On Letting Go
A quiet reflection on healing, trust, and finding balance between purpose and presence
Lately, I’ve been pressing my third eye straight into the grass.
Since I’m not bedside for my nightly wiggles, I’ve started doing more of my favorite yoga pose—child’s pose—in the grass at dusk. My belly presses into my thighs, my spine relaxes, and all I hear is the lullaby of a southern summer night. Complete and total grounding.
Soften.
Slow down.
Listen.
Let go.
And maybe that’s what this season is really about. Maybe it isn’t asking me to do more, but rather inviting me to really let go. Let go of rigidity to invite more fluidity. Moving more deeply into my sacred feminine.
Slipping into the pool—fully dressed—for an impromptu night swim with my daughters.
Leaving my surfboard on the sand just to let the sea hold me.
These, along with the other little rituals that have popped up with summer, have one thing in common. They aren’t performative or impressive. They’re just mine. A return to what grounds and regulates ME. Through these practices, my body is thanking me for not rushing, for listening, and for being honest. It’s in this space that I’m able to listen, understand, root, and find a new level of healing and growth.
In all this slowing down and listening, something else surfaced—something older, deeper. I realized recently that I’ve spent most of my life feeling uneasy around military men. My earliest wounds were shaped by someone who wore that uniform. Anger, control, volatility, abuse—those were my templates. And even though I’ve had kind, loving men in my life since, something in me never fully relaxed around military men—even in my own home, where love lives, my body still held that old unease.
Last summer I went through the Warrior Surf Foundation’s 12-week program. Yoga, surf, and wellness. I’d witnessed my husband go through it the year before. It was like a slingshot for his healing and personal growth. Beautiful. Once I got over my hesitation, I signed up. I fell in love with surfing and found a new level of contentment beyond striving. Surfing became something I could do just for me and just for fun without putting pressure on myself to strive for excellence. It's just for me.
And now I am spending many of my summer days around veterans choosing gentleness. Choosing growth. Their presence, their words, their stillness—it’s beginning to soften something in me I didn’t know was still tight
I’ve said before how inspiring it has been to watch these men name their traumas, deep dive, and do the work of healing through vulnerability. But maybe the word isn’t actually “inspiring,” but rather “healing” for myself. A part of me that once flinched—without realizing it—is starting to breathe. Their gentleness helps my nervous system soften. I didn’t expect that.
Again, it feels like letting go.
I recently traded time with a friend—cutting her hair in exchange for a tarot reading. Cards aren’t prophecy to me; they’re like mirrors. This time, they reflected something I’d been circling without quite naming.
Remember me talking about how my YTT training paused when it came time to learn and practice leading? My fear of being the “expert” stalled me, but after my time this friend, I realized I was putting pressure on myself to perform, whereas I originally entered this program for myself with no promises to teach. Somewhere along the way, I forgot this was for me. Not for applause. Not for approval. Just for presence. Much like my love for surfing unfolded.
And suddenly, the weight shifted.
Something let go, and I felt lighter.
Soften.
Slow down.
Listen.
Let go.
Here’s to the ones healing without making a scene. May we rest before we collapse. May we wiggle in the moonlight, unlearning the need to prove anything at all.
Meg, this is everything I needed to read right now. Learning to just be.
Thank you