Mourning the Old Stories

Things are dying in my world.

Thoughts of past lovers.
Belief systems. Patterns.
Struggle. Chaos. Unrest.
Old stories. Motivations.

My posture of resistance has relaxed into one of ease.

As I wait in expectation of an exciting new chapter, I must respect this very real season of mourning. Of the people, places and things that I can’t take with me. Of everything I once knew. I respect this divine time of cutting. Of pruning. I offer myself a necessary grace period to cry until the wells of my hurt have run dry.

We love the story of the caterpillar. Of transformation. But as our wings develop and mature, the pain of a cracked cocoon is still the pain of a cracked cocoon. As we shed our old skin, let us not close our minds to the reality that growth requires loss, and loss is painful.

Today I mourn the old stories. The old ways of thinking and being that no longer work for me or where I’m headed. I release all that must be cut away for the purpose of my growth. I release everything that weighs me down or holds me back and will smile and cry and celebrate and lament for all that my mind and body must endure as I stretch and take flight.

Featured image by Amy Baugess on Unsplash

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