I Can Let Go

Four little words that sound like this should all be so simple. Maybe even easy.

And definitely a one-time thing. Let go, move on, and be free.

Except anyone who's needed to let go of something you love, someone you love, or something you poured your heart and soul into knows, this is anything but simple. And it will absolutely take you through the process more than once.

I began the process of letting go of the future I spent 20 years building with a husband who, as it turns out, didn't love me. "I just wanted to own her." Those are brutal words to even attempt to fathom, after spending my entire adult life loving on him and our little family. Two decades of growing and becoming and changing, and loving in every way I could.And the process of letting go of what I'd thought we had, what I'd thought we were building together began - by necessity.

I wonder how many relationships, dreams, or versions of ourselves we continue to hold on to that are no longer healthy for us. Or beneficial. I wonder how often we take a step back to authentically take inventory on what is in our life, what shouldn't be and what is meant to be a significant element in this human experience we're in right now.

It takes a lot of courage to do this by choice—before it becomes a necessity.

I've recently been diving into this concept that sounds so simple: I can let go. Can I though? How do I do that in a way that honors my spirit and what was and still sets me free to move onward?

There is something sacred about finally whispering - I can let go.

Not because it didn't matter, not because it didn't hurt, but because I've carried it long enough.

Release isn't forgetting, it's a return to yourself.

It's a quiet exhale, a permission to finally say "I can let go".

Honor the grief and its process.

Honor that what I thought was truth was indeed my truth.

Take the good, grieve the other.

Take time.

This isn't a race and it certainly doesn't happen in a clear line. It's a bumpy path that offers moments of freedom to celebrate, and moments to grieve.

There's the truth that grieving is being asked for as I let go of what was, and also release what I spent two decades building. A life, a future, dreams we had that I later learned were forgotten as quickly as a summer breeze passes.

The thing about letting go, about releasing what we have allowed ourselves to hold dearly, is that it happens in layers. It demands the permission to hold on to the good that was there, and release the hold we have on it as we grasp it so tightly. It demands the permission to grieve.

I've been on this journey for a decade now, with hard-won moments of freedom and with a growing realization that I am not alone in this process. Many of us continue to face this kind of pain that drills right into our core.

All this to say, I'm finalizing the last edits on my new book, The Art of Release.

Stay tuned—if this is a process you're navigating right now, this one will be for you.

Until then, sending you courage and strength as always,

Jewelle