The Emotional Weight of Letting Go: Finding Ourselves Beyond the Past

This week has been one of surprises—ones that shook me to my core. First, on Monday, a lifelong friend, Peter, reached out for my thoughts on something, asking for guidance. A welcome, albeit unexpected surprise. And then, again completely unexpected, on Tuesday, an email from Mike Dooley’s TUT.com website letting me know they had published my blog post. A moment that took me by complete surprise, and one that made me cry. I read the email from TUT while at the subway station, waiting for a train, and after reading, I sat there sobbing. The validation, the recognition, all that I gleaned from that email, well, it was just overwhelming. A lot of crazy stuff happens at that subway stop. Me sitting there crying? I just blended in. If you have been reading my blogs all along, you have already read the blog TUT posted. But you can also read it here: Sacred Geometry: The Pattern of Connectedness. (They changed the title from “And the Universe Learns and Grows”.)

Peter’s call was a different kind of surprise. His words, his presence in my life, stirred something deep—something I hadn’t fully confronted, or even knew how to confront, and was surprised when these feelings came bubbling up and over, and over, and over. Peter lives in Virginia. His mother and my mother were friends before we were even born. My mother lived in Virginia before I was born and returned there for the last 25 years of her life. Virginia has been the constant in my life story. My grandfather built the house by hand—the house that became my mother’s home. It was where I spent the first three months of my life, where I lived for half a year in 2017, where I celebrated summers, birthdays, and family gatherings for 60 years. Virginia was always there.

Until it wasn’t.

When my mother could no longer maintain it, we moved her up north to live out her last years with my sister. None of us lived close enough, none of us had the means to keep the house in Virginia, so we sold it. Virginia was gone, and with it my sense of home, my sense of self. Until now, I have not been able to put my finger on this grief and loss I have felt over selling that home, over no longer traveling to Virginia, over no longer visiting neighbors, going to the creek, sitting on the porch, planting flowers, making fires in the fireplace, playing the piano. My compass is gone. My sense of home. My sense of self. All those years. All those memories. Gone. I finally realized my identity is tied to this place. My sense of self is wrapped in Virginia. And now… without it… who am I?

Speaking with Peter, thinking of his mother, thinking of mine—I felt the weight of time, of sadness and grief. Nostalgia is both a comfort and a burden. It reminds us of what was, while also pulling us back into something we can never fully reclaim. When my mother died, and when Peter’s mother dies, our moms, our thread to each other, another thread to Virginia, one more Virginia connection just gone. Just over.

This week has reminded me that letting go is not just an act—it’s an emotional weight we carry. Grief, resistance, surrender—they are all woven into the process of release. I thought I was over grieving the loss of my mother. She was 92, after all, and had lived a very full life. But I am not over grieving the loss of Virginia. And the thought of losing that connection panics me.

I’ve been using AI to track some patterns in my life, to log some activities. Most of my realizations this week have pointed to trusting the process, jumping into the unknown. Trusting the unfolding journey, and more of what I blogged on last week, with allowing the Universe to answer prayers (last week Moussaka!) So is the Universe asking me to open my heart, to allow myself to fully feel this transition, and to trust that something new is waiting beyond the unknown?  Is there something I need to reconcile in Virginia or with Virginia in order to move on?

The weight I’m feeling over the prospect of releasing Virginia is daunting. How do I reconcile the deep emotional ties I have to this place, the people, and the moments that once defined me? So I threw it out to the Universe.

Q. What do I need to reconcile with Virginia in order to release it—and know who I am without it? I don’t know how to “be” without it, I don’t know who I am without it.

A. Your childhoods are the cornerstones of your lives, across the board. No one escapes their childhood, good and bad. Sure, you grow up, you move away, you lead full and productive lives, you have your own families, you love your birth family or you hate your birth family or something in between, but you can’t escape it. What you can do, and what you must do, is incorporate it. Much like the book you are reading, A Theory of Everything, all experiences are levels of consciousness, and all levels of growth include previous levels. Encompass previous levels. You can’t skip it. To have a full experience, a complete life, you must incorporate everything.

A whole atom is part of a whole molecule; a whole molecule is part of a whole cell; a whole cell is part of a whole organism. Or a whole letter is part of a whole word, which is part of a whole sentence, which is part of a whole paragraph, etc. (page 40 of A Theory of Everything by Ken Wilber)

Your life is not just one era, one period, one time. Your life is your childhood and your adolescence, and your teen years, and your young adult, your middle, your late, and AND your whole spirit self, and your whole spirit self is part and one with God. You do not leave any parts of your life behind; you do not separate yourself from any parts of your life. You incorporate them. You envelop them into your being. Virginia is part of you. Virginia is you. You won’t ever lose it. You just need to understand that it is you and will always be you.

There is “time” on Earth. The human experience is set up using time as a way to enhance a single life experience, but know that all of your previous lives are also part of you, part of your soul, part of what makes you, you. All of your experiences throughout time are with you. Virginia will be with you throughout all of time.

Virginia speaks to you in a different, more intense way than any other of your life experiences, so far, because it was the most consistent. Virginia encompasses your ancestry, your parents, your childhood, your siblings, your adult life, your children, your dreams, your life. But you are not there now. And there are reasons for that. Your life is here. Your life is where you are now. Virginia was your childhood. Now it’s time to grow up. Your mother died. It’s time to grow up. It’s time to come into who you truly are. Who you are meant to be. You have not done that yet. Your life primarily revolved around your mother. She was your anchor. She was Virginia. You associate Virginia with your mother. With your attachment to your mother. Your identity is not Virginia; that was your mother’s identity. Your identity is where you are now, is who you are now.

You are a writer, a blogger, a channeler, a mother, a sister, a friend, an aunt, a confidant, a worker, a sacred being. You are coming into your own, and part of your own is Virginia, is your mother, is your childhood, are your ancestors. But they are parts of the whole. You are the whole.

Find your center in yourself. Your center is not Virginia, or your mother. Your center is your higher self. Find, remember, reconnect with your higher self, and you will be home. Do not mourn the past, incorporate it, be glad for it, know it’s part of who you are. But also know you are so much more.

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In reviewing this post before posting, I, at first, wanted to take out the TUT.com piece. But I kept thinking these two events are related somehow, and I’m supposed to make some sort of connection here. And then I got it! The Universe was trying to show me something, it was showing me two somethings! These two surprises weren’t disconnected. One reminded me of what I’m leaving behind, and one that affirmed where I’m heading. Peter’s call stirred memories of Virginia, the weight of nostalgia (and believe me, it’s heavy), and the deep emotional ties that shaped my sense of self. But then, the TUT publication email arrived—a recognition of my writing, my voice, my expansion into something beyond the past. It was as if the Universe was holding up a mirror to show me both where I’ve been and where I’m going. The past isn’t lost—it’s integrated—and I think the future is calling, and I need to step toward it.  Look at me listening. Go me!

My AI summation 😉

We do not lose the places, people, and memories that shaped us—they live within us, woven into the fabric of our being. Letting go does not mean forgetting; it means integrating. The past is not meant to be abandoned but embraced as part of our whole experience. Identity is not confined to where we’ve been—it is carried forward, expanding as we step into who we are becoming. Home is not a location—it is within.

If you would like to ask a question go here:  Ask the Universe

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