sometimes i think about how strange it is
that we can hold something so close
even while it’s quietly hurting us.
like… really hurting us.
not in a dramatic movie way.
more like a slow kind of tired.
the kind that settles in your shoulders.
in your jaw.
in the way you sigh without realizing it.
let’s say you’re miserable.
not the “everything is on fire” miserable.
just… heavy. dull. empty.
the kind where you wake up and already feel behind.
and you don’t know exactly why.
or maybe you do.
but you keep telling yourself it’s not that bad.
maybe it’s a relationship.
maybe it’s a friendship that mostly feels like walking on glass.
maybe it’s a habit you keep defending.
maybe it’s an old version of yourself you’re still loyal to.
something you value.
something you’ve invested in.
something you once believed in.
and now it bites you.
over and over.
quietly.
i used to think suffering meant something noble.
like, if i can endure this, then i’m strong.
then i’m loyal.
then i’m good.
but lately i’m not so sure.
sometimes suffering is just…
what happens when we refuse to let go.
i don’t write this as someone who has figured it out.
i really haven’t.
i still cling.
i still negotiate with myself.
“maybe if i try a little harder.”
“maybe it will change.”
“maybe i’m just too sensitive.”
“maybe i’m the problem.”
i say these things while staring at the ceiling.
or scrolling.
or sitting on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hand
not even typing anything.
just holding it.
there are things we keep
not because they’re good for us,
but because losing them feels like losing a piece of who we are.
and that’s terrifying.
letting go doesn’t feel heroic.
it doesn’t feel clean.
it feels like ripping something out of your chest
and then having to live with the hole.
it feels like sacrifice.
real sacrifice.
not aesthetic.
not poetic.
you lose the familiar.
you lose the story you were telling yourself.
you lose the “at least i have this.”
and for a while, you might have nothing in its place.
that’s the part nobody romanticizes.
but i keep noticing this pattern.
people suffer.
not because they are weak.
not because they are broken.
but because they are loyal.
loyal to what once mattered.
loyal to what once felt safe.
loyal to something that is no longer kind.
and loyalty, when pointed in the wrong direction, becomes self-betrayal.
that’s hard to admit.
i think about a person who keeps answering calls
from someone who only criticizes them.
every day.
multiple times a day.
they say,
“but it’s my mother.”
or
“but we’ve known each other forever.”
or
“but they’re all i have.”
i understand that.
i really do.
but i also see how their body reacts.
their shoulders tense before the phone even rings.
their voice gets smaller.
their eyes lose a little light.
that’s not nothing.
sometimes the most loving thing you can do
is step back.
not slam the door.
not burn the bridge.
just… loosen your grip.
create space.
and here’s the strange part.
sometimes, when you let go,
the thing doesn’t disappear forever.
sometimes it changes.
sometimes it comes back softer.
with boundaries.
with different rules.
sometimes it doesn’t come back at all.
and both outcomes hurt.
but one kind of hurt slowly heals.
the other keeps reopening.
i’m not here to tell you what to release.
i don’t want to be a teacher.
i don’t have a checklist.
i’m just sitting here with you,
wondering:
what is the thing in your life
that keeps biting you
that you keep calling love
or loyalty
or responsibility?
and what would happen
if you stopped gripping it so tightly?
maybe nothing changes.
maybe everything does.
i don’t know.
but i’m starting to believe this:
a lot of pain isn’t proof that you’re broken.
a lot of pain is proof that you’re holding onto something
that has already shown you who it is.
letting go doesn’t mean you never cared.
it doesn’t erase the good.
it doesn’t make you cold.
sometimes it just means
you’re choosing to survive.
quietly.
imperfectly.
one small release at a time.
and if you’re there right now,
thinking about something you’re not ready to release yet…
that’s okay too.
you’re not late.
you’re not failing.
you’re human.
and you don’t have to go through that alone.
