Glennon Doyle’s quiet exit from Substack stirred something deep in me—about self-care, embodied clarity, and the courage it takes to walk away from spaces that no longer feel right. This is a reflection on leaving, listening, and choosing yourself—again and again.
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."
Cara, thank you—your words land with such clarity and care.
I resonate deeply with your note about the scarcity mentality so many of us have internalized. It’s painful to witness how quickly that energy can shape a space, especially when a celeb like Glennon arrives with openness, only to be met with unease.
Yes—she had so much to offer.
And still, I admire that she chose to listen inward rather than push through for the sake of optics. That kind of choice, especially in public, requires a quiet kind of bravery I think many of us are still learning to recognize.
I'm really grateful we’re in conversation about this. There’s so much here—about boundaries, community, and the kind of creative culture we want to nurture. Let’s keep talking.
It pains me deeply to see humans turning on one another all for the sake of greed. It would be a real shame to see this platform turn into a bunch of hungry ghosts. Here's the note I posted earlier. Grateful for you. https://substack.com/@carabradley/note/c-113909325
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💗
Amy, your words landed right in the soft center of me. Thank you for sharing so openly what you’re moving through—what your body is moving through. That moment when our systems say, “Enough”—not as punishment, but as a final plea for presence—is so familiar to me. I recognize the courage it takes to listen, especially when the world around us still prizes movement over meaning, doing over being.
Like you, I’ve come to see fascia as not just tissue—but memory, language, knowing. For me, discovering Prentis Hemphill’s What It Takes to Heal filled in pieces I didn’t even know were missing. Their work on somatics and liberation—especially the connection between justice and embodiment—has shaped at least half of my healing path. Truly. Without it, I would still be orbiting my pain instead of meeting it.
I’m grateful we’re both walking this road with more compassion now—more slowly, more honestly. And I believe that yes, this is how we grow resilient: not by bracing harder, but by softening with intention.
Thank you for the beautiful empathy Jay and for recommending that book. I am working with a very experienced and gifted myofascial release therapist called Michelle Andrie, author of Heal.Thy.Low Back (I have attended her retreats and come to know her personally). In our online session yesterday she told me I was doing great and had turned a corner. But I’m having a painful evening so it doesn’t feel like that today. Remembering to breathe.
Amy, I’m so glad to hear you’re working with someone like Michelle—and how beautiful that your paths have crossed in such a personal way.
It sounds like you're doing the deep, layered work of returning to yourself, even on the hard days when progress feels slippery or out of reach.
Turning a corner doesn’t always feel like a celebration—it can feel like a quiet ache, a soft unraveling. The pain that resurfaces isn’t necessarily a step backward; sometimes it’s your body releasing what it’s finally ready to let go of.
I hope tonight, your breath can be a gentle companion. And if not tonight, then tomorrow. Or the day after. Your body knows. And you’re not alone in the remembering.
Wonderful piece, Jay. Mirrors my own journey on social media. For some reason, Substack is working for me - and my body / nervous system - when no other social media (online) container did. For me, it is clear that this is because I have found true community here and support for my mission to raise awareness about scapegoating abuse in human systems. I've made actual 'real' friends here. I've also co-created and facilitate a true subscriber community on my Substack that supports healing from Family Scapegoating Abuse (FSA).
For these reasons - and more - Substack is now my home. It was the last house on the block, so to speak. I would not be online today actively had I not come here. It was rough and ugly 'out there' and I felt entirely alone. And the fact is, people can be very, very cruel online with their comments. I'll never expose myself to that again. When it happens here, (which is rare), I nip it in the bud via a 'ban'. "My barn, my rules."
Thank you so much for sharing this part of your journey—and for your generous words about my piece.
I never engaged in other types of social media before. Yet I still think there might be a difference between a TV personality married to a female soccer goddess and being three times bestselling author, and us. I think of them it was expected, part of the deal.
