Blog Post Eight

“Letting Go”

“And a year later, she looked back—with peace swelling in her chest like a quiet sunrise. Her heart, once heavy with the weight of yesterday, now danced with gratitude for today. Joy echoed in her every step, a melody only she could hear.”

I don’t know exactly why—maybe I’m still learning—but letting go of the past has always felt like trying to unclench a fist I didn’t know I was holding. It’s not so much that I’m gripping it tight, but more that it’s been holding me. And yet, day by day, I’m learning. Learning to loosen that grip. Learning to let my past shape me, but not define me. Because healing doesn’t always mean forgetting—it often begins with understanding. With peeling back the layers to see what still stings, what still echoes in the quiet moments. But even in that, I remind myself: I am not a prisoner of my past. It was a lesson, not a life sentence.

One revelation that’s reshaped my journey is understanding how deeply stress imprints itself—not just on the heart, but on the brain. I used to think of stress as this fleeting, in-the-moment kind of thing. But it lingers, silently sculpting the way we think, feel, and respond to the world.

Stress doesn’t just make you feel overwhelmed—it physically rewires the brain. It shifts control away from the prefrontal cortex (the part of the brain responsible for rational thought, decision-making, and emotional regulation) and hands the reins to the amygdala, the brain’s emotional alarm system. In short, prolonged stress can trap you in a constant state of fight, flight, or freeze. High levels of cortisol, the stress hormone, weaken the prefrontal cortex, making it harder to think clearly, manage impulses, or stay emotionally balanced. Meanwhile, the amygdala grows more sensitive, heightening anxiety, fear, and reactivity. This imbalance doesn’t just make life feel harder—it makes it harder to handle life. Emotional outbursts, foggy thinking, impulsive decisions, and difficulty concentrating become the norm.

And when I learned this, suddenly… everything clicked. Like, oh. This isn’t just in my head—it’s in my brain. But as quickly as that realization settled, another one followed. I found myself pointing fingers. It’s all their fault. My parents did this to me. I am the way I am because of them.

Because, let’s be real—what 12-year-old should have to carry that kind of stress? And to shoulder it, year after year, until I was 23? That’s eleven years of chronic, unrelenting tension. No wonder I felt broken. No wonder I struggled.

But then—I stopped. Mid-spiral. Because yes, those things did happen. And yes, I am allowed to feel hurt. But blaming my parents, replaying that narrative over and over, wasn’t going to heal me. It wasn’t going to unburden my heart. As I’ve told myself time and time again: I can’t control what happened to me. I’m not responsible for the wounds. But I am responsible for my healing. For stitching myself back together, thread by thread.

And maybe you’re learning that, too. If this resonates with you—if you’ve ever felt trapped in your patterns, your past—I hope you won’t let that knowledge be an excuse. Let it be a light. Let’s learn from it together.

For me, these lessons show up most in my relationships. I’ve been told I sometimes feel like I’m searching for a fight, like I’m bracing for people to hurt me, even when there’s no reason to. I never meant to, but I guess when you’ve spent so long in survival mode, it’s hard to believe people aren’t out to get you. But now, I’m starting to notice those triggers. I’m catching myself before I spiral, pulling myself back from those irrational thoughts. And slowly, I’m getting better.

And here’s the thing—stress doesn’t just alter your reactions. It can shift your very sense of self. With a worn-down prefrontal cortex, my personality felt like it was wrapped in layers of fear and adaptation. I molded myself to fit in with whoever I was around, constantly shape-shifting to be liked, to belong. But lately? Lately, I’ve felt more like me than I ever have before. I’m unlearning the need to blend in, and figuring out who I am when I stop trying to please everyone else.

And how do you do that?

You start exactly where you are. You dig deep. You get curious about the smallest things—your favorite color at 5 years old, the song that makes your chest ache, the smell that reminds you of home. You date yourself. You daydream until something flickers in your heart, even if it’s just a spark. You sit with your darkest thoughts, not to drown in them, but to understand them. You build rituals, little routines that crack your soul open to light. You work with what you’ve got, turning the broken pieces into something beautiful.

You let yourself feel. All of it. The joy, the grief, the numbness in between. You act in loving ways toward yourself, even—especially—when you believe you don’t deserve it. You realize that the discomfort? That’s where the growth is.

And above all, you let yourself be.

Much love,

Karina Jade xx