Please, Unsubscribe

Last week, I sent out a short 4th of July email to my community. No sales, no fireworks, no fanfare - just a heartfelt wish for a calm and conscious holiday. I wrote about freedom not as a political concept, but as a felt sense - something deeply personal and universally sought. A kind of inner spaciousness we’re all trying to touch in our own way.

The responses were... mixed.

Many wrote back with such thoughtful words... sharing how the message landed, how it opened something, or reminded them of their own path toward peace. I was so touched.

And then… came some other responses. Some polite. Some... less so. Responses questioning my take on dogma, religion and even violence even though these themes were not even mentioned in my email.

And curiously, this one gentle invitation for inward reflection led to the highest number of unsubscribes I’ve had in quite a while.

I was stunned. Not hurt exactly... just surprised. I didn’t imagine something I intended as uplifting would stir discomfort. Then again, maybe that’s the nature of real freedom - the freedom to choose your own inbox, your own journey, your own path through this wild world.

And I do get it. I used to train for marathons and have unsubscribed from dozens of running newsletters, coaches, and gear companies that no longer fit my life. It makes sense. We evolve. We edit.

But if I’m honest… a little part of me still aches each time someone unsubscribes. After all, I want people to be happy. And well, unsubscribe feels like their not happy.

Of course, that little part of me wants to be liked. The part that even wonders if I did something wrong. The part feels that somehow "unsubscribe" is equivalent to "you don't have value."

So I wrote a poem about it. Not to change anyone’s mind, but to channel that higher wiser sense of self that can this in a different way and soothe the tender part of me who needs to reclaim her own....

freedom.

Please, Unsubscribe.
by Dani Fox

If my voice no longer fits your feed,
If my words no longer meet your need,
Then I truly thank you for your time.
You’re free to go. And that’s just fine.

Don’t worry, I’ll live, my soul is intact,
Though my inner child might react.
She thinks unfollows mean losing a friend,
But Higher Me knows, it’s not the end.

Yes, little me still feels the sting,
She thinks your love is everything.
She counts each name like stars at night,
And feels each loss like fading light.

But wiser me has come to see
That truth makes space to set us free.
Not every heart will match my beat -
And that’s not failure, it's "fait au complet."

A part of me still softly sighs,
Still watches with her curious eyes.
She whispers, “Did I lose a friend?”
But I know this wont be the end.

No silent exit wounds my pride,
No bitter thoughts I need to hide.
There’s space for you to change your mind
And space for me to still be kind.

Even the sun will shift its light
When petals close and say goodnight.
Even the rain will learn to rest
When the thirsty soil has had what’s best.

And let’s be honest - it’s kind of absurd,
To bend my worth for a button or word.
So thank you, unlikers, unfollowers too,
You make space for those meant to break through.

My reach may shrink, but my roots grow deep,
And I’ve more seeds to sow than metrics to keep.
So go on and click, I promise I’m fine,
I’ve got stardust to sprinkle and mountains to climb.

With a wink and a shrug, and a heart open wide,
May peace and joy be what you find.
And should you circle back someday,
I’ll smile and happily say, “Hurray!”

But for now, without grievance,
without damaged pride.
I hold space for you to,
please, unsubscribe.

If you’re still here - thank you. Not just for reading, but for feeling with me.

This space isn’t meant for everyone, and that’s okay. My work will continue to evolve, just like I do, just like you do. Whether you stay subscribed or find your way elsewhere, I’ll keep showing up with compassion, curiosity, and a deep respect for your freedom to choose.