Episodes

  • I'm Running Out of Time.

    I'm Running Out of Time.
    Feb 1 2026
    Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,Follow these instructions to the letter.Here’s my request:I want to know why you read this blog.Tell me in the comments.I can only speculate.But there isn’t much time.We were at 88,000 subscribers to my new mystery list.We’re now closing in on 100,000.But that may not be good enough.There’s basically no time left.There’s no manual for how to manage a list of this size.I’m figuring things out as I go.I’ve made big, dumb mistakes.I’m taking risks that may not pan out.But…As I was saying before…I retired from freelancing after Tony Robbins fired me.That was the last straw.Every single client is always the same.I’m done placing my faith in other people.I’m done waiting for people to do what’s right.What’s fair.What’s respectful.I’m not waiting for these hooligans to give me recognition for the hard work I’ve contributed to my field.It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there.I’m not saying f**k freelancing for everybody.Just me.Freelancing is a GREAT starter business:You’re broke.You have no network.You have no experience.Freelancing will give you connections and experience very quickly.The problem is that it’s a shitty business model.There’s no leverage.Some freelancers seem to be eating well.But the weaknesses of the model are unjustifiable after a point.In other words:Pay your dues.Then get the f**k out and build a smarter business.If you can survive among crooks and thieves as long as I have…You’ll learn.I got very good with people.I learned how to wine and dine.How to get into a client’s head.How to make them feel important.Like my number one priority.Juggling Tony Robbins with other clientsfelt like multiple girlfriends competing for attention.My biggest mistake was letting it slip that I had other clients.Sounds weird.But every client wants to be your number one.Nobody likes sloppy seconds.These people put me through it.In short:I went through hell…Until I became the Devil.I became the mythic copywriter they whisper about.The one who could massage a headline just right.Spin a new angle out of thin air.Spot the hidden weaknesses in ads and sales pages that were quietly costing clients a fortune.It’s sick.I started on Elance in 2011.I was so hungry that year, I weighed 169 pounds.I’m 198 today.I rotated three food banks to keep myself fed.I rationed food.I worked around the clock out of my bedroom.In the afternoons, I went to a beat-to-s**t public library.Broken chairs.Fluorescent lights.Wi-Fi that dropped every ten minutes.One day, a woman at the public computer next to me couldn’t figure out how to log in.She had a full-on nervous breakdown.Crying. Shaking. Talking to herself.The librarians had to come over and calm her down.I’m sitting in the corner trying to write a sales page that might decide whether I eat that week…This is what my office looked like:I had five roommates.I slept in my closet and used my bedroom as my office.I furnished it with junk the local college kids left on the street.That’s the environment I learned to perform in.Three years in, when I finally landed Ramit Sethi,it was the first time in my adult life I could actually:Rent a decent apartment.Feed myself.Have enough left over to eat at a restaurant once a week.I still didn’t have a car.I was still taking the bus as a college graduate.When Ramit fired me, I blamed myself.I locked myself in a room for three days.Didn’t leave.I wanted to die.I thought it was over.I thought I’d never get another real client again.I thought I was going back to Elance hell for good.Back to the people who nickel-and-dimed me.I worked with so many lunatics during those years.Those were some dark times.I didn’t even realize how many of them were scammers.I was hungry.I was trying to keep the lights on.One food bank in particular sticks with me.Every other Wednesday.Noon.Grocery bags in my hands.Standing in line for an hour or two.Waiting for:Tuna.Six eggs.Cereal.Milk.Produce that was a day from being thrown out.That whole afternoon gone just to get food.Because I couldn’t yet figure out how to charge enough to live.That’s what it took just to stay in the game.But I’m also the most tenacious motherfucker on earth.I had a third-world disadvantage.It became my secret weapon.Most of these people wouldn’t last a day in St. Lucia.This is nothing compared to the poverty I grew up in.But I also crossed paths with remarkable people.New York Times bestsellers.Forbes 30 Under 30 entrepreneurs.Brilliant minds.Experts in their fields.Charlatans alike.My first big client was Ramit Sethi in 2015.I beat out 200 other copywriters for that gig.It was a big deal at the time.People was talking about me on forums.I couldn’t even legally work in the U.S. back then.Unbeatable will got me there.Here’s the part that only hit me recently:Ramit paid me five thousand dollars a month.Ten years ago.When I was still relatively new.Fast forward to Tony Robbins.After ...
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    21 mins
  • Race Against Time

    Race Against Time
    Feb 1 2026

    Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

    I was going to write to you about why I changed my name.

