On Letting Go

Silhouette of a body in a dress with the sun peaking through the dress, cloudy skies

By Malena Spar

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t hold

I suppose there must have been a time, 

back when I delighted in bugs in the backyard

When I dirtied my fingers and squealed as flower buds bloomed

But the accident happened before development afforded me the privilege of recall

And since then it’s been like now, 

3-year-old patterns running a 29-year-old life

The emotional excavation began a few years ago, 

when something inside told me it was not normal to

flinch when the wheelchair caught a curb

What would you like to talk about today? She asks 

for the thirtieth time, as I squint at the box of tissues

I’ve only just begun feeling comfortable using

I’m caught in the quicksand of my mind, I say

This is how it is when you face it, she replies

The threat, instead of subtly calling the shots 

from a long-forgotten corner, now greets me 

when I wake up each morning

Though I’m told it’s good and brave, 

this work makes me want to run and hide

How can I relax when survival depends upon vigilance?

Yet, my partner tells me, the vigilance is suffocating, 

undermining my make-believe safety

But how can I put down what I hold?

I carefully organized these experiences into multi-colored backpacks 

so at least I have something pretty to look at

as I carry the contents of my prison

What does a body without anxiety feel like? 

Is it still heavy?

There is so much weight I can’t tell 

what is mine and what belongs to others

No one asked you to hold this much, he gently reminds me

He removes one of the backpacks 

and puts it in the corner

It’ll be there tomorrow if you need to pick it up again, 

but I hope you won’t

Maybe that’s what this process is, 

taking off backpacks I’ve never considered okay to put down

Maybe, less preoccupied with the weight, 

there would be space to pick up a flower or two

Room to plant other seeds that might nurture new patterns

Directing me back towards curiosity and wonder. Imagine what could grow.

Malena Spar has been exploring her mind and the world around her through meditation, psychotherapy, and dreamwork for over a decade. Born and raised in Northern California, she writes to digest her experiences through poetry and narrative non-fiction. Web: malenaspar.com. IG: @malenaspar.