I felt the resonance in what you wrote: that deep knowing when a space, at last, feels not just tolerable but genuinely supportive. That kind of alignment between body, mission, and community is no small thing. It’s hard-won.
Your phrase “the last house on the block” stayed with me. I’ve felt that, too—that sense of almost giving up on finding a place where one’s voice and work can land without bracing. I’m grateful Substack has been that for you. The work you do around scapegoating and systemic harm is so needed, and I’m heartened to know it has a strong and held container here.
Yes to boundaries, yes to care, and yes to shaping digital spaces where our nervous systems can breathe.
Oh wow I spend two weeks not on substack and I've missed it all! Thanks for giving an overview on what I've missed and also adding your personal insights and reflections to it.
Sophie, I'm so glad you found your way back here—and truly touched that this piece could offer both a glimpse into what unfolded and a more personal thread to follow it through. Sometimes stepping away gives us exactly the space we need, and I hope those two weeks were nourishing for you.
This is an excellent post. I was very surprised to learn Glennon had stepped away from Substack. I chose to do the same thing, albeit temporarily, for preservation of my mental health. I will be back in June. Your take on Glennon’s reasoning is tender and compassionate. Thank you for being a light in the darkness.
Colleen, thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful words. I’m holding space for your choice to step back—it takes deep wisdom and courage to listen to your needs and honor them, especially in a world that so often demands constant presence. I’ll look forward to your return in June, and in the meantime, I’m sending warmth and respect as you tend to yourself with care.
Great post, Jay. Thank you. What a weird week this has been. I'm proud of her and how she chose to care for herself. I feel ashamed of the greater Substack community for the way she WASN'T welcomed by too many here. xoN
Nan, thank you so much. Yes—“weird week” doesn’t even begin to cover it, and yet your words land with such clarity and care. I’m proud of her too. It takes a rare kind of strength to choose oneself so publicly and so swiftly, especially in the face of noise. And I share that ache around how she was met here—so much potential for community, and still, so many missed chances to offer grace. Grateful we’re walking this space with open hearts. xoxo
Yes. You're right. I feel like the people who were vocal and unwelcoming weren't able to recognize that they were actually shooting themselves in the collective foot. It was awesome that she was bringing so many people to the party. They may have become our readers, too. We cannot live a life coming from a place of scarcity. It's a terrible loss. Love creates more love. Fear and desperation and resistance creates nothing of value to anyone. Sending you big hugs and loads of love. xo
Yes, yes, and yes. You’ve named something essential here—how often we forget that generosity multiplies, while defensiveness only narrows what’s possible. I keep returning to your line: “They were actually shooting themselves in the collective foot.” That’s exactly it. Glennon brought more than an audience—she brought energy, care, and the potential to connect in deeper, more vibrant ways. That’s not a threat; it’s an invitation.
And your reminder that love creates more love? That’s the mantra I want to carry into this next season.
Thank you for your steadiness and your wide-open heart. Big hugs and all the love right back to you,
I’ve missed you too—and I’m so glad you honored what you needed. Stepping back to care for yourself is part of the work, and it often takes more courage than pushing through. I feel that in my bones these days.
May your little universe continue to offer you steadiness, inspiration, and soft places to land. And know that you’re always felt here, even in your quiet.
Beautiful reflections Jay. I feel sad about Glennon's departure, but I'm equally celebrating her clarity and capacity to listen to her body. What beautiful role modelling for all of us. It's an ongoing work in progress for me, but trust in my body is at the core of my healing 💙
Thank you so much for your kind words. Yes—both things can be true, can’t they? The sadness and the celebration. I, too, felt that ache and admiration simultaneously. Watching someone model such embodied clarity—especially under such visibility—reminded me how much permission it offers the rest of us to pause, to check in, and to choose differently if we need to.
Trusting the body is such deep work. I hear you completely when you say it’s ongoing. I’m on that path too, and I’m grateful to walk it alongside thoughtful souls like you.
