When We Let Go

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

And I wonder why the ones who need love the most are so difficult to give it to.

“Being strong . . . it doesn’t always mean being tough. It means letting those terrible feelings in, not pushing them away. It’s letting yourself feel all of it.”

“See how quickly things change, Avery? You need to grab sunshine when you can. The real tragedy is living the rest of your life in the dark.”

“Mistakes don’t make you a bad person, Avery. They make you complex and human. Own them. Or the only person you hurt is you.”

“That girl is filled with a lot of anger.” But I disagree, because I know what’s inside her, and I know how it feels. “That’s not it at all,” I say. “What you’re seeing is a girl filled with a lot of pain.”

“Holding on to pain, Elle—what I’ve done and what you’ve been doing—it’s no way to heal. We can’t love or be loved with all that anger inside. Or regret. Or fear. We have to let it go.”

Missing someone you’ve loved and lost doesn’t come with a roadmap. There’s no knowing when the ache will creep in, knocking you flat.

holding on to those you’ve lost means you’re living in the past. And if you’re living in the past, you’re not really living.

And I think of all the storms we weathered to land in this place. The broken dreams. The prayers we cast off into the sky. And I know now that endings bring forth new beginnings, and letting go means you’re alive.