Supernatural VR fitness app has been the one place I showed up for myself 4 to 7 days a week, every week, since March 2023. It has changed my life in ways I can measure (my health), and in ways I cannot neatly graph (my hope). This app, and this community, truly are supernatural. Not in a sparkly-marketing way. In a real-life, I-am-still-here way.
So hearing that Supernatural will no longer receive new content or feature updates hit me like a trap door. My chest did that sinking thing before my brain finished the sentence. You know the one. The body goes first. The brain catches up, holding a clipboard like, “Hello, yes, I would like to file a complaint with reality.”
I am grateful the library is staying active, for now. But “for now” is a phrase that big companies use like a soft blanket over uncertainty.
How I kept showing up, even when I was not okay
I did not start this because I am a naturally disciplined person. I started because I wanted my body and mind to feel less like a haunted house. I live with C-PTSD, and my nervous system clocks danger in places that are not actually dangerous. Two things can be true. I can be safe, and my body can still feel like it is bracing.
So I built a ritual.
I would adjust the headset. Tighten the strap. Wipe the lenses. Plant my feet. Pick a session. Press start.
Even when I was sick. Even when I was depressed. Even when it took everything in me to stand up straight because the world felt so heavy. I got in the headset anyway.
It was physical health, yes. It was mental health, yes. But it was also something harder to explain in corporate language. I felt accompanied. Like I was part of something bigger than my to-do list and my stress hormones.
Why accessibility made it feel like belonging, not “fitness culture”
Here is the thing. Supernatural did not just let me work out. It let me be a person.
If you could squat deep, great. If you could not squat at all, they had you. If your arms were long, short, one-sided, or limited, they had you. Calibration meant you could customize your experience instead of being punished for having a body that does not match a default template.
That matters. Accessibility is not a luxury feature. It is the difference between “this was made for someone like me” and “this was made for someone else, and I am borrowing it.”
A few specifics, because specifics are respect:
- There were low, medium, high, and pro intensities.
- There were sessions as short as 6 minutes, and some over an hour.
- Boxing, flow, stretching, and meditation meant there was always an entry point.
- The visuals kept your eyes on the horizon (bless). If you get motion sick like me, that design choice is not cute. It is everything.
People with less margin get hit first when supports disappear. Folks with disabilities. People managing chronic illness. People carrying trauma in their bodies. People whose schedules and stress levels do not allow for trial-and-error self-care. When something is both joyful and accessible, it becomes more than entertainment. It becomes infrastructure.
What Meta announced, and why “for now” scares me
In mid-January 2026, Meta shared that Supernatural would no longer receive new content or feature updates, while the existing app and library would remain available.
That is the part that breaks my heart. Not because I am entitled to endless playlists and shiny new features, but because the message underneath is familiar. A spreadsheet somewhere decided that what keeps people steady is optional.
I am not trying to fight. I am trying to stay human. And staying human requires naming what is happening.
When you freeze updates to something people rely on to stay healthy, you make it harder for real people to care for themselves. Not hypothetically. Not “in the abstract.” In their actual living rooms, in their actual bodies, on the days they are barely holding it together.
Coaches are not content, and I will die on this hill
I need to say this out loud because it matters. The coaches are not “content.” They are the reason I kept showing up.
A workout is a workout. A human voice that believes in you, guides you safely, makes you laugh, and reminds you you are not alone is something else entirely.
These are the coaches who became part of my weekly rhythm:
- Coach Raneir Pollard, for the joy and the laughter when I was sweating and questioning my life choices.
- Coach Antonio Harrison (Coach Doc), for the soul, wisdom, and depth. For including us in your family stories and college antics.
- Coach Mindy, for being spunky and for the workouts that kick my ass in the best way, your knowledge of boxing saved me
- Coach Dwana Olsen, for uplifting me, for helping me appreciate my body, and for reminding me I can take care of myself without denying myself tacos.
- Coach Mark Harari, for the humor, the jokes, and somehow making even country music feel doable.
- Coach Leanne Pedante, a fellow Delawarean, for being proof that I can do hard things and be a master of my own body and well-being.
Supernatural VR fitness app was not just paid content. It was real, human, authentic connection. I have been gaming for a long time. I have never experienced anything like this.
The pattern I cannot unsee, and why it breaks trust
Big tech loves to say “community” when it sells subscriptions. It gets quiet when community needs continuity.
That is where my trust breaks.
A company can label something a “product.” People experience it as a lifeline, a routine, a safe place to move, and a reliable voice in their ear on days they feel like they are falling apart. When updates stop, it does not just change a roadmap. It changes someone’s ability to cope.
And I am not saying that for drama. I am saying it because it is true.
What I want from Meta, and what I want for us
If anyone at Meta is listening, I very much hope you change your mind. I hope you see what you built here, and what your users built inside it. I need you to hear the human impact, not just the business language.
If you are in this community too, I see you. If you feel grief about this, you are not being dramatic. You are responding to the possible loss of something that helped you stay well.
My invitation is simple, and it has boundaries:
- Tell the truth about what this meant to you. Plain language. No begging, no groveling.
- Protect your consistency. If the library is still there, use it. If you need to move to something else, do it without shame.
- Keep choosing yourself, even if a company chooses differently.
Friendship matters to me, and so do boundaries. This community deserved clarity, care, and a plan that treats people like people. If “for now” is the best anyone can offer, then I get to answer with my own version of “for now.” For now, I keep moving. For now, I keep telling the truth. For now, I keep believing that what is genuinely good, accessible, and human is worth fighting for.
Sign the “Save Supernatural VR Fitness” petition
Thank you for writing this one. Very well said, meaningful, true.
I would add the beauty of being able to experience all of this in our own homes, even small apartments, even if we are caretakers. SN broke down the barrier of having to travel to a gym, get gym clothes, get a babysitter.
100%. When transportation, distance, or childcare makes getting to a gym tough, the headset option with global environments and workouts tailored to your body offers something nothing else really can.