Thank you for your kind and open-hearted note. It genuinely made me smile. Sometimes, not knowing all the “big names” means we get to meet people through the meaning they create rather than the noise around them—and I think that’s beautiful.
Yes, Glennon’s brief presence here stirred something in me—not fandom, but reflection. It reminded me how deeply choosing ourselves can go, especially when it’s quiet, embodied, and hard-won. Her decision became a mirror, and I’m grateful for that.
And you’re right—choosing yourself is always a good thing. 💛
This is a much needed message for me too. Thank you WLP 🙏🏻💙
"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)."
Lorraine, thank you. I’m truly glad those words found you at the right time. The Buddhist lens on vīrya has offered me so much—especially the idea that courage isn’t about force, but about the quiet energy it takes to keep returning to what’s wholesome, even when it’s hard. I’m honored this spoke to you. Grateful to walk this path in such thoughtful company. 💙
You enlightened me about Glennon, I had not idea and little knowledge of her. Yet I commend her decision to prioritise herself and her health first . We all need to that clarity and care for ourselves in a world that is not as kind or safe as we desire it to be.
I loved this article and how you weaved it into your own experiences and an exploration of courage. Thanks you
Susan, thank you so much for your generous words. I’m really touched that the piece offered you both insight into Glennon’s decision and a deeper invitation into your own reflections on care and courage.
Yes—clarity and self-prioritization can be radical acts, especially in a world that so often asks us to shrink, comply or perform. I believe there’s real strength in recognizing when a space no longer serves our well-being, and I’m glad that came through.
Your presence in this conversation adds light. Thank you again.
What a journey you have taken us on in this post, from Glennon Doyle, to losing a sense of home and belonging to rituals for self-care. Absolutely penetrating in its honesty and rawness and beauty.
Linnea, your words truly touch me—thank you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this path, it’s that honesty, when met with presence, becomes a kind of balm—for the writer, and sometimes for the reader too.
I’m grateful the post resonated across those layers—Glennon’s leaving, the ache of disconnection, the quiet rituals we choose to stay soft and rooted. It means a great deal to be met with such recognition by you who holds space for healing so thoughtfully yourself.
Jay, I don’t know Glennon (admittedly I had to Google who she was) and I’m cautious not to assume anything about her experience or her choice to leave. But what I do know—what your reflection beautifully illuminated—is how essential it is for each of us to take stock, pause, and ask the hard, tender questions: What is serving me? What is depleting me? What feels true in my body right now?
Reading about Glennon’s decision brought me back to my own reckoning not too long ago. I left social media at the end of 2024—not with a viral exit post, not with fanfare, but with quiet clarity. My audience was tiny compared to Glennon’s: 12,000 followers across platforms. And still, the leaving felt seismic. The endless pull to perform, to be visible, to stay in the algorithm’s good graces…it was eroding the very presence and depth I wanted to cultivate.
And then, in March, I began to feel it again—this time on Substack. A platform I had begun to love, one that had started feeling like home, began to hum with the same undercurrent: urgency, performative Notes, the pressure to “post more, comment more, be seen more.” The fast likes, the quick comments, the transactional engagements. I realized I wasn’t breathing fully in this space anymore. I'm coming here from your newsletter that landed in my inbox.
As I made the quiet choice to scale back last month, I turned inward. I am focusing my energy on my newsletter subscribers—2,800 people who have willingly, intentionally invited me into their inboxes. And in that slowing down, something has shifted. The conversations have deepened. Readers are writing me back with long, vulnerable stories of their lives. I am finding myself spending hours not creating more content, but reading, witnessing, honoring these threads of humanity woven back to me. And that has became the richest part of my work.
Your words remind me that it’s not the size of the platform or the number of eyes watching that sustains us—it’s the integrity of the space we’re holding. The permission to leave when a space stops nourishing us. The courage to listen to the body’s "NO!" even if the world expects a yes. Because the "world" is amorphous, unnamed, faceless, their expectation isn't something I'm bound to. Their bullying--because this reaction to Glennon's presence on Substack is what it sounds like--is not something anyone should bow down to.