    NO TIME FOR THAT…

    I’m almost out of time.

    Let’s review…

    Why is Tony Robbins’ ex copywriter broke…

    working as a janitor?

    Surely, he could get a job most anywhere he wanted after that gig. Right?

    Yes.

    That’s correct.

    I could have easily gone to a seminar somewhere and shmoozed up to the right person.

    But after Tony’s betrayal, I told myself I’d rather STARVE than take another client.

    I was DONE waiting for someone else to anoint me.

    Many people feel threatened by your excellence.

    Nobody ever tells you that.

    Your brilliance can make others uncomfortable.

    Some lash out.

    They can take your strength personally.

    Some people benefit from you being small.

    They benefit from you doubting yourself.

    They can keep exploiting you.

    You decide you have a backbone and state your price.

    They take it as a personal attack.

    Not another human being taking care of their basic needs.

    This is the thing.

    Tony wasn’t even my best-paying client.

    He wouldn’t even pay in royalties, which was common practice in my world.

    S**t.

    This motherfucker didn’t even pay me as much as I made as a rookie at Agora several years earlier.

    I worked twice as hard for half as much.

    Then I got hung, drawn, and quartered for asking for a routine raise.

    It was so violent.

    So cowardly.

    I was so shocked to my core.

    I’d been an elite copywriter for years before he found me.

    He wasn’t my first celebrity client.

    He didn’t make me.

    Although he wanted me to think so.

    To keep me grateful for crumbs without complaining.

    I was tired of giving all that power away.

    I can’t believe I used to think 3% royalties were a big deal.

    What about the other 97%?

    This is the very definition of a poor man’s mindset.

    I worked 7 days per week for more than a year.

    Ghosted my friends.

    Gained 20 pounds.

    Started taking Prozac.

    Survived on food banks.

    I moved into my place of worship.

    I became a janitor.

    I became a monk.

    I spent every F*****G dollar I have…

    Granted, I never had that much.

    Still…

    Most people don’t know what that’s like.

    Betting everything on black.

    I made so little last year that I qualified for Medicaid.

    And I maxed out my cards.

    Have I gone mad?

    No.

    This is my ticket to freedom:

    This list… is about half the population of St. Lucia, my home country.

    It’s about 4.5% the size of Tony’s email list.

    Loud enough for him to hear.

    TonyEditor in ChiefPermission to be Powerful

    P.S. If this work matters to you, paid members will see exactly how I built this email list of 88,402 subscribers—now on a clear path past 100k—in less than one year, from nothing, with no safety net.

    Permission to be Powerful is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.



    This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.antonvolney.com/subscribe
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    3 mins
  • Moral Clarity

    Moral Clarity
    Feb 1 2026

    Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

    I know what I am willing to fight for.

    Willing to die for.

    What I won’t let slide.

    No more being invisible.

    No pretending it didn’t happen.

    No living in denial.

    Enough is enough.

    Moral clarity makes life simple.

    No confusion.

    No debate.

    No exceptions.

    Truth doesn’t negotiate.

    Nobody can dictate your reality.

    And no one has the right to tell you what you’re worth.

    You know what you’re worth.

    What your dignity is worth.

    What your loyalty is worth.

    What your time is worth.

    Lies won’t fly.

    You deserve better.

    No man who lies shall live in my house.

    Bullies must go.

    No more hot and cold.

    No more one-sided dynamics.

    No more people who treat you like chopped liver…

    Like you sleep in a kennel.

    No more manipulators.

    No more gaslighters.

    No violence of any kind.

    I don’t care if they’re drop-dead gorgeous with a million in the bank.

    Betray me, and you’re gone.

    The games are finally OVER.

    But why?

    Why so harsh?

    Because I failed my way to the top.

    Because I finally learned my lesson.

    I know better.

    Because now I have something that many do not.

    Moral clarity.

    Most people live by consensus.

    They lick their finger and test the wind.

    If standing your ground makes them unpopular, they fold.

    Most people do not have the courage to be disliked.

    To disappoint.

    To make others uncomfortable.

    Above all:

    Don’t abandon yourself.

    Not ever.

    Even if it’s inconvenient.

    Especially when it’s inconvenient.

    Don’t confuse martyrdom…

    Or compromise…

    With virtue.

    People talk about values—Until those values cost them something.

    Then you find out what they really believe.

    Whether they have a spine or not.

    Moral clarity makes life simple…

    But it’s not easy.

    It means saying no to people you love.

    It means having the courage to walk away.

