John R. Miles

They require return.

Each time you notice the old story and choose differently, even slightly, the ending deepens.

The nervous system learns something new.

The body learns it's safe to soften.

The mind learns that change doesn't have to be violent to be real.

And eventually, one day you'll realize you haven't thought about that old weight in a while.

Not because you forced it away, but because it no longer fits in your hands.

That's when you know the ending has taken hold.

Not as a loss, but as a release.

Before we close, I want to leave you with a moment, something you can return to tonight or tomorrow or anytime you feel the weight starting to creep back in.

And that's where we'll finish.

So here we are, Christmas night.

The lights are low.

The year is almost finished.

And in this small, unguarded window, before the world asks us to be anything else, we have one last chance to choose what travels with us.

and what finally gets to stay behind.

Letting go isn't a performance.

It doesn't require witnesses.

It doesn't need to be dramatic or complete.

It only needs to be honest and gentle.