Someone I deeply care about—as both a friend and a client—unsubscribed from my Substack last week. I put so much care and effort into writing these essays, so…
It hurt.
It hurt a lot.
It hurt in my lower back.
It hurt between my shoulder blades.
It hurt just like when other kids rejected me on the playground.
Substack lets you remove the notifications of people who “disable their emails”, but I personally challenge myself to keep that notification on. I want to experience the rejections, just like I experience your affirming replies and likes.
It’s like a vaccine: A small inert pathogen today helps me be stronger against the scary plague of tomorrow.
I experience a ton of daily rejections as I go through my writing and coaching journey.
Each one bites a little.
This one fucking stung though.
The person didn’t leave because of my last blog post (at least I don’t think so). This came on the heels of a series of life-altering events that deeply impacted them.
They entered into a period of grief and (while I wished to be at the forefront of their support system), the reality was that they asked me for space.
How do you really feel when someone sets a boundary with you or asks you for space?
What part of you reacts to that?
What is the result of your reaction?
I had supported this person for over two years—personally and professionally. I had put so much care toward their wellbeing, because in addition to being hired to support them... I cared about them deeply.
The support was mutual and generous between us.
That person praised my coaching, my writing, our “compatibility.” As a result, we found ourselves in a grey zone.
Not quite friends.
Not quite strangers.
Not quite client and coach.
And so it hurt because I wasn’t part of that decision.
I didn’t get to be there for them.
I felt ousted from a castle I had helped protect.
That part of me that just wanted to be there for them struggled to NOT make this about ME…
I tried not to make it personal…
but it fucking was!
Why?
Because I—just like you—want to be loved.
I want my gifts to be appreciated.
I want to feel grounded in my relationships.
So, these unsubscribes and mini rejections sometimes hurt just like my divorce or a gnarly breakup.
I felt foolish for putting myself in a vulnerable position. To have let my boundaries get so loose.
A few weeks ago I wrote about yielding versus collapsing.
This week, I ask myself:
How can I practice what I preach?
How can I not collapse beneath the weight of a relationship crumbling?
How can I tend to my own wounds, instead of rushing to fix someone else’s?
How can I not take on more than what’s mine?
But it is confusing…
How can someone praise me one day and want nothing to do with me the next?
And then I ask myself:
How have I impacted people this way before?
Who have I walked away from because I couldn’t face my own emotions?
A solid list of people comes to mind.
People I intend to make amends with.
Because a part of me still struggles to accept that relationships can just end, or that people you care for can just walk out without explanation.
That no matter how loyal, present, or loving you were—you may never get closure.
I grew up believing in reciprocal, regulated relationships built on trust. My closest friendships allow for confrontation.
I care deeply. Is it wild to expect that back?
Here’s what I’m realizing:
We suffocate emotions.
We build projections.
And we ghost, block, unsubscribe, or delete each other instead of sitting in discomfort together.
How do I pursue a life in love with the truth when the world keeps crushing my ideals?
What do I hold onto, so I don’t become cynical?
There is a grinch inside of me.
He hates Christmas, large gatherings, Ecstatic dance and fake smiles.
He believes that people are full of ill will and hatred.
He knows that people say things to get things.
He wants to write a sequel to the famous book “How to win friends and influence people”, and call it “How to Lose Friends and Grieve people.”
He thinks that John Lennon was wrong.
That we need more than love.
That people can’t handle love.
I am sorry they shot you for it, my guy.
“there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day
and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love”
Charles Bukowski — The Genius of the Crowd
Coming back to my damn Self Again
This whole situation feels like a growing pain—for me as a writer, a coach, and a facilitator.
Today it’s handling unsubscribes and program dropouts.
Tomorrow it might be criticism or public backlash.
Maybe one day, someone will threaten my life for writing something they dislike.
The question isn’t if I’ll get hurt.
It’s: How do I want to live, knowing the hurt will come?
Do I stay small?
Love small?
Dream small?
Or do I rise from each one like a fucking phoenix—and…
Keep writing,
Keep growing,
Keep showing up
in the most loving way I know how to?
🧘♂️ A Practice: Tonglen (Taking and Sending)
When the pain feels unbearable—when you’ve been abandoned, ghosted, or cast out—there is a practice that can help soften the sharp edges of grief without bypassing it.
Tonglen is a Tibetan meditation that means “giving and taking.”
You breathe in the pain—your own and others’—and breathe out relief, love, and spaciousness.
Here’s how to do it:
Breathe in the sting of rejection, the ache in your back, the tightening in your chest. Imagine all those who are hurting in the same way right now.
Breathe out comfort. Send ease, warmth, and love—to yourself first, and then to them.
Continue breathing this way. Inhale suffering, exhale compassion.
Not to fix, but to be with.
It’s not about transcending pain.
It’s about becoming big enough to hold it—and remain loving anyway.
If you've lost someone you loved, and you're trying not to collapse—I'm right there with you. Let’s keep practicing. Let’s keep staying human.
Most people come to me when they are experiencing a loss, and are ready to turn things around.
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You rise, my friend. And realize that when people behave in hurtful and bewildering ways it says something about them and their limitations, not about you. You are loving and caring and authentic. Never lose that. People are just not worth it. You are wonderful just as you are. The good ones already know that.