They say it takes 7 years for your body to completely turn over new cells. To create a new, you.


Apparently, that’s bullshit. I just looked it up, but it sounds nice, doesn’t it? So I’m keeping that line in – along with the disclaimer ;)


The truth is it feels true. I’ve been in transition for the past 7 years. Transitioning, shedding, unlearning and becoming.


Readying myself to step out and share from my newly aligned center. Showing up myself. All in with a strong back, soft front, wild heart, curious mind and grace-filled soul.


The thought of being seen used to scare me to death. To the point I hid, afraid to be myself and connect with others.


So often events happen to us as children that we don’t know how to process as anything else other than create false stories that diminish our inherent self-worth to make sense of another’s actions. Tandem to such we shove our hurt parts into the shadows or disconnect from them completely so as to survive.


We absorb pain like a sponge as a child and use its fiery tip to sear into our hearts the awful truths we must bear growing up in the cruel and beautiful world we live in.


The spiritual path, I’ve decided, is about going back to those dark places and bringing the awareness we have, hopefully, cultivated now and rewrite the story from a place of belonging, worthiness, love and divinity.


Then torching the parts we don’t need anymore. 


We give ourself a living death, creating the necessary fertile ash for a new life to sprout.


We’ve lost the art a living death and the need for ritual to help usher in growth like new moons that wax and wane growing whole only to then diminish into the night; remembering that like the sliver of the moon we glow whole in the dark, our light a beacon of hope and renewed promises.


Don’t be shocked at the use of death. We court death like a spider crawling upon a bedroom wall. We think that if it’s safely kept across the room, away from us… we’ll beat it.


In truth, we have a series of birth, death, rebirth, cycles in our life. Old selves to bury that no longer lend themselves relevant.


We must learn to let them go to create space for what’s to come.


While getting ready for bed the other night I noticed a sheet of notebook paper folded in half on my book shelf. I had drawn a line from the top of the page to the bottom, creating two columns. On the left it said: Things I want to let go. And on the right: Things I want to create. I believe I read about this practice on someone’s IG feed for ushering in the New Year.


I read down the list of letting go and realized how much I had finally opened my white-knuckled grasp of what I thought I needed to keep close, and let it go to make space for what’s to come.


I created space in my bedroom, my home, my computer, my mind and my heart for what I’m calling in.


Old conversations, pictures, emails. Deleted.


Old books that no longer feel resonant, old papers and prose, old clothes. Tossed or donated.


I no longer feel the need to surround myself with stuff to remind me of where I’ve been, what I’ve lived through or weathered.


I know, deeply inside of me, the darkness that cloaked and choked me for most of my life and that it has finally receded in my presence.


It was here, though, and only here amidst the dark night of the soul that I surrendered to the light that I am. The divine light we all have.


This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine


It’s here where I recaptured a glow I knew so long ago before I began to disconnect from childhood self. The disconnections created from the stories I wove to make sense of the world around me and my place in it.


But now?  I’ve let it go. I’m rewriting this pain I own and remembering who I am with each word and thought expressed.


What have you been holding onto that’s ready you’re ready to let go? Can you hold a living death for that old self that is no longer part of you? Can you rewrite this pain you own? 


I’ll walk by your side soul-to-soul as we walk each other home.