I Quit, Goodbye, No Thank You

I’ve got my hot chocolate, pen and notebook all ready.

“What does it mean to let go?“

This is the writing prompt at Wednesday night’s Write on Mama! group.

I smile. Ah, I’ve got this.

The letting go [and grieving] of things and ideas and beliefs and identities and old dreams have been at the forefront of my learning to live well with an anxiety disorder.

It had felt so very counter-intuitive at first—and scary and disorientating.

In this culture that’s about more and bigger and faster, it is a radical act to slow down, to let go, to walk away.

And so I write:

Getting a haircut

Overloaded bags left at Value Village

Contacts deleted

Drawings and journals thinned out

Cleaning out the fridge

Deciding not to engage

Moving

Resigning

Quitting

Crossing when you see them coming down the street

Saying no

Cancelling

Changing coffee shops

Leaving the phone at home

Returning unread library books

Not replying

Chucking old photos

Marie Kondo-ing the apartment

Composting a dead plant

Taking down a picture

Starting over

Rearranging the furniture

(Join Write on Mama! on Wednesday nights @7:30pm via Zoom—for now. PWUC.)