I used to think I was great at letting go I’d close the door and walk away Or move away, whew good avoidance strategy there Dust my hands off and try another
I was strong. Strong because I didn’t care. So I thought Eventually I closed enough doors Not always dramatically, but quietly clicking the lock To feel like there might not be any left And I wondered why I didn’t feel so strong when I was on my own behind that bolt
I thought closing the door was standing up for myself I thought search for another was finding myself But I wasn’t actually getting what I needed
Until I was given the space and the tools to crack my hard exterior to see the scared lonely girl inside
I had closed the door on her too
Letting go isn’t a closing Isn’t shutting others out It’s meeting them where they are Without expectation And checking my own reaction at the door
There’s a fence, don’t get me wrong
A healthy boundary The trick is to exist comfortably enough in my own space that I don’t have to push anyone out or pull them in I can simply just be, just notice And give them space to do the same
No one is responsible for cracking my shell, but me And it’s not my job to fix nor shame another’s
The practice of letting go It’s exactly that A practice Holding my own reaction with grace and curiosity so that I can instead respond to the unfolding Fluid like the waters And the changing of the seasons Becoming aware of not living from a place where my wounding is continually meeting another’s
Because perhaps everyone is just a messenger, here to teach a lesson we could use
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