The Space Between Holding On And Letting Go

One day, maybe I’ll understand why you showed up when you did—why the timing, as confusing as it was, felt so meaningful. Maybe it was to protect me… maybe to shake me awake. Or maybe you were just a detour that led me back to myself. I don’t know yet.

I’ve been asking myself the same question over and over: Were you sent to help me let go of my marriage… or to give me a reason to fight for it? I’m still in the thick of figuring that out. And the truth is, I feel like I’m just moving through the motions, pretending like I have it all under control when inside I’m still trying to breathe through the weight of it all.

I don’t talk to you anymore. And it hurts less than it did… but it still hurts. I keep myself distracted during the day, but at night—when the world goes quiet and I’m left alone with my thoughts—you’re still there. You creep in like a whisper, uninvited but familiar.

I try so hard to shut my mind off, to stop wondering if any of it ever meant something to you. You always seemed like the type who could just switch it all off—cut ties, walk away, never look back. And maybe I was foolish to believe you ever felt anything real for me. Because we never really talked about it. Not deeply. Not honestly.

But I’m learning to let go. To breathe. To trust that even in all this pain, there’s purpose. That God is guiding me—even when I feel lost. Whether that means staying in this marriage or finding the strength to walk away, I don’t know yet.

But I’m listening. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.