“Mommy, you know what I’ve noticed? When you give things away, other things, new things come in. But! You can’t give things just to get new things.”
Letting go is giving—it’s a release, a donation to the universe of what is no longer serving a purpose in my life.
To let go is to arrive in a place where the unknown is more of a welcomed prospect than what’s known.
Letting go doesn’t come without soul shaking fear. It’s what drives the final decision and the initial action of giving.
To give back to the universe—what I’ve held onto so tightly—is courageous. To adopt an understanding that what I’ve let go of doesn’t belong to me—therefore, what the universe and that person chooses to do with my gift—is none of my business.
That’s the excruciating part, isn’t it?
I want to know the end of the story—or the beginning of the next chapter. I want to know how it works out, for me and for them.
But, when I give, I let go of the control—of the knowing. I am left floating in the void, in a space filled with anxious uncertainty.
What if I never know?
What if nothing ever fills it up and I exist in this black hole forever?
Should I have let go? Should I have stayed?
It’s a struggle to live in the in-between and try not to fill it up, to distract or to go back.
This is the test—to determine whether or not I am strong enough to move on—to trust in her, the universe.
She is watching intently. She wants to see what I do next.
Ugh, I suck at this part. I would do just about anything to keep from being in that zone, where there’s no branch to reach for, or hand to grab, or event to look forward to.
I panic as I survey the landscape–uninhabited by anything or anyone familiar.
That’s right where she wants me.
I’ve done the legwork, the giving part. That’s my signal to her that I mean business, even though I’m scared sh*tless, and all I want to do is crawl back to what was—take back my gift and go hide.
I can’t go back though. I’ve done this too many times to know how it works.
So, I need to remain calm—tame my worry and trust that she won’t leave me hanging. She never has, even my daughter recognizes that.
The in-between is necessary—it’s where I’m most vulnerable and awake.
My expectations subside. The unknown becomes my certainty.
My heart is wide open and unattached. She knows it—and when it’s time—something new will find its way in, and I will appreciate her generous gift.
Author: Rebecca Lammersen
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Photo: Courtesy of author, via Allan Henry
hot on elephant
July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. How My Sister’s Death Transformed my Self-Perception.