Letting Go

It’s funny how life always seems to pull a fast one on me the moment I start thinking, “Hey, I’m doing just fine.”

Without even realizing it, I somehow step onto a path that leads me deeper into my own soul. Every. Damn. Time.

I learned a long time ago that “easy” never lasts. The smooth and simple things? They don’t change us. And transformation never knocks politely. It crashes in. I rarely see it coming. I don’t go quietly. I kick, I scream, and I fight like hell.

Loss always feels wrong at first—whether it’s a loved one, a relationship, a job. I cling to them like it’s the my lucky bat and it’s the bottom of the ninth, two outs, two strikes. I’m white-knuckling it, praying for a swing that saves it all. I hold on like my life depends on it. And when life pries it from my hands, the pain rolls through me like thunder.

I cry. I write. I laugh in that sharp, cracked way we do when grief surprises us. My anger flares. Then morphs into rage. Then into fear. I become the animal backed into a corner—starving, scared, and ready to fight.

And I do. I come out swinging. But these days, I’m older. Tired. So the fight doesn’t last as long. The tears don’t either. The fear? It settles quicker than it used to.

Because I’ve come to understand something: sometimes it’s God—or the universe—doing for me what I couldn’t do for myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I still make mistakes. With people. With jobs. I’m loyal to a fault. As an ex-addict, I’ve rebuilt my life on my word and my character. That means something to me. So I try. I give everything I’ve got. But I don’t always realize when that devotion starts to hurt me—and others. I still don’t know how to walk away before it’s too late. I still grip life too tightly.

But I’m trying.

Day by day, I’m learning.

I’m allowing myself to see the world differently.

I can love people and walk away.

I can love myself and say no to things that aren’t meant for me.

For the longest time, I thought my issue was a lack of boundaries.

Turns out?

The real issue is—I don’t hold them.

Let that sink in. I was floored when I realized it.

So today, I’m practicing the art of letting go.

Looking for what’s truly meant for me—and releasing the rest.

And I’m celebrating life. All of it.

The beautiful, the messy, the ordinary.

Because no matter what it looks like—I. Am. Blessed.