I’m so grateful you’ve shared this reflection, Jay. It’s a reminder I didn’t know I needed today: that leaving isn’t failing. That boundaries are love. That care—radical, daily, embodied care—is a practice worth prioritizing, even when it means disappointing expectations.
Mansi, thank you—your words meet me exactly where I hoped mine might land: not in judgment or reaction, but in the layered tenderness of lived truth. I feel your reflection as a shared current, one that moves beneath visibility and algorithms and into the quiet pulse of embodiment.
Yes, this essay was about Glennon—and at the same time, not just. It was about what happens when we dare to listen to the body’s quiet refusal, the soul’s deeper timing. About how radical and rare it still is for women—especially those who carry responsibility, care, and visibility—to say no not out of rebellion, but out of wisdom.
I felt your journey through this message, and I’m moved by your shift toward slower, deeper connections. That’s where I long to live too. It’s not less—it’s more. And yes, like you, I cherish Substack when it becomes a place for conversations like this. Real, reciprocal, revelatory.
Thank you for hearing me. For sharing yourself so honestly in return. For seeing this as courage, not retreat. I’m glad we’re in each other’s orbit.
Jay, thank you for seeing this not as commentary, but as shared knowing. I have so much gratitude that you've taken the time to make space for conversations, for receiving stories like mine with grace and for affirming that slower, deeper connection isn't less ... it's everything!
Mansi, yes—everything in me nods with your words. Shared knowing is exactly it. When we slow down enough to recognize ourselves in each other’s thresholds, something shifts. Not in volume, but in depth. It reminds me why I write at all: not to reach the most people, but to meet the right ones, in the right moment, like this.
Thank you for moving at that pace with me. For modeling the kind of presence we so rarely give ourselves, let alone each other. That kind of resonance—it’s everything, indeed.
Oh, my goodness, Jay. I came into the "fray" several days late, and was absolutely dumbfounded to unravel what I did. Same day, Glennon's announcement that she was leaving Substack arrived in my in box. OY!
Glennon literally saved me during the pandemic with her "family home meetings." I listened each and every time she showed up to help each of us feel a little less alone and that we belonged. I have been a member of the Pod for years now, read all her books, and what always inspires me about her was her inclusiveness, her bringing in women, just as our Lizzy does. In fact, I came to Substack, the Lovelet community, because of Lizzy being on Glennnon's podcast. Isn't that ironic, that Liz welcomes her here, and some simply could not handle it?
Good for her to have taken the temperature here and to have gone. Yet, for those of us remaining, what does that say about how we show up and champion one another? We must!
There will always be enough seats at the table, and thank goodness we know too where the door is. It feels as if this has been pivotal for you. Wherever you land, Jay, you bring your light and love, just as Glennon does. May she continue to shine on, as I know she will, and put this experience in her rear view mirror. I'm afraid there was NOT anything I read that felt constructive, and most of it was said in FEAR and using assumptions.
This has not left me... Thank you for many of your life giving points. I'm sifting and sorting. Let's do better! Lovingly and with aloha dear Jay. 💜🪶
I love your above Affirmation: I Am the Embodied Clarity I Seek. Could not be more timely or beautifully crafted-thank you Jay. This whole strand of writing and replies is a deep confirmation. See you tomorrow!
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."
Cara, thank you—your words land with such clarity and care.
I resonate deeply with your note about the scarcity mentality so many of us have internalized. It’s painful to witness how quickly that energy can shape a space, especially when a celeb like Glennon arrives with openness, only to be met with unease.
Yes—she had so much to offer.
And still, I admire that she chose to listen inward rather than push through for the sake of optics. That kind of choice, especially in public, requires a quiet kind of bravery I think many of us are still learning to recognize.
I'm really grateful we’re in conversation about this. There’s so much here—about boundaries, community, and the kind of creative culture we want to nurture. Let’s keep talking.
