RELEASE

H.E.R. DEFINITION
Release is not giving up - it is giving yourself permission. When we release, we stop letting what is already over use up space in what is just beginning. It is the choice to unclench what we've been holding and trust that our hands were made to carry something better.

So. I need to tell y'all about this guy named... sike! I'm not sharing any names here so simmer down...

Anyway. We'd been talking for almost a month. And when I tell you he was literally a breath of fresh air - please believe me. So much so that I was able to do something I haven't done in a long time - if ever. I just let myself be me. Silly, full, completely unguarded me. I even wrote the man a song. Recorded it and sent it. And he loved it.

And then, almost like it never happened - he went politely quiet.

Now "politely quiet" is my very generous way of saying he handed me a whole paragraph about being super busy - after weeks of intentional, consistent, good attention. And I have been sitting with that ever since. Turning it over. Trying to make sense of it. Fighting the urge to reach out, because I already know how that ends.

But here's the part that's really messing with me.

It's not even fully about him. It's about what I keep doing after - the story I tell myself when things fall apart. About whether I'm too much, or not enough, or whether love is even still available to a 57-year-old woman who is out here genuinely trying.

That story? That's what I need to release.

Release is not the same as letting go. Letting go sounds gentle, like you're opening your hand and a butterfly floats away. Release is more like unclenching. It's the work of peeling your own fingers back from something you've been gripping so tight you didn't even realize your hand had gone numb.

For a lot of us ... women in the middle of rebuilding, women who've spent decades being the strong one, the dependable one, the one who holds everything together - release feels like losing. Like if we stop holding on, whatever we were holding disappears. Like if we stop telling ourselves the story, we lose the meaning.

But what if the story is the problem?

Here's the real talk: the stories we carry after disappointment are rarely just about what happened. They're about what we decided it means. He pulled back, and suddenly I'm translating that into a verdict about my worth, my lovability, my future. I went from a woman who wrote a man a silly inspirational song (did i mention he loved it?) - who showed up honest and full and free - to a woman interrogating herself while staring into the mirror.

There was no clarity to be found... Just a story. And that story is what I need to release.

What I've finally come to understand - slowly, imperfectly, with more grace than I expected - is that I showed up. I showed up honestly, completely, even a little bit fearlessly... I showed up. And I cannot control what anyone else does with that. What I can control is whether I let someone else's silence define it. Define ME.

There's something else I've had to sit with, that's proving to be a lil harder. I've been asking myself whether romantic love is even still available to me. Whether at this stage of life, with everything I've built and everything I've survived, there's a person out there who meets me where I am. I'm not going to stand up here and tell you I have a tidy answer. I don't. Some days the answer feels like yes, absolutely, it's coming. Other days it feels like maybe love looks different than I've imagined - and maybe I need to release the version of love I think I'm supposed to want and get curious about what love actually looks like in this chapter.

So here is the shift I've been sitting with. That connection - that rare, easy, you-can-be-completely-silly-you kind of connection - I felt it. "Lawd know" I felt it. lol. That means it's real. It exists. I am not chasing a fantasy. I experienced it! And now I know what I'm looking for. I gained more clarity. And that is not a small thing. That is a gift. Even if it's wrapped in a little bit of grief.

What I'm choosing to release this week...the story! That what didn't work out is a verdict about me. I'm releasing the urgency - the idea that romantic love has a deadline, that I'm running out of time, that if it hasn't happened by now maybe it's not coming. And I'm reclaiming what I already know to be true. My life is full. I am loved. And I showed up completely for someone, and there is no shame in that. I just need to release the part of the story that says any of that was a mistake.

So here's your invitation this week. What story are you gripping? Not the one about what happened - the one you wrote after. The one that quietly became your truth. What would it feel like to release just one line of that story? Not all of it. Just one. You just have to be willing to open your hand. One freshly manicured finger at a time. And release whatever it is you are carrying.

AFFIRMATION
I release the stories that no longer serve my healing and make room for the truth of who I am becoming.