John R. Miles

Tonight, you don't have to release everything.

You only have to do one thing.

One small, courageous, private thing.

Name one piece of weight you've carried long enough.

Thank it for what it once protected.

And then with the same kindness you'd give a child who's finally ready to put down a heavy toy, give it permission to rest.

You can do it in a single breath.

You can do it in a quiet sentence spoken to the empty room.

You can do it by simply noticing the old story rise and choosing not to follow it this time.

However you do it, let it be gentle because gentleness is not weakness.

Gentleness is the shape courage takes.

when it finally trusts that it's safe to soften.

One day, this night will be a memory, and what you remember won't be the struggle or the wait, but the moment you chose gentleness over force.

The moment you trusted that what comes next doesn't have to be heavier than what came before.

So this isn't another resolution.

This isn't a demand for more.

This is a vow.

I vow to be gentle with what I release tonight.

I vow to honor what it once gave me.

And I vow to protect the space it leaves behind.