🖤REFLECTION: What Parts of My Old Self Am I Finally Allowed to Release?

I’m finally allowed to release the version of me that thought pain was a prerequisite for love.

The girl who learned early that affection came with conditions. That safety was temporary. That staying meant tolerating. She did what she had to do to survive. I honor her for that. She doesn’t have to run my life anymore.

I’m releasing the belief that I am responsible for other people’s emotions. The part of me that scans every room, every tone shift, every silence—trying to prevent explosions before they happen. That hyper-vigilance once kept me safe. Now it just keeps me tired. I’m learning that peace is not something I have to manage for everyone else. It’s something I’m allowed to choose for myself.

I’m releasing the shame that told me my trauma made me “too much.” Too emotional. Too sensitive. Too broken to be fully loved. I see now that what I called “too much” was actually a nervous system. It had been in fight-or-flight for years. I wasn’t dramatic. I was hurting.

I’m releasing the old version of motherhood that said I had to be perfect to be good.

The voice that whispered, What if you mess them up the way you were messed up?

I’m learning that healing my children doesn’t come from pretending I’m healed—it comes from modeling what repair looks like. From letting them see me choose growth. From letting them know that emotions are safe here.

I’m releasing the identity built entirely around endurance. The one that prides itself on “I’ll handle it” and “I don’t need help.” The one that survived by becoming unbreakable instead of becoming supported. I don’t want to be unbreakable anymore. I want to be held. I’m releasing the fear that if I stop suffering, I’ll lose my depth. That if life gets gentle, I’ll become shallow. But softness isn’t weakness. And joy doesn’t erase wisdom—it proves I earned it.

I’m releasing the version of faith that kept me small. The kind that told me questioning meant failing. The kind that taught me obedience without intimacy. I’m choosing a faith that meets me in my wounds, not one that shames me for having them.

Most of all, I’m releasing the belief that healing has an end date.

That by now I should be “over it.”

That the past shouldn’t still echo.

Healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about loosening the grip the past has on my current.

The old versions of me weren’t wrong.

They were necessary. But they were never meant to be permanent. I bless them. I thank them. And I gently lay them down. Because I’m growing into someone who doesn’t just survive anymore— She lives.

✨️ CLOSING PRAYER

God,

Today I lay down what once kept me alive but no longer lets me live. I release the versions of myself that were built in fear, silence, and survival. I thank them for protecting me when no one else could—and I let them rest. Help me loosen my grip on shame. Help me forgive myself for what I didn’t know, for what I couldn’t stop, for how I learned to cope. Teach me that release is not abandonment—it is trust. That letting go does not dishonor the past—it redeems it. Hold what I cannot carry anymore. And make room in me for what comes next.

Amen.

XOXO, THE HEALING WILDFLOWER