Letting Go, Letting Life

“When it feels like everything is falling apart, it might just be the universe rearranging itself for something better.” ~ Unknown

I’ve been sitting with these words lately. Not because they sound nice (though they do), but because I need them. I need their truth, their edge, their gentle reframe.

This month, like many before it, is full of change. Some of it invited. Much of it… not. For those who know me, you know I recently separated from a role I held for many years — a place where I poured my time, heart, energy, and care. My departure wasn’t something I saw coming — an unintended ripple from another decision I made. The experience was exhausting, and it took a toll on my health. It has felt, at times, like things are falling apart.

But what if they’re not?

What if what feels like unraveling is actually realignment?

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to learn this lesson. Years ago, I followed the script we’re so often handed — college, a committed relationship, graduate school, marriage, a home, then children. I reactively did all the things I was socialized to believe that I should do in life. And then one day I looked around and thought, now what?

And here I am again. Different season, different shape — but the same hum beneath it all. The reminder that life isn’t a checklist, and that sometimes the best laid path disappears just as you thought you knew where it was going.

I’ve learned this before — life rarely moves according to our timelines or tidy plans. Change doesn’t always knock gently. Sometimes it barges in — messy, loud, and insistent — demanding we let go of what was. And while I wouldn’t have chosen this transition, in this way, I can sense the invitation underneath it: to release the illusion of control, to allow life to unfold, to trust the shape it’s taking.

This is the heart of resilience — not gritting through or bouncing back, but bending and shifting with what is. Meeting change with openness. Meeting ourselves with gentleness. Even when it’s painful. Remembering that we’ve been through hard things before. And we’re still here. We are still breathing.

If you’re in your own season of rearrangement — whether chosen or not — I offer this:

Let yourself fall apart a little. Let the old shape go. Let the breath come slowly. And when you’re ready, look around. You might notice that what’s being built — quietly, patiently, beneath the surface — is something that was always meant to emerge.

Be well,
Kristin