    When it would be easier to keep your mouth shut and stay small.

    Most people abandoned themselves a long time ago.

    Their lives don’t resemble their dreams.

    Or their values.

    Excuses are so much easier.

    So is blame.

    What cause would you give all your money to?

    What would make you quit your job and never look back, no matter the cost?

    What would you do if you had nothing left to lose?

    At the end of the day, what are you going to tolerate?

    Who will you be when nobody’s looking?

    Food for thought.

    Until next time,

    — Tony (Yes, it’s Tony now, live with it.)

    Dancer, Writer, Buddhist.

    Permission to be Powerful is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.



    This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.antonvolney.com/subscribe
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    3 mins
  • How to Clean Your Bathroom Like a Zen Master

    How to Clean Your Bathroom Like a Zen Master
    Feb 1 2026
    Dear Permission to Be Powerful reader,I went from being a copywriter for Tony Robbins—to being a janitor at a Zen Center. And honestly? I love it.For years, I lived to perform. To prove myself. To get straight As. To be superhuman.I can’t understate how much pressure was placed on my back—writing to millions of people, trying to capture Tony’s voice, and sound incredible while I did it.I ran up to twenty miles every Monday before work — to make sure I didn’t crack under the pressure.That’s how seriously I took it. And now I sweep floors. Vacuum…Scrub toilets….I’ve dreamed of a simple life for a long time. A simpleton’s life, finally.Here, I don’t check news, I don’t scroll, I don’t even have access to porn or the endless stream of low-grade stimulation that used to eat my life in pieces.The structure itself keeps me clean.The shift is huge but logical. After a bitter divorce, after being fired by every copywriter’s dream client, what I really needed was not a rebound gig—it was healing. Early bedtimes. Early wake-ups. Predictable days.Cleaning, here, is the perfect practice ground. The difference between cleaning mindlessly and cleaning with mindfulness is night and day. My supervisor can tell immediately when I’ve checked out—attention evaporates, corners get missed, detail dissolves. Mindless people are chaotic; they leave evidence. You can trace their thoughtlessness in the mess they leave behind.The Zen Center is a transformation factory.The bells decide. I don’t negotiate with myself anymore. I don’t lose time to indecision. I wake up, I bow, I work, I eat, I sit. It’s all handled. My mind can finally rest. It’s funny—most people think rules are restrictive. For me, this place is freedom. Predictability is freedom.When I first got here, I realized something: This is the order I’ve been seeking my whole life. Everything here has a place—a flashlight next to every fire extinguisher, a label on every cabinet, a time for every sound. It’s beauty disguised as discipline.This place is routine to the max—the exact structure my ADHD brain always needed but could never hold on to in the outside world. Every minute accounted for. Every task thought through. They didn’t just build a schedule here; they built a system. They thought of the best way to live and got everyone to agree to it up front.Some days I meditate three hours…An hour at dawn, half an hour at lunch, another ninety minutes at night.It’s gruelling, but it’s also medicine. I have complex trauma—layers of it—and Zen has reached places therapy never could.After a seven-day meditation retreat, we’ll meditate from 4:30 am to at least 9:30 pm.I feel like I’ve earned ten years of wisdom in just seven days.When I meditate at dawn... Breakfast follows.We sit on cushions at a Japanese table barely a foot tall. Everyone’s posture is perfect. Nobody slouches. The food is vegan, beautifully prepared, and you never waste a bite. You leave no trace. That’s a Zen rule.And at noon, every day, we meditate.It resets my brain from whatever chaos accumulated during the morning.Then we have lunch.Someone spends two hours preparing that meal, and it tastes like care itself.The conversations here are unlike anything I’ve known. Gentle, funny, quietly brilliant. At breakfast, I sit with people who’ve been meditating for twenty years. One man has been here three. He’s tired of the corporate machine, too. We understand each other.And when I clean the Zendo—the meditation hall—I do it with reverence.The Zendo is sacred. The lights are dim, almost dark, except during cleaning when they’re unnaturally bright. You see every speck, every flaw. Everything must be perfect: each cushion fluffed, each surface dusted, nothing out of place.When I finally sit there at night for evening meditation, it hits me: I’m the one who prepared this place.I scrubbed the place from top to bottom.I made this space ready for everyone, including me.It adds weight to the moment. At the center of the Zendo sits the Buddha statue. You bow before entering, bow before leaving. It’s not superstition, or worship—it’s devotion.You learn that mindfulness isn’t just about thought. It’s about how you move, how you touch things, how you close a door.Mindless people are chaotic in a way that mindful people are not. They leave evidence of their distraction—crumbs, dust, chaos.The mindful leave nothing.Zen is a two-thousand-year-old practice.I think about that often.It’s humbling to realize we’re doing the exact same rituals our predecessors did centuries ago—same bows, same bells, same silence.In a world obsessed with novelty, there’s something powerful about a tradition that never needed reinvention.Psychotherapy has been around maybe a couple hundred years; Zen has had millennia to mature. I trust that kind of age. It’s proof that it works.The thing is, I used to think enlightenment would look like ...
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    10 mins
  • Your Last Day of Freedom

