What Frozen Didn't Tell Us About Letting Go

I've been carrying something for far too long.

The truth is...it isn't even mine to carry.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself it was my responsibility. I wrapped my identity around it, held on tightly, and believed I couldn't let go until I reached a certain goal.

Now it's time to release it.

And I'm grieving.

Hard.

If you've ever had to let go of something you poured your heart into—a dream, an expectation, a season of life, or even a version of yourself—you know that grief doesn't only come from losing people. Sometimes it comes from releasing what you've carried for years.

Is that reasonable?

Absolutely.

My brain keeps telling me I have to hit a target before I'm "allowed" to move on. As if achieving one more thing will somehow make letting go hurt less.

I keep thinking about that song from Frozen. You know the one—"Let It Go." It makes it sound like you sing one song, toss your worries into the wind, and suddenly you're free.

If only it worked that way.

The reality is, letting go is rarely one big moment. It's a series of choices. It's tears. It's therapy. It's trusting God. It's deciding, over and over again, to loosen your grip on something your heart still wants to hold.

And here's what I'm learning:

It's time for change.

Change is scary because it asks us to leave what's familiar, even when what's familiar is hurting us.

But change is also necessary.

You can't step into what God has next while clinging to what He has already asked you to release.

One thing I've learned is that isolation is a dangerous place to stay.

When depression whispers that you should pull away from everyone, that's often when you need connection the most.

My dogs have saved me before, and they're helping me again. Their unconditional presence gets me outside, keeps me moving, and reminds me that I'm needed.

I also need my people.

My family. My friends. My church. Our partners. My training compadres. The community that reminds me I'm not meant to carry life alone.

I know part of what I'm feeling is grief. I also know grief can bring depression along with it. That's why I'm not trying to "tough it out." I'm actively working with a mental health professional, because healing isn't about waiting for something to happen.

Healing requires action.

It requires connection.

And it requires gratitude—even on the days when gratitude doesn't come easily.

There is still so much to be thankful for.

If you're in a season of holding on, maybe this is your reminder too.

You don't have to sing "Let It Go" at the top of your lungs to begin healing.

Sometimes healing starts with simply opening your hands.

Because while change is scary...

staying stuck is even scarier.

Love,

Sandy