Welcome and thank you for joining me.
Together we will explore the art of unholding.
This is a gentle spoken word journey designed to help you pause,
Soften and release what you've been carrying emotionally,
Mentally and somatically through imagery,
Reflective questions.
This meditation supports the process of letting go.
You'll be invited to release just one thing today,
Gently without pressure,
A soft tender permission to return to yourself.
Letting go.
Creating comfort in your body.
Laying or sitting in a way that feels right for you.
To your body.
Taking a breath.
Giving the shoulders permission to soften.
The jaw.
Permission to unclench.
The tongue becoming softer.
The teeth parting.
The forehead and temples smoothing and soothing.
Allowing the body to sink into the ground beneath.
And making any adjustments to ease,
To nurture the body to a place where it can receive healing and support.
There are things we carry so long that our bodies forget how to set them down.
Not because we are stubborn.
Not because we're weak.
But because somewhere along the way,
Holding became our survival.
Letting go is not a single moment.
It's a process,
A pilgrimage,
A slow unclenching of the inner fists we didn't even realize were closed.
So breathe with me now.
Softly,
Gently,
As if your breath is the first kindness you've offered yourself.
Today.
Some of us have carried the sharp stones of old mistakes.
The heavy cloak of shame.
The echo of someone else's cruelty.
The memory that still burns in the chest even years later.
Some of us carry the constant vigilance of trauma.
That silent alarm inside the ribs.
That readiness to run or hide,
Even when there is no danger anymore.
Some of us carry futures that haven't even happened.
Catastrophes imagined.
Fears rehearsed.
What ifs stacked like bricks on the tender back of the nervous system.
And some of us,
Without ever meaning to,
Carry the expectations of everyone we've ever tried to save.
There is nothing wrong with you.
Your body is doing exactly what bodies do.
When life has been too loud,
Too fast,
Too cruel,
For too long.
Sometimes you aren't stuck.
You're in survival mode.
The survival mode is not a choice.
It's a reflex.
A sacred one.
A brilliant one.
The body stepping in to protect the heart,
Long before the mind realises there is anything to fear.
So ask yourself gently.
Am I trying to let go while my body still believes it's in danger?
What part of me is scanning for threats,
Even in moments of safety?
What have I been holding,
Because my nervous system didn't feel ready to release it?
This isn't failure.
This is physiology.
The physiology that can be soothed,
Softened,
Reassured.
Letting go becomes possible when the body finally exhales and says,
Maybe,
Just maybe,
I don't need to brace anymore.
Letting go rarely starts with the mind.
It begins with the breath.
And then the shoulders.
And then the place beneath the sternum that's been aching for years.
As you breathe here,
Let these questions rise softly inside you.
What is the fear beneath the thing I'm holding?
If I set it down,
Even for a moment,
What part of me might finally rest?
Where in my body have I been bracing?
And what would it feel like to unclench by one percent?
It isn't erasing the past or denying what happened.
It's choosing not to carry the weight inside your bones anymore.
It's choosing breath over bracing.
Stillness over survival.
Self-compassion over self-blame.
It's choosing to trust that your life can hold something gentler than what you've known.
And maybe,
Just maybe,
You're ready.
Ready to lay down one burden,
One fear,
One old story,
One self-belief that bruises you each time you repeat it.
You don't have to empty your whole heart at once.
Imagine this.
You are standing by a river at dusk.
The sky is lavender.
The air is still.
And in your hands,
You hold something that has lived inside you for too long.
What belief about myself am I ready to loosen,
Even just by one thread?
A version of yourself that hurts to carry.
The river waits,
Patient,
Ancient,
Knowing.
Your breath becomes steadier.
You step closer.
And when you're ready,
And not before,
You let your hands open for the water to receive what you release.
It doesn't judge it.
Simply carries it,
The way water carries everything.
With patience,
Neutrality,
With grace.
And you,
You feel lighter.
Lighter by a single feather.
Not healed entirely,
But softened,
Unburdened,
By one small degree.
This is how letting go works.
Not all at once,
But piece by piece,
Breath by breath,
Truth by truth.
Just open your hands a little.
Let one thing fall away today.
Only one.
That is enough.
Now breathe,
Slow,
Soft,
Steady.
Let the breath move into the space you've just created.
A new softness,
A new quiet,
A new possibility.
Letting go is the art of returning to yourself.
And you,
Dear one,
Are finding your way home.