    Your Last Day of Freedom
    Feb 1 2026

    Dear Permission to be Powerful reader,

    You’re broke.

    Desperate for a break.

    Then you see it—a dream job overseas.

    Free travel.

    Great pay.

    A way out.

    You apply.

    You’re accepted.

    You tell your friends you’re finally catching a break.

    Soon, you’re on a plane to Bangkok.

    Full of hope…

    That hope dies fast.

    At the airport, a smiling man greets you.

    He offers to “help” with your visa, asks for your passport.

    You hand it over without thinking.

    He never gives it back.

    He tells police you’re a tourist, then pushes you into a van.

    The city lights fade.

    Hours later, you wake beside a black river.

    Men with rifles bark orders.

    “Get in the boat.”

    You cross into Myanmar.

    Barbed wire. Floodlights.A compound the size of a small city.Guards everywhere. Cameras on every wall.

    Your phone is gone.Your name erased.

    You’ve been sold into modern slavery.

    Inside, it looks almost normal—shops, offices, dorms.People whisper about “the black room.”No one says what happens there.

    Your bunk is a metal frame in a windowless cell.Ten people to a room.Guards with stun batons patrol the halls.

    The next morning, new bosses arrive—men in spotless shirts, expensive watches.They tell you the rules:

    No breaks. No pay. No escape.

    You “owe” them for your plane ticket.

    They sit you at a computer.

    “Your name is Alicia now,” the boss says.

    Your new job: pretend to be a young woman online.Flirt. Build trust. Steal money.

    You’re running what they call “pig butchering.”You fatten the mark with affection, then gut him clean.Crypto. Investments. False hope.

    You want to vomit.You type anyway.

    If you refuse, they’ll beat you.

    You’ve seen it happen.

    One man refused to scam an old widower.He came back from the black room covered in burns.

    “They shock us like dogs,” he whispered.

    Others collapse from exhaustion or heat.Some disappear completely.

    Rumors spread:

    Sixteen people killed for trying to escape.

    One man wakes up missing a kidney.

    You work twenty hours a day.You forget your real name.They promise freedom if you earn $200,000—but no one ever leaves.

    Then, one night, something breaks.Gunfire. Sirens. Smoke.Thai troops storm the gates.

    A soldier shouts, “You’re safe now!”

    You fall to your knees.You’ve been trapped for five months.

    Two hundred fifty people are rescued that night.You’re herded into a camp—filthy, crowded, but free.

    You wait weeks for your embassy to find you.When the plane finally lifts off, you cry silently into the dark.

    You left home full of hope.You return hollowed out.

    Back home, some people don’t believe you.They say you should have known better.They have no idea.

    Sixteen of the crime bosses were sentenced to death in China.

    They stole $1.4 billion.They stole lives.

    But new camps are already rising.

    You survived.Others won’t.

    Tell this story so someone else doesn’t vanish.

    Until next time

    Dancer, Writer, Buddhist

    Permission to be Powerful is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.



    This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.antonvolney.com/subscribe
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    4 mins
  • This Is My Last Crusade

