Most of my life, I’ve been someone who holds on to things that do not serve
me.
I hold on to people long after they’ve drifted or betrayed me. I hold on to
jobs that drain me. I hold on to routines, roles, and responsibilities out of
loyalty, out of love, out of the fear that if I let go, I’ll lose part of
myself.
Maybe you know that feeling—that stubborn ache in the chest when something
isn’t working anymore, but you just can’t bring yourself to walk away. We’re
taught that letting go is failure. That endurance is noble. That the more we
sacrifice, the more worthy we are.
But what they don’t tell you is that holding on is
its own kind of prison.
You wake up one day and realize you’ve stayed for the title, the paycheck,
the history, the shoulds. You look around and
the spark is gone. Not just in the thing you’re clinging to—but in you.
And so, after years of giving, building, proving, and staying longer than I
should have, I’m choosing something different- I am choosing me.
I decided a couple of weeks ago to give up my corporate job at Boeing. I owe
them a lot. I literally started my life over- at least financially, 10 years
ago with nothing but my education and experience and my work with them has
allowed financial stability, a home, and has allowed me to build a small
business around my sewing and embroidery.
Retirement, for me, isn’t an ending. It’s a return. A return to curiosity,
creativity, and quiet mornings and snuggles with my pets. To projects that
don’t come with deadlines. To joy that isn’t tied to productivity. To the
version of me that existed before I became what society required of me.
In this case, letting go isn’t a weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s recognizing
that growth requires space—and sometimes that means releasing the things (and
people) that once rooted us, so we can rise.
So here’s to the art of knowing when to hold on—and the courage it takes to
finally let go.
I’m not done dreaming. I’m just dreaming differently.
And it feels like freedom.