Letting Go of What Was Never Mine

There’s a strange kind of grief in releasing something you never truly had. A friendship that only existed in your effort. A relationship where you were the only one holding on. A version of your life you clung to because it felt familiar, not because it felt right.

I’ve been learning that sometimes the hardest things to let go of are the things that were never really mine to hold. The comfort I tried to find in uncomfortable places. The people I tried to keep who were never meant to stay. The roles I played in lives I no longer belong to.

But letting go doesn’t always mean losing—it can mean choosing.

Choosing to grow.

Choosing to explore new memories, new connections, and new parts of yourself.

And maybe, just maybe, choosing to finally feel free.

Lately, I’ve been sitting with the idea of change — real change. The kind that stretches you, pulls you out of your familiar places, and asks you to trust what you can’t yet see. There’s a job opportunity that might mean relocating, and while it excites me, it also scares me. Not because I don’t believe I’m capable, but because it would mean leaving behind a city that’s given me a sense of comfort — even if I’ve never truly been comfortable here.

There’s something about being in a place where you know all the streets, all the routines, all the faces—but still feel unseen. Still feel like you don’t fully belong. I’ve called this place “home,” but if I’m honest, I’ve only ever settled here. I’ve built safety around what I’ve survived, not what’s made me feel alive.

And then there’s friendship. The ones that give me momentary happiness, quick laughs, shared memories — but lack depth, honesty, or purpose. I’ve been clinging to connections that feel good in passing but leave me lonely when I need to feel known. And I think I’ve stayed because I didn’t want to face what walking away might reveal about the spaces I’ve outgrown.

I’m even learning to grieve old versions of myself—the one who needed constant validation, the one who people-pleased out of fear of rejection, the one who stayed small to make others comfortable. I want to let her go, but I don’t fully know who comes next. And that unknown is scary. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the new version of me won’t come from certainty, but from courage.

I’m learning that the unknown doesn’t have to be something to fear—it can be sacred. A blank page where God can write something new. A space where I can meet parts of myself I’ve never known, or maybe forgotten. I don’t have all the answers, and I’m not supposed to. That’s what faith is for.

Letting go and letting God isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it feels like crying in the middle of the night, whispering prayers that don’t have words yet. Sometimes it’s sitting in silence, heart open, hands unclenched, choosing to trust even when I don’t understand. But other times, it’s peace that surprises me. It’s a stillness in my soul when I realize I don’t have to hold it all together. It’s knowing that I’m guided—even in the in-between.

I’m opening myself up to new things. New environments. New connections. New ways of living and loving and being. I’m allowing myself to hope again—not just for what I want, but for what’s meant for me. And I’ve decided that if I have to leave people, places, or versions of myself behind in the process, then I will—with love, not bitterness.

Because anything or anyone truly meant for me will never be threatened by my growth. They’ll celebrate it. They’ll cheer me on, even from a distance. And if they can’t, then maybe they were only meant for the version of me that stayed small.

I want to grow into someone I can be proud of.

Someone who walks in purpose and peace.

Someone who feels whole—with or without the people I thought I couldn’t let go of.

And if you’re here too…

If you’re in a season of letting go—of people, of places, of past versions of yourself—I want you to know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to grieve what never fully belonged to you. It’s okay to feel scared about what’s next. But don’t let that fear keep you from becoming.

Give yourself permission to grow. To heal. To change. To chase the life God has for you, even if you don’t yet know what it looks like. Trust that He’s already gone ahead of you and made the way. You don’t have to have it all figured out—just be willing to take the first step.

Affirm this with me:

• I release what no longer serves me.

• I trust that what’s ahead is greater than what’s behind.

• I welcome new beginnings with an open heart.

• I believe that I am safe to grow, even if it means outgrowing.

• I am whole—becoming more of who I was always meant to be.

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” — Isaiah 43:19 (NIV)

Let go.

Let God.

And let your life become the beautiful, unfolding story it was always meant to be.