It pains me deeply to see humans turning on one another all for the sake of greed. It would be a real shame to see this platform turn into a bunch of hungry ghosts. Here's the note I posted earlier. Grateful for you. https://substack.com/@carabradley/note/c-113909325
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💗
Amy, your words landed right in the soft center of me. Thank you for sharing so openly what you’re moving through—what your body is moving through. That moment when our systems say, “Enough”—not as punishment, but as a final plea for presence—is so familiar to me. I recognize the courage it takes to listen, especially when the world around us still prizes movement over meaning, doing over being.
Like you, I’ve come to see fascia as not just tissue—but memory, language, knowing. For me, discovering Prentis Hemphill’s What It Takes to Heal filled in pieces I didn’t even know were missing. Their work on somatics and liberation—especially the connection between justice and embodiment—has shaped at least half of my healing path. Truly. Without it, I would still be orbiting my pain instead of meeting it.
I’m grateful we’re both walking this road with more compassion now—more slowly, more honestly. And I believe that yes, this is how we grow resilient: not by bracing harder, but by softening with intention.
I’m so glad we’re in this together, Amy. 💗
Thank you for the beautiful empathy Jay and for recommending that book. I am working with a very experienced and gifted myofascial release therapist called Michelle Andrie, author of Heal.Thy.Low Back (I have attended her retreats and come to know her personally). In our online session yesterday she told me I was doing great and had turned a corner. But I’m having a painful evening so it doesn’t feel like that today. Remembering to breathe.
Amy, I’m so glad to hear you’re working with someone like Michelle—and how beautiful that your paths have crossed in such a personal way.
It sounds like you're doing the deep, layered work of returning to yourself, even on the hard days when progress feels slippery or out of reach.
Turning a corner doesn’t always feel like a celebration—it can feel like a quiet ache, a soft unraveling. The pain that resurfaces isn’t necessarily a step backward; sometimes it’s your body releasing what it’s finally ready to let go of.
I hope tonight, your breath can be a gentle companion. And if not tonight, then tomorrow. Or the day after. Your body knows. And you’re not alone in the remembering.
With warmth across the distance,
Love xoxo Jay 🌿
Beautifully said and may your healing continue Amy.
Beautifully said and may your healing continue Amy.
I appreciate your kindness more than you know, my friend.💗
Amy you are always welcome, and if I ever come into the vicinity of Barcelona, I'll truly hope to meet you there (or nearby)
Yes, that would be wonderful, to meet in person one day,
Wonderful piece, Jay. Mirrors my own journey on social media. For some reason, Substack is working for me - and my body / nervous system - when no other social media (online) container did. For me, it is clear that this is because I have found true community here and support for my mission to raise awareness about scapegoating abuse in human systems. I've made actual 'real' friends here. I've also co-created and facilitate a true subscriber community on my Substack that supports healing from Family Scapegoating Abuse (FSA).
For these reasons - and more - Substack is now my home. It was the last house on the block, so to speak. I would not be online today actively had I not come here. It was rough and ugly 'out there' and I felt entirely alone. And the fact is, people can be very, very cruel online with their comments. I'll never expose myself to that again. When it happens here, (which is rare), I nip it in the bud via a 'ban'. "My barn, my rules."
Rebecca,
Thank you so much for sharing this part of your journey—and for your generous words about my piece.
I never engaged in other types of social media before. Yet I still think there might be a difference between a TV personality married to a female soccer goddess and being three times bestselling author, and us. I think of them it was expected, part of the deal.
I felt the resonance in what you wrote: that deep knowing when a space, at last, feels not just tolerable but genuinely supportive. That kind of alignment between body, mission, and community is no small thing. It’s hard-won.
Your phrase “the last house on the block” stayed with me. I’ve felt that, too—that sense of almost giving up on finding a place where one’s voice and work can land without bracing. I’m grateful Substack has been that for you. The work you do around scapegoating and systemic harm is so needed, and I’m heartened to know it has a strong and held container here.
