Ларесса

I am 18 years old, and I have always struggled with letting go. Since I was little I held on tightly to everything: objects, people, moments. When I lost a toy it felt like a part of me was being taken away. It wasn’t just the toy, it was what it meant. I felt like something that belonged to me was disappearing and that hurt more than it should have for something so small.

Over time, that same attachment shifted to people. I begged for friendships that were not healthy, apologized for things that were not even my fault, and confused insisting with loving. I believed that if I fought hard enough, everything could stay. I was afraid to let go because losing someone felt like proof that I had not been enough.

Today I understand that detachment does not mean stopping caring. It does not mean becoming cold or indifferent. It means accepting that not everything we want is meant to stay. Sometimes people come into our lives to teach us something and then simply leave. And even if it hurts, that does not take away the value of what it was.

It is easy to say “If it’s not meant for me, then it’s not meant for me,” but living it is different. Letting go means accepting that we cannot control everything. It means trusting that when something leaves, it makes space for something better. And for someone who always wanted to hold on to everything, that is not easy.

I still have many things to understand. But one thing I have learned is that holding on is not always love, sometimes it is fear. And letting go is not always loss, many times it is growth. In the end, detachment is not about losing people or objects but about finding ourselves without depending on what stays or what leaves.