October and the art of letting go.
Hello October,
You walk in with your cool breath and your darker evenings, and suddenly I notice the way my own body wants to release. I loosen my grip on what I thought I needed. My shoulders drop when I stop carrying what was never mine. My chest expands when I finally exhale the things I’ve been holding too long.
Letting go has never come easy to me. I used to believe letting go was loss, but October reminds me that even the strongest trees do not cling to every leaf. They surrender to gravity. They do not fight the fall. They trust the earth to hold them.
September was full of gathering experiences, holding onto everything I could. But October whispers that not everything is meant to be carried forward. Some things were only meant to be held for a season. And that is enough.
This season is asking me to release. To let the unfinished conversations stay unfinished. To let the people who chose to leave, leave. To let the habits that no longer serve me dissolve without begging them to stay.
Oh, there is grief in this. No one tells you that letting go is not just a clean break. Sometimes it feels like my whole chest is burning, but beneath the ache is an odd kind of relief. Like breathing fresh air after holding your breath for too long.
There is freedom in leaving space. Empty hands can hold new energy. And while part of me still reaches back and craves the familiar weight, another part of me smiles at how light I feel.
The art of letting go is not in pretending it doesn’t hurt. It’s in honouring the hurt without turning it into a home. It’s in saying: thank you for what you were. Thank you for what you taught me. And now, goodbye.
October is about:
practising the art of release.
trusting the cycle and honouring the endings as much as the beginnings.
letting go of what no longer nourishes me so I can meet what does.
Bare branches do not mean the tree is dying. They symbolise that it is wise enough to rest before it blooms again.
So here I am, learning the art. Some days, I unclench my fists with grace. Other days, I peel back my fingers one by one, crying as I loosen the grip. But still, I try. Still, I let the leaves fall.
As October arrives, I hope you find the courage to loosen your hold, too. I hope you speak gently to the parts of you that are afraid of emptiness and the unknown. Your soul deserves lightness. Your body deserves rest. And your future deserves space for the new.
Letting go is not the end of your story. It is the pause that makes the next chapter possible.
Your ability to grow and learn defines who you are.