Yes to boundaries, yes to care, and yes to shaping digital spaces where our nervous systems can breathe.
With gratitude and admiration,
Jay
Oh wow I spend two weeks not on substack and I've missed it all! Thanks for giving an overview on what I've missed and also adding your personal insights and reflections to it.
Sophie, I'm so glad you found your way back here—and truly touched that this piece could offer both a glimpse into what unfolded and a more personal thread to follow it through. Sometimes stepping away gives us exactly the space we need, and I hope those two weeks were nourishing for you.
Grateful to be reconnecting with you here. 💛
xo Jay
Jay,
This is an excellent post. I was very surprised to learn Glennon had stepped away from Substack. I chose to do the same thing, albeit temporarily, for preservation of my mental health. I will be back in June. Your take on Glennon’s reasoning is tender and compassionate. Thank you for being a light in the darkness.
Colleen, thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful words. I’m holding space for your choice to step back—it takes deep wisdom and courage to listen to your needs and honor them, especially in a world that so often demands constant presence. I’ll look forward to your return in June, and in the meantime, I’m sending warmth and respect as you tend to yourself with care.
xoxo Stay safe and rest Jay
Great post, Jay. Thank you. What a weird week this has been. I'm proud of her and how she chose to care for herself. I feel ashamed of the greater Substack community for the way she WASN'T welcomed by too many here. xoN
Nan, thank you so much. Yes—“weird week” doesn’t even begin to cover it, and yet your words land with such clarity and care. I’m proud of her too. It takes a rare kind of strength to choose oneself so publicly and so swiftly, especially in the face of noise. And I share that ache around how she was met here—so much potential for community, and still, so many missed chances to offer grace. Grateful we’re walking this space with open hearts. xoxo
Jay
Yes. You're right. I feel like the people who were vocal and unwelcoming weren't able to recognize that they were actually shooting themselves in the collective foot. It was awesome that she was bringing so many people to the party. They may have become our readers, too. We cannot live a life coming from a place of scarcity. It's a terrible loss. Love creates more love. Fear and desperation and resistance creates nothing of value to anyone. Sending you big hugs and loads of love. xo
Dear Nan,
Yes, yes, and yes. You’ve named something essential here—how often we forget that generosity multiplies, while defensiveness only narrows what’s possible. I keep returning to your line: “They were actually shooting themselves in the collective foot.” That’s exactly it. Glennon brought more than an audience—she brought energy, care, and the potential to connect in deeper, more vibrant ways. That’s not a threat; it’s an invitation.
And your reminder that love creates more love? That’s the mantra I want to carry into this next season.
Thank you for your steadiness and your wide-open heart. Big hugs and all the love right back to you,
Jay 🧡
I've missed you. I needed to take a step back into my little universe to care for myself and keep getting things done. So much love, sweet you. xo
Nan,
I’ve missed you too—and I’m so glad you honored what you needed. Stepping back to care for yourself is part of the work, and it often takes more courage than pushing through. I feel that in my bones these days.
May your little universe continue to offer you steadiness, inspiration, and soft places to land. And know that you’re always felt here, even in your quiet.
With love and deep respect,
Jay 🧡
Beautiful reflections Jay. I feel sad about Glennon's departure, but I'm equally celebrating her clarity and capacity to listen to her body. What beautiful role modelling for all of us. It's an ongoing work in progress for me, but trust in my body is at the core of my healing 💙
Dear Vicki,
Thank you so much for your kind words. Yes—both things can be true, can’t they? The sadness and the celebration. I, too, felt that ache and admiration simultaneously. Watching someone model such embodied clarity—especially under such visibility—reminded me how much permission it offers the rest of us to pause, to check in, and to choose differently if we need to.
Trusting the body is such deep work. I hear you completely when you say it’s ongoing. I’m on that path too, and I’m grateful to walk it alongside thoughtful souls like you.
