I feel like one of the biggest lessons for me in this lifetime is learning how to let shit go.
And maybe that’s why my last blog bothered someone I care about. A friend felt some type of way about what I wrote, and instead of only thinking about his reaction, it made me think about us. It made me think about why I never gave him a chance to really be with me.
The thing is, letting go doesn’t always mean you stop talking about something.
Sometimes letting go means I have to talk about that shit over and over again until I understand it. Until I understand what it did to me, what it represented, why it bothered me, and what place it actually holds in my life.
People don’t always like that.
Sometimes people think that because you’re still talking about something, you’re still holding on to it. But I don’t necessarily believe that. Sometimes talking is how I release things. I turn them around. I look at every side. I question myself. I question the other person. Eventually, I understand it enough that it doesn’t have the same power anymore.
I’ve always been like that.
It reminds me of when I was in the military. I think I was a Corporal at the time, and a Sergeant got upset with me over something involving one of our Lance corporals. She was married and was having what I believed was an inappropriate relationship with another Marine.
I had already spoken to her about it.
My response was basically: she’s a grown woman.
Yes, she’s a Lance corporal. But she’s still an adult. She knows she’s married. She knows what she’s doing.
That got me in trouble.
And I remember thinking, What exactly do you want me to do? Go into her room and make sure the man isn’t in there?
There is a point where people have to be responsible for the decisions they make.
Maybe that’s part of why I look at relationships the way I do now. I tend to see every side of something—even the side that hurts my own feelings.
There was a man I really cared about. And being the spiritual woman that I am, I believe people sometimes come into our lives for reasons.
I’m not calling myself a healer.
But I do believe there have been times when someone entered my life because they needed something from that season with me. Maybe a conversation. Maybe comfort. Maybe perspective. Maybe just a safe place to land while they were going through something.
And with this particular man, I felt that.
I felt like maybe I had a message for him. Maybe I came into his life during a time when he needed to get out of whatever emotional place he was in.
But he was going through a divorce.
And regardless of whatever spiritual connection I felt, I couldn’t make that into something it wasn’t ready to be.
I have a rule for myself: if someone isn’t at least two years removed from a divorce, I don’t want to enter into a relationship with them.
That’s not because I believe every divorced person secretly wants their ex back. They don’t.
It’s because divorce can leave people in a very delicate stage of their lives.
They’re figuring out who they are outside of that marriage. They’re processing anger, grief, freedom, disappointment, guilt, relief—all kinds of shit that sometimes contradicts itself.
And when young children are involved, that’s another beast entirely.
I’ve experienced that before.
I remember being involved with someone who had a very young child, and there would be moments where I could almost see him disappear into his thoughts. He’d just sit there, and I imagined he was thinking about different scenarios involving his ex-wife, his child, and the life they once had.
Maybe I was right. Maybe I wasn’t.
But I knew I didn’t want to compete with a chapter of someone’s life that hadn’t finished closing.
And maybe that’s why I’ve been apprehensive with certain people even when the connection felt strong.
Because connection doesn’t always mean relationship.
Chemistry doesn’t always mean compatibility.
And spiritual connection doesn’t automatically mean somebody was sent to stay.
That’s the part I’m learning.
Some people might come into my life, get what they were supposed to get from that season with me, and leave.
And maybe I get something from them too.
Maybe that’s the exchange.
I used to think letting go meant reaching a point where you didn’t care anymore. Now I’m starting to think letting go is being able to care deeply and still recognize when something has served its purpose.
Maybe I don’t have to make every meaningful connection permanent just because it meant something to me.
Maybe the lesson isn’t always, How do I keep this person?
Sometimes the lesson is:
Can I appreciate what this was without trying to turn it into what it wasn’t meant to become?
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