Nobody teaches you how to let go. Not really.
We learn how to hold on—tight. To grudges. To people. To memories. To jeans that haven’t fit since the Obama administration. Somewhere along the line, especially if you grew up in a family that survived more than it thrived, the message was loud and clear: keep everything close, because you never know when you’ll lose it.
So letting go? That felt like failure. Like giving up. Like waving a white flag when you’re supposed to be a fighter.
But then life hits you with things you can’t hold onto anymore. A marriage that drained your spirit. Family relationships that turned toxic. Old dreams that just don’t fit the person you are anymore. And suddenly, you’re standing there with your arms full of things that no longer love you back.
Letting go, for me, hasn’t been a single moment. It’s a practice. A messy, emotional, holy-mess kind of practice.
It started with a closet. (Of course it did.) I had clothes in there I hadn’t worn in ten years—some of them still had tags. I wasn’t saving them because I loved them. I was saving them because I thought maybe one day I’d fit back into that life. The woman who wore makeup just to go to the grocery store. She’s gone now, and honestly, I don’t miss her.
Next came the emotional clutter. The old text threads I used to scroll through like some sad little detective. The pictures that used to make me cry. The numbers still saved in my phone under “Don’t Answer.” Slowly but surely, delete by delete, I created space.
Letting go isn’t just about stuff. It’s about identity. It’s about no longer being the fixer, the people-pleaser, the one who says “it’s fine” when it’s absolutely not fine.
I had to grieve versions of myself I worked hard to become—but who were never really me to begin with.
Some days, I still catch myself holding on too tightly. I still feel guilt when I put up boundaries. I still sometimes miss things I know were bad for me—because they were familiar. Because they were mine, once.
But I’ve learned that peace has a price. And sometimes, that price is a goodbye.
Letting go can look like finally unfollowing your ex’s cousin’s dog on Instagram. Or it can look like not responding to a guilt trip from someone who once called you family.
It can look like closing the door to a room you used to share with someone else… and opening a new one where the air is clearer and the bed is just for you (or you and your Corgi, no judgment).
And when you start making space, it doesn’t stay empty for long.
Suddenly there’s room for new love. New hobbies. New laughter. New friendships that don’t come with obligation or baggage.
There’s room for a Saturday morning with coffee in the sun and no one making you feel small.
There’s room for the life you want now—not the one you were once told to want.
So if you’re in the thick of it—staring down the clutter, the memories, the heartbreak, the guilt—I see you. I’ve been there. I’m still there, some days.
But every time you let go of one thing that no longer fits, you step a little closer to the life that does.
And trust me, that life? It’s worth the cleanup.
Love,
Aunty Christine 🫶🏻💜🤟🏻
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