With warmth and shared reverence,
Jay
Thank you Jay and appreciating your presence here 🙏
Sadly, I'm apparently living under a rock and had no idea who Glennon is. You have enlightened me. Thank you.
Clearly she did what she must and kudos to her.
I gather her coming and going helped you clarify your own needs and that is a good thing.
Choosing yourself is always a good thing.
Nancy,
Thank you for your kind and open-hearted note. It genuinely made me smile. Sometimes, not knowing all the “big names” means we get to meet people through the meaning they create rather than the noise around them—and I think that’s beautiful.
Yes, Glennon’s brief presence here stirred something in me—not fandom, but reflection. It reminded me how deeply choosing ourselves can go, especially when it’s quiet, embodied, and hard-won. Her decision became a mirror, and I’m grateful for that.
And you’re right—choosing yourself is always a good thing. 💛
xoxo Jay
This is a much needed message for me too. Thank you WLP 🙏🏻💙
"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)."
Lorraine, thank you. I’m truly glad those words found you at the right time. The Buddhist lens on vīrya has offered me so much—especially the idea that courage isn’t about force, but about the quiet energy it takes to keep returning to what’s wholesome, even when it’s hard. I’m honored this spoke to you. Grateful to walk this path in such thoughtful company. 💙
You enlightened me about Glennon, I had not idea and little knowledge of her. Yet I commend her decision to prioritise herself and her health first . We all need to that clarity and care for ourselves in a world that is not as kind or safe as we desire it to be.
I loved this article and how you weaved it into your own experiences and an exploration of courage. Thanks you
Susan, thank you so much for your generous words. I’m really touched that the piece offered you both insight into Glennon’s decision and a deeper invitation into your own reflections on care and courage.
Yes—clarity and self-prioritization can be radical acts, especially in a world that so often asks us to shrink, comply or perform. I believe there’s real strength in recognizing when a space no longer serves our well-being, and I’m glad that came through.
Your presence in this conversation adds light. Thank you again.
xo Jay
What a journey you have taken us on in this post, from Glennon Doyle, to losing a sense of home and belonging to rituals for self-care. Absolutely penetrating in its honesty and rawness and beauty.
Linnea, your words truly touch me—thank you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this path, it’s that honesty, when met with presence, becomes a kind of balm—for the writer, and sometimes for the reader too.
I’m grateful the post resonated across those layers—Glennon’s leaving, the ache of disconnection, the quiet rituals we choose to stay soft and rooted. It means a great deal to be met with such recognition by you who holds space for healing so thoughtfully yourself.
Jay, I don’t know Glennon (admittedly I had to Google who she was) and I’m cautious not to assume anything about her experience or her choice to leave. But what I do know—what your reflection beautifully illuminated—is how essential it is for each of us to take stock, pause, and ask the hard, tender questions: What is serving me? What is depleting me? What feels true in my body right now?
Reading about Glennon’s decision brought me back to my own reckoning not too long ago. I left social media at the end of 2024—not with a viral exit post, not with fanfare, but with quiet clarity. My audience was tiny compared to Glennon’s: 12,000 followers across platforms. And still, the leaving felt seismic. The endless pull to perform, to be visible, to stay in the algorithm’s good graces…it was eroding the very presence and depth I wanted to cultivate.
And then, in March, I began to feel it again—this time on Substack. A platform I had begun to love, one that had started feeling like home, began to hum with the same undercurrent: urgency, performative Notes, the pressure to “post more, comment more, be seen more.” The fast likes, the quick comments, the transactional engagements. I realized I wasn’t breathing fully in this space anymore. I'm coming here from your newsletter that landed in my inbox.
As I made the quiet choice to scale back last month, I turned inward. I am focusing my energy on my newsletter subscribers—2,800 people who have willingly, intentionally invited me into their inboxes. And in that slowing down, something has shifted. The conversations have deepened. Readers are writing me back with long, vulnerable stories of their lives. I am finding myself spending hours not creating more content, but reading, witnessing, honoring these threads of humanity woven back to me. And that has became the richest part of my work.
