sometimes, i miss not having to explain my moods. i miss the parts of myself that didn’t need to be named, analyzed, journaled. i miss crying without categorizing it. i miss sadness that just existed, without needing to be rewritten into a growth arc. i miss the version of myself who didn’t feel like her inner life had to be coherent to be real.

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To let go, when you know you have to is like choosing both grief and hope. Hope that you have control over your life, hope that there is something that is more in alignment for you out there. But you are giving up the possibility of the known joy. There must have been something you are letting go of that is meaningful and beautiful. Letting go, for

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