Letting Go

There are things we carry because they matter.

There are things we carry because they once mattered.

And then there are things we carry because somewhere along the way, we forgot that putting them down was an option.

Last month, I invited you to gather the harvest. To look back over the year and notice what has grown, what you have learned, what has sustained you, and what you want to carry forward.

But discernment is not only about deciding what we will carry.

Sometimes it is also about deciding what we will put down.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is “a time to keep, and a time to throw away” (Ecclesiastes 3:6, NRSVue).

I am drawn to the wisdom in that distinction.

There is a time to keep.

Some things are still ours to tend, protect, remember, and carry.

And there is a time to release.

The spiritual work may be learning to discern which season we are in.

October invites us to consider letting go.

Not because everything we leave behind is bad.

Not because we need to clear our lives of anything difficult or uncomfortable.

And certainly not because someone has told us, You just need to let it go.

Sometimes letting go is much more tender than that.

Sometimes we have to notice what we are holding before we can decide whether we are ready to release it.

Notice

Before you let go, notice what you are carrying.

What has been taking up space in your thoughts, your body, your spirit, your schedule, your relationships?

Maybe it is an expectation you had for this year.

Maybe it is a role you have outgrown.

Maybe it is a responsibility that belongs to more people than just you.

Maybe it is resentment, disappointment, or an old conversation you keep replaying.

Maybe it is an image of yourself you have worked hard to maintain.

Maybe it is something good.

A dream.

A relationship.

A way of doing things that served you well for a long time.

We often think letting go begins with release.

I wonder if it actually begins with attention.

What am I carrying right now?

Not what should you release.

Not what someone else thinks you should be over by now.

Just notice.

What are you carrying?

Name

Once we notice something, we can begin to name it.

There is a difference between saying, I feel heavy, and recognizing, I am carrying the expectation that I have to keep everyone happy.

There is a difference between saying, I am tired, and recognizing, I keep saying yes to something I no longer have the capacity to do.

There is a difference between knowing something has ended and admitting, I am still holding on to what I thought this would become.

Naming helps us see what our hands are wrapped around.

And sometimes the name surprises us.

We thought we were holding responsibility, but perhaps we were holding control.

We thought we were holding hope, but perhaps we were holding an expectation.

We thought we were being faithful, but perhaps we were afraid of disappointing people.

We thought we were preserving something precious, but perhaps we were afraid to find out who we might be without it.

Naming is not judgment.

It is clarity.

Can I tell the truth about what I am carrying?

Honor

This part matters.

Before you rush to release something, honor what it has meant.

We can become so eager to move forward that we treat everything behind us as something we needed to escape.

But not everything we outgrow was a mistake.

Some things carried us.

Some things protected us.

Some things helped us survive a season when we did not yet have the tools, language, resources, or support we have now.

Some things brought us joy.

Some dreams were beautiful even if they never came to pass.

Some relationships mattered even if they changed.

Some versions of ourselves worked very hard to get us here.

You do not have to make something bad in order to let it go.

You can say:

This mattered to me.

This helped me.

I loved this.

I needed this then.

I hoped this would turn out differently.

I am grateful for what this gave me.

And I may not need to carry it anymore.

There can be gratitude in release.

There can even be grief.

Letting go does not erase what something meant.

Sometimes honoring it is what finally allows us to loosen our grip.

Release

Release is rarely one dramatic moment.

Sometimes it is.

But often, letting go happens little by little.

A boundary.

A conversation.

A decision not to explain yourself again.

An expectation you stop measuring your life against.

A responsibility you return to its rightful owner.

A habit you stop feeding.

A story about yourself you become willing to question.

A prayer that changes from God, make this happen to God, help me trust what comes next.

Sometimes release is simply opening your hand.

Not throwing something away.

Not pretending it never mattered.

Just loosening your grip enough to say:

I do not know if I am meant to carry this any farther.

That, too, can be a spiritual practice.

Because open hands do more than release.

Open hands can also receive.

Make Room

This may be the part of letting go we talk about least.

Release creates space.

And space can feel strange.

We are accustomed to filling things quickly. An empty calendar gets another commitment. Silence gets noise. An ending sends us searching for the next beginning.

But perhaps we do not have to rush to fill every space we create.

Maybe some space needs to remain space for a while.

Room to breathe.

Room to grieve.

Room to listen.

Room to discover what you want now instead of automatically replacing what you had before.

Room for God to meet you somewhere you have not been before.

There is a temptation to ask immediately:

What am I making room for?

Perhaps October offers us a gentler question:

What might become possible when I loosen my grip?

You do not have to know the answer yet.

The invitation may simply be to open your hands.

A Practice for October

Find a quiet moment and place your hands in front of you, palms closed.

Think about what you have been carrying.

Do not force yourself to choose the biggest or hardest thing. Let whatever comes to mind be enough.

Notice it.

Name it.

Honor what it has meant.

Then, when you are ready, slowly open your hands.

You do not have to announce that you have released it forever.

You do not have to promise never to pick it up again.

Just experience, for a moment, what it feels like not to grip it so tightly.

Sit with your hands open.

Breathe.

And ask:

God, what can I put down?

What do I need to honor before I release it?

What might become possible with the space that remains?

Then listen.

October does not demand that you empty your hands.

It simply invites you to notice what is in them.

Some things are still yours to carry.

Some things may need to be carried differently.

And some things have traveled with you far enough.

You get to discern the difference.

And when you are ready, you can loosen your grip.

Not because what you carried did not matter.

But because it did.

And because you are allowed to make room for what comes next.