren’t meant to be opened.
some are meant to be walked away from.
Affirmation: I Am the Embodied Clarity I Seek
I am the embodied clarity I seek. With each breath, I allow confusion and old patterns to gently dissolve, making space for understanding to take root within me. I recognize that clarity is not something distant or separate, but a living presence that grows as I honor my own truth and listen deeply to my inner knowing. Even when the path ahead feels uncertain, I trust that clarity is already woven into my being, quietly guiding me with compassion and patience. I welcome each moment as an opportunity to see myself and the world with greater kindness and honesty. By embracing my questions as much as my answers, I become a steady light for myself and others, moving forward with gentle confidence and unwavering respect for my own journey.
Main Key Takeaway:
This affirmation reminds us that clarity isn’t something we have to search for outside ourselves—it’s already within us, unfolding as we trust our inner wisdom, honor our truth, and meet uncertainty with compassion.
Essence: Clarity grows from within when I trust myself, honor my truth, and welcome both my questions and answers with kindness.
Self-Reflection
When confusion or old patterns show up, what helps you gently let them go and make space for new understanding?
Hint: Notice any small rituals, thoughts, or supports that help you shift from confusion to clarity, even in subtle ways.
Conclusion
Glennon’s departure reminded me that choosing yourself is rarely loud—but it is always brave. It stirred something in me that had already been rising: a need to step more fully into what my body knows, to trust that walking away is not failure, but an act of devotion to my own becoming. If you’ve felt this too—an inner no, a quiet ache, a longing to be held by something softer—may this be your permission slip. To listen. To pause. To leave what no longer holds you. And to know that in doing so, you’re not quitting. You’re choosing care. You’re choosing clarity. You’re choosing you.
Thank you for walking this path with me.
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Thank you for this insightful post. I posted a note just today regarding Glennon's fast arrival and departure. I'm also saddened. She has decades of experience in the writing space and much to share with us. It's a shame that our collective and instinctual scarcity mentality drove her away. And I completely understand why she did. Like you said, "Choosing yourself is rarely loud—but it is always brave."
Such a beautiful post, Jay, I’ve appreciated all your shares on this issue around Glennon on Substack but this was most moving of all to me as you make your own declaration of honoring what your body tells you that you need to do. The affirmation on courage is spot on for me. As I enter month three of pain related to my slipped disc injury, so much reduced mobility and isolation, so many tears as I unlock held emotions in my body, I, too, feel acutely what the fascia along my spine is telling me. That I have run headlong through this life for too long, always moving forward, never stopping, always taking care of others until my body put on the brakes and said, ‘STOP!’ I am now asking forgiveness of my body, thanking it for giving me an opportunity to learn how to walk better on this earth, with more compassion for myself, which is in itself courage. This is how I will grow resilient. As I know you will too Jay💗