    This Is My Last Crusade
    Dec 4 2025
    “Terrible things are happening outside. Poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes. Families are torn apart; men, women, and children are separated. Children come home from school to find that their parents have disappeared.”— Anne Frank, January 13, 1943Those words were written eighty-two years ago.And somehow, they feel truer than ever.How is that possible?There’s no time to figure that out…I’m out of time.Listen carefully… Friend…This is my last crusade.Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,For years, I lived in limbo.Stuck. Unsure if I can stay.Unable to leave.A stranger in a strange land with no future. One Federal officer could destroy my life. Before long, I expect masked men with guns to come for me.In my reality, it’s possible to wake up in Alligator Alcatraz.You think I’m exaggerating?I wouldn’t be surprised if my next stop was Guantánamo Bay…You think they care if I’m legal, not legal, or something in between?All because I made a single decision that could cost me everything. I have a U.S. Green Card.And, I have NO police record…I came here with my wife in 2019, right before COVID.The pandemic crushed our marriage—like so many others around that time.After three years, I left. Alone.A new city. No friends. No family.The divorce placed me in a gray area with immigration.Perfect timing to be on Uncle Sam’s bad side.I figure it’s only a matter of time.When I got my green card, it wasn’t real freedom.It came with an expiration date.The government handed me a two-year status with a timer attached and said:Prove it.Prove your marriage is real.Prove your life is real.Prove you deserve the right to stay.It means my life in America is fragile and reversible.I built a career, a home, a future… and still, I could lose everything.I lived every day knowing one bureaucratic hiccup could delete my entire existence here. I’ve found refuge in the Buddha.I’ve chosen one final refuge as my last stop before riding out the apocalypse. The Zen Center is the only place I feel safe. Why did I risk it?If they take my green card away, I’ll be gone forever.I’ll never be able to come back—not even if I have a U.S. wife or children.But when push came to shove, I couldn’t stay—not even to keep a green card.My ex made life unlivable.I reached a point where I saw my marriage with clarity.There was no saving it.I hate speaking about my immigration situation.Most Americans can’t relate.They don’t know what it’s like to earn something everyone else got for free—only to have it threatened forever.One guy at work tried to compare it to the time he lost his passport in a foreign country.Buddy…Not even close. YOUR rights are inalienable.You don’t understand what it means to lose something you could never lose.Your brain can’t process. In fact, there’s a high chance you WANT me to leave. Perhaps my plight makes you happy.If I went home, I would basically go and live in a cave for the rest of my life.Total destruction of my future. FOREVER. A life sentence.Forever living in regret.Forever thinking about the life I was supposed to have.It gave my dancing a particular urgency that nobody else could see. So I lived like there was no tomorrow.Because I knew there might not be.It was a profound place to come from when I started my salsa dancing journey.From the minute I left her, I knew the system could hand me a life sentence.Permanent exile…So I ran—one hundred races, half-marathons, tens, fives.And when I wasn’t running, I was dancing.Salsa. Bachata.Dance floors in Toronto, New York, Miami, Atlanta, Houston, Philly, Chicago.I partied harder in the last 3 years than the whole rest of my life combined.I started with two left feet — and kept going…Until people started filming me wherever I went.Until I became a spectacle.I danced with thousands of women after years of living in complete isolation.Then I wrote for giants—Tony Robbins, Neil Patel, Agora, and others whose words move markets.And still… none of it can save me.Some stranger gets to decide my fate.Me being here—writing to you—is the product of generations of sacrifice.This journey didn’t start with me.I’ve been waiting four long years for my verdict.I couldn’t sleep at night…Until I finally hung a massive flag on my wall.It helped.A little. In my dreams, I see masked men.Am I overreacting?We’ll see. I’ll keep you posted.Until next time,Dancer, Writer, Buddhist.Permission to be Powerful is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.antonvolney.com/subscribe
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    6 mins
  • You're Worth Being Wanted

    You're Worth Being Wanted
    Nov 20 2025

    Dear Permission to be Powerful reader,

    Have you ever been treated like you’re a pest?A burden?A nuisance?

    Fire that person.

    Quit.Dump them.Check your prenup.Start hiding assets if you must.

    You’re a gift, not a burden.

    When someone shows you they don’t want you around, believe them. Leave.

    People pleasers snap straight into “please like me” mode the second they feel distance. They twist themselves into knots to win someone who can’t pass the simplest test on earth:

    Treat me the way I like to be treated.

    Not the way you prefer.Not the way your ex tolerated.Not the way your parents conditioned you.

    This is the part people never understand about me:

    I want to be wanted.I need evidence.Effort.Initiative.Reciprocity.

    And I like watching people over time.How they act in good seasons and bad.Whether they’re the same person when their mask slips.Patterns don’t lie.

    Marriage taught me that.Divorce hammered it in.

    You can live with someone for decades and still not know them. You think you do. You build your entire life around what you think you know. Then one day, the floor disappears and you realize you were living next to a fantasy they never actually embodied.

    Two people.Two universes.Zero overlap.

    I’m learning it again with my father.

    There were truths about him I refused to see. Not because they were hidden—nothing subtle about that man—but because I needed him to be someone he never was. Someone capable of love.

    He resented his children before we could even speak.Then we grew up and surpassed every expectation he had for us. The irony writes itself.

