Learning to Let Go of What Was Never Mine to Carry

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 295 of 365

Yesterday, in Between the Appointment and the Answer: What Waiting for Test Results Feels Like, I wrote about wanting answers and being scared of what they might say. I’m still waiting today, and I’m still in a fair amount of pain. The details of my health are staying private for now, but something happened this afternoon that I want to share, because I have a feeling it might be meant for you, too.

Someone I see from time to time looked at me and told me the truth.

They were kind about it, but they weren’t gentle. An angel with absolutely no interest in small talk.

I’m paraphrasing and leaving out anything that would identify them, but the message is worth passing on.

They had noticed how much I was holding, and they named it, piece by piece. Then they asked a question I wasn’t ready for: what’s the worst that could happen? Before I could answer, they answered it themselves, plainly. If I died, everyone would have to figure it out.

I cried right there.

I have a little girl, and my mind went straight to her. For a moment, she was all I could see.

Then the meaning landed. If the people around me would find their way without me, why was I so sure they couldn’t handle more of it while I’m still here?

Learning to Let Go Starts With One Honest Question

Sitting there with mascara on my cheeks, I realized something. Nobody had asked me to carry all of this. I’d been carrying it because some part of me believed that holding it was how I kept everyone safe. Thinking a problem through one more time felt like protection. Running through what might happen next felt like love.

Maybe you know that feeling. Someone offers to take something off your hands, and before they’ve finished the sentence, you’re already writing the instructions in your head and wondering whether it would be easier to just do it yourself. You can be sitting on the couch with your feet up and still not have handed a single thing over.

If that’s you, it probably comes from a heart that cares a great deal and has gotten very good at being the dependable one. I know mine does. But I’m learning that worrying about something and doing something about it are two very different things, no matter how productive the worry feels at two in the morning.

My results won’t come back any sooner because I’ve rehearsed every outcome. The people I love aren’t any safer because I’ve pictured every way things could go wrong.

Choosing What Stays in My Hands

So I’ve started asking myself one question before I pick something up.

Does this actually need to be carried by me?

Sometimes the answer is yes, and I’m glad it’s yes. There are things I want in my hands because they’re mine and I love them. My daughter’s bedtime is one of them, and I’m not giving it to anyone.

A lot of what I’d been holding didn’t pass that test, though. Some of it belonged to another capable adult. Some of it was a question I kept asking at night even though nothing new had happened to answer it.

This is where learning to let go stops feeling like defeat. To me, it’s discernment. I still care just as much as I did yesterday. I’m simply choosing where that care goes, instead of spreading it so thin that there’s barely any left for the one body I’ve been asked to look after right now.

Mine.

I’m noticing something else, too. When I hold on to everything, I quietly tell the people around me that I don’t trust them with it. Handing something over can be a form of respect. It says, I believe you can do this, even if they’ll do it differently than I would. And they will. That’s allowed.

The Gift of Someone Who Tells You the Truth

Think about the people in your life who would say the hard thing to your face. They say it because they can see you’re about to run yourself into the ground, and they care too much to stay quiet. Maybe it’s a friend who has known you since before you had anything figured out. Maybe it’s a near-stranger who happened to say exactly the right sentence on exactly the right day.

People like that are rare. If you have one, you already know how lucky you are.

I’m so grateful for the one who looked at me today. It would have been easier for them to nod politely and let me keep going. They chose the uncomfortable conversation instead, and it may turn out to be one of the kindest things anyone has done for me this year.

If You’re Holding More Than Your Share

If any of this sounds familiar, maybe there’s one thing you could put down today. Just one. Let someone else take it, and let them handle it their way, even if their way makes you twitch a little.

Or maybe there’s a worry you can name out loud and then leave alone, without trying to solve it before bed.

I’m still waiting for answers, and I haven’t become someone who hears “stop worrying” and cheerfully complies. But I heard something important today, and I heard it through tears, which is sometimes the only way the truth gets in.

I love my daughter. I love my family and the life we’re building together. And I’m learning that loving them well includes leaving some room for me.

About the Author | Day 295 of 365

I’m a soul-led coach, entrepreneur, mother, and recovering perfectionist, currently navigating healing, uncertainty, temporary chapters, motherhood, work, big transitions, grief, nervous system healing, overstimulation, emotional growth, and the ongoing lesson that life works a whole lot better when we stop trying to carry everything alone. Today that lesson looked like hearing a hard truth through tears, and choosing what stays in my hands.

Day 295 of 365. Still showing up. Still learning to let go. 🐧