Your words remind me that it’s not the size of the platform or the number of eyes watching that sustains us—it’s the integrity of the space we’re holding. The permission to leave when a space stops nourishing us. The courage to listen to the body’s "NO!" even if the world expects a yes. Because the "world" is amorphous, unnamed, faceless, their expectation isn't something I'm bound to. Their bullying--because this reaction to Glennon's presence on Substack is what it sounds like--is not something anyone should bow down to.
I’m so grateful you’ve shared this reflection, Jay. It’s a reminder I didn’t know I needed today: that leaving isn’t failing. That boundaries are love. That care—radical, daily, embodied care—is a practice worth prioritizing, even when it means disappointing expectations.
Thank you for modeling that courage.
Mansi, thank you—your words meet me exactly where I hoped mine might land: not in judgment or reaction, but in the layered tenderness of lived truth. I feel your reflection as a shared current, one that moves beneath visibility and algorithms and into the quiet pulse of embodiment.
Yes, this essay was about Glennon—and at the same time, not just. It was about what happens when we dare to listen to the body’s quiet refusal, the soul’s deeper timing. About how radical and rare it still is for women—especially those who carry responsibility, care, and visibility—to say no not out of rebellion, but out of wisdom.
I felt your journey through this message, and I’m moved by your shift toward slower, deeper connections. That’s where I long to live too. It’s not less—it’s more. And yes, like you, I cherish Substack when it becomes a place for conversations like this. Real, reciprocal, revelatory.
Thank you for hearing me. For sharing yourself so honestly in return. For seeing this as courage, not retreat. I’m glad we’re in each other’s orbit.
With warmth,
Jay
Jay, thank you for seeing this not as commentary, but as shared knowing. I have so much gratitude that you've taken the time to make space for conversations, for receiving stories like mine with grace and for affirming that slower, deeper connection isn't less ... it's everything!
Mansi, yes—everything in me nods with your words. Shared knowing is exactly it. When we slow down enough to recognize ourselves in each other’s thresholds, something shifts. Not in volume, but in depth. It reminds me why I write at all: not to reach the most people, but to meet the right ones, in the right moment, like this.
Thank you for moving at that pace with me. For modeling the kind of presence we so rarely give ourselves, let alone each other. That kind of resonance—it’s everything, indeed.
In gratitude and kinship,
Love xoxo Jay
I agree, it is courage.
yes, it takes a lot of courage to self-prioritise.
Oh, my goodness, Jay. I came into the "fray" several days late, and was absolutely dumbfounded to unravel what I did. Same day, Glennon's announcement that she was leaving Substack arrived in my in box. OY!
Glennon literally saved me during the pandemic with her "family home meetings." I listened each and every time she showed up to help each of us feel a little less alone and that we belonged. I have been a member of the Pod for years now, read all her books, and what always inspires me about her was her inclusiveness, her bringing in women, just as our Lizzy does. In fact, I came to Substack, the Lovelet community, because of Lizzy being on Glennnon's podcast. Isn't that ironic, that Liz welcomes her here, and some simply could not handle it?
Good for her to have taken the temperature here and to have gone. Yet, for those of us remaining, what does that say about how we show up and champion one another? We must!
There will always be enough seats at the table, and thank goodness we know too where the door is. It feels as if this has been pivotal for you. Wherever you land, Jay, you bring your light and love, just as Glennon does. May she continue to shine on, as I know she will, and put this experience in her rear view mirror. I'm afraid there was NOT anything I read that felt constructive, and most of it was said in FEAR and using assumptions.
This has not left me... Thank you for many of your life giving points. I'm sifting and sorting. Let's do better! Lovingly and with aloha dear Jay. 💜🪶
I love your above Affirmation: I Am the Embodied Clarity I Seek. Could not be more timely or beautifully crafted-thank you Jay. This whole strand of writing and replies is a deep confirmation. See you tomorrow!