The Weight of Release

Release is not always gentle.
It rarely feels like letting go — at least not at first.
Often, it feels like standing at the edge of a year that took more than it gave, holding pieces you are not sure you want to carry forward.

We like to imagine release as a soft unraveling, a peaceful surrender.
But the truth is simpler, sharper:
Release is a decision.
A moment where honesty finally outweighs habit.

This season has a way of pressing us into remembrance — the victories, the failures, the quiet moments that stitched us together, and the ones that nearly unraveled us.
And in that remembering, something unexpected rises:

The understanding that everything cannot come with you.
Not every worry.
Not every wound.
Not every silent burden you agreed to carry long before you knew its weight.

The invitation of December is not to forget — but to discern.
To ask yourself what still belongs to your becoming, and what simply belongs to the year that shaped you.

Release is not abandonment.
It is alignment.
It is telling the truth about what your spirit no longer has room for.

And in that honesty, something shifts.
You make space — real space — for what is trying to find you in the year ahead.
Light moves differently when it is not dragging yesterday behind it.

So, ask yourself — without judgment, without apology:
What weight am I finally ready to put down before I cross into a new year?
What part of my story no longer fits the person I am becoming?

Step into the clearing.
Let what needs to fall, fall.
And trust that release is not an ending —
It is the beginning of making room for wonder again.