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Letting Go

My mother is a firm believer in rummage sales. Throughout my childhood I was encouraged to go on an annual purge of my toy collection, to cull the items that I’d held onto mostly out of the comfort of familiarity and send them off to a new home.

I was an anxious child and this task always pushed me to my limits. I was never quite ready to let go and even the promise of jingling coins adding up in my piggy bank was not enough to loosen my grip on the long-forgotten and ignored items in my toy box.

As I got older, though, I began to see the wisdom and beauty in it. When you release something that no longer works for you, you free yourself from the burden of unnecessary clutter, and bless someone else with your bounty. The older I got, the more easily I handed off unworn clothing, uncomfortable shoes, and outgrown home décor.

This release did not extend to my relationships, however. I held on long past revelations of irreconcilable flaws of character, kept a firm grasp even in the boldness of obvious lies and the presence of decidedly divergent moral compasses. I believed that it was my duty to give even the most floundering friendships the benefit of both doubt and time. 

The catalyst in the evolution of my ability to discard worn-out relationships, ones that no longer fit—whether familial or friendly in nature—turned out to be loss. In that compressed period of stressful life circumstances when I lost my breast, my baby, my replacement pseudo-breast, my hair, my child-bearing capacity, and the certainty of my future, I also released the fear that had kept me grasping at the last straws of uninhabitable relationships.

The more I lost, the easier it became to let go. I learned that I didn’t have to devote precious time and energy in maintaining relationships with people whose bullying behaviors—and the hurtful intent behind them—caused me harm. I discovered that my unconditional love and forgiveness flowed more freely when I kept a safe distance.

I stopped hanging out with casual friends and extended family members whose own insecurities appeared as disappointment with or critical judgment of my life. I finally recognized that their impossible standards came from their own fear of not measuring up and found an unexpected peace in releasing myself from their expectations.

I didn't diversify. I simplified. By cutting out the relationships that drained my energy, I found the means to invest more extensively in the ones that recharged and uplifted me.
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