In my fifth decade on this earth, I’m only now beginning to accept that I can’t fix everything, no matter how badly I want to. And that truth? It’s brutal.
Since I was a kid, I’ve carried this deep, unrelenting need to fix things. Not just the broken toy kind of fixing, but people, relationships, and situations. Everything. Growing up with abuse, it was the only way I could create any sense of control. When someone takes your power from you, you scramble for anything to hold onto. For me, control became a lifeline. And with it came overthinking, perfectionism, and a bit of a worn-out Superman complex.
But here’s what I’m learning now:
Letting go is its own kind of power.
It’s messy.
It hurts.
And it’s terrifying when you don’t know what the outcome will be.
But it’s necessary.
The Body Doesn’t Lie
In therapy, I’ve been learning to listen, not just to my thoughts, but to my body. Turns out, the body holds what the mind and heart struggle to release. And holding onto unprocessed emotions? It doesn’t make them go away; it just buries them deeper until they show up as anxiety or depression.
For me, anxiety tends to land in my right calf and left arm. A strange tightness. Heavy, uncomfortable. And it sticks around. I don’t want to rely on medication, so I lean on the tools I’ve learned:
- Breathing techniques
- Mindful awareness
- Actually feeling the feelings instead of shoving them down
Sitting with emotions is wildly uncomfortable at first. But suppressing them just traps them longer. When I let myself feel, the emotions move. They pass. They don’t get stuck in my body the same way.
Control Doesn’t Equal Safety
Letting go of the things that no longer serve me, or were never mine to carry in the first place, is something I’m still learning. It’s a daily practice. I’m realizing I can’t fix what’s already been broken or undo what’s already happened. And trying to control every outcome doesn’t protect me; it just exhausts me.
So, I’m slowly making peace with the fact that sometimes, I have to let go. Not because I want to, but because I have to, for my health, my healing, and my peace.
It’s not easy. I stumble often. But I keep showing up for the work.
And for now, that’s enough.