I’m sure a lot of us can relate to this one. Working with a practitioner who seems to think it’s as easy as loosening our grip. Seeking support from someone who tries not-so-gently to unfurl our fingers. Sharing our story with someone whose words roll their eyes at us - why aren’t we over it, by now?

(See also: what’s specifically wrong with us that we aren’t over it by now? And you can bet folks have some ideas about that, and maybe even a solution they could sell us. See also also: We should really be over it by now, by yesterday, by months ago.)

And here’s the thing. Our beings are so fucking wise. We let go when we can, and not a moment sooner.

Our choices are powerful, mindset can matter, and so too does the nervous system woven through our body - and this world we’re living in. These things often dictate our choices, help us to know when it’s safest to let go, and also when it’s safer to hold on.

In this world we are living in, safety can be hard to come by and letting go isn’t as easy as just deciding to do it. We are powerful, yes, and so are the systems we live in.

Being rushed to just let go can bypass the wisdom in holding on.

Being rushed to just let go might assume we can make this choice in a vacuum.

Being rushed to let go can assume a level of safety that may not exist yet.

Today I’m wondering if we can hold space for the brilliance in grasping as well as the release, not rushing either one, just trusting that ebbs eventually flow, and flows might stand still at an ebb every so often.

And what if there is wisdom in the tide going both ways?

And what if there is wisdom in us going both ways, too?

And what if the letting go is a thing we grow towards, all the while holding tender the parts of us that are holding on?

What might it feel like not to be rushed?

What might it feel like to be trusted in our timing, our holding, our grasping and the slow unfurl of releasing?

Asking the big questions gently,

Jess