    Sometimes you don’t know someone at all.Sometimes you know them too well.

    You see right into the wiring of their mind. The circuitry. The blind spots. The limits. And then you realize you don’t share a reality with them. Just a mailing address.

    He is who he has always chosen to be.And I finally stopped needing him to be anything else.

    That’s the turning point.

    Once you figure someone out, you stop confusing fantasy with loyalty.You stop mistaking potential for character.You stop begging for crumbs.

    And the shift isn’t in them.It’s in you.

    If someone in your life ignores your feelings, breaks your boundaries, treats you like an inconvenience, or acts like you’re optional… they need to go.Now.

    You can do better.You will do better.

    Life hands you the same chapter until you finish it properly.Close it.File it.Move on.

    Once you do, everything changes:

    Danger stops feeling exciting.Abuse stops feeling familiar.Respect stops feeling expensive.And “bare minimum” stops passing as love.

    The curse breaks.Groundhog Day ends.

    Until next time,

    Dancer, Writer, Buddhist.

    Permission to be Powerful is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.



    This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.antonvolney.com/subscribe
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    3 mins
  • They Nuked My Substack

    They Nuked My Substack
    Nov 9 2025

    Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

    I felt like a God…

    23,520 Subscribers…

    FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.

    What an incredible milestone.

    One click…

    Twenty thousand emails sent.

    And within minutes—boom.

    They NUKED 90% of my subscribers.

    Gone.

    Substack? 15,000 Nuked.MailChimp? 23,000 Gone too.

    Go to Jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

    Twice in one week.

    You ever build something for a year, spend every dollar you’ve got, finally reach the promise land…

    And then watch it go up in smoke instantly?

    On the first f*****g send?

    That’s where I was.

    👉 Wiped out almost everyone…

    👉 Without warning…

    👉 OVERNIGHT.

    [Figure 1: Crossing 14,000 Subscribers on Substack]

    [Figure 2: Big Brother Deletes 13,000 Subscribers without warning overnight]

    Forget about the thousands of dollars I invested in my list.Forget about hours I can’t get back.

    Turns out, sending an email to 20,000 people isn’t like sending one from Gmail.

    If Gmail = paddling a rowboat...

    20,000 subs = a nuclear submarine

    Imagine being that fisherman who bumps into the sub and climbs into it.

    You start pushing buttons because the lights are pretty, and before you know it—you just started World War III.

    Lights are flashing red…

    Russia and China are “responding”

    No take-backs.

    You done fucked up.

    That’s what happened to me.

    I’d never sent that many emails all at once.

    I honestly didn’t know what to expect.

    I felt like I’d gotten the death penalty for J-walking.

    Even though I’ve written for titans like Tony Robbins and Neil Patel…

    And my words have been seen and read by millions…

    I didn’t have the first clue about email deliverability.

    I tripped every spam filter, every compliance alarm, every internal red flag. Substack saw the smoke, panicked, and hit the kill switch.

    At the time, I was furious…

    Like “Big Brother” was all up in my business—poking their nose where it shouldn’t be.

    But now, I see it differently.

    If I’m being frank with you…

    My first thought after losing the list was…

    “I’m finished.”

    This was an extinction-level event.

    I was wrong.

    Just a speed bump.

    They didn’t destroy me…

    They exposed a weak link in my business.

    And, this could have been way worse if it had happened later on.

    Say, when my list hit 100,000.

    Yikes.

    I’d built a machine on shaky ground.

    But the good news is…

    I got a crash course on list hygiene.

    But man — what a kick in the nuts.

    I learned the hard way that your empire can vanish overnight.

    So I’m rebuilding.

    From scratch.

    I’ve got a new lead generation system.

    It consistently grows thousands of real subscribers every month.

    Almost nobody knows this Substack growth trick, and it’s working exceptionally well.

    You can delete my subscribers.But you can’t delete Permission to be Powerful.

    I can’t be broken.(LOL — 2025: The Year I Joined a Cult to Save on Rent?)

    I’ve cut all my expenses down to the bone to keep this going…

    Because that’s how much I believe in it.

    There aren’t too many people with this kind of vision and commitment.

    I’m all-in.

    I keep telling people: starting a business is like skydiving with a sewing kit. You jump out of the plane, fabric flapping everywhere, and try to stitch your parachute together before you go splat.

    That’s been my entire year—needle between my teeth, wind in my face, praying the thread holds.

    Pimpin’ ain’t easy.

    Until next time,

    Dancer, Writer, Buddhist.

    .

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