Learning to Live Without Bags
When you finally put the bag down, there’s a moment of relief. Your shoulders loosen. Your back straightens. Your breath comes easier.
But then something strange happens. You look down at your empty hands, and it feels… heavy.
I know that sounds backwards. Empty should mean light. Empty should mean free. But when you’ve been carrying weight your whole life, and when you’ve been defined by the hustle, the resilience, the constant proving, empty feels unnatural.
The Shock of Stillness
The first morning I woke up after letting go of the Homeschool Diploma Program, I thought I had forgotten something. My body was wired to check emails, chase deadlines, and juggle everyone else’s needs before my own.
But there were no deadlines waiting. There were no calls to return. My hands were empty.
And instead of joy, my first feeling was panic.
Who am I without the weight?
What do I do with my hands if I’m not carrying?
Carrying as an Identity
For so many of us, carrying becomes our identity. We’re the strong one. The reliable one. The one who can juggle it all and never drop a ball.
We teach ourselves that our worth is tied to the load we can carry. The heavier the bag, the more applause. The more we struggle, the more people call us strong.
So when the bags are gone, the silence feels loud. The lightness feels suspicious. The empty hands feel like failure.
But Honey, let me tell you the truth, your worth is not in what you carry. Your worth is in who you are when your hands are free.
The Invitation of Empty
Empty hands are not a problem. They are an invitation.
They are space for peace.
They are space for joy.
They are space for new visions that couldn’t fit before.
When your hands are full of everyone else’s expectations, there’s no room to catch the blessings that were meant for you. Empty hands are terrifying at first, but they are also the only way to receive.
Think about it: you can’t catch light with fists clenched around baggage.
Practice: What Will You Hold?
Here’s your practice today.
Take a piece of paper and trace the outline of your hand. In the palm, write one thing you’re ready to hold now that you’ve put the bags down.
It doesn’t have to be big. It can be peace. It can be rest. It can be mornings with your tea, or walks without your phone, or work that fuels instead of drains.
Say it out loud: This is what my empty hands are ready for.
Let your body feel what it’s like to hold something light instead of something heavy.
The River Awaits
This is why we gather at the river. On October 4, at the Yellow River in Porterdale, we’re not just laying down bags. We’re standing with empty hands, wide open to what comes next.
Because release is not the end. Release is the beginning.
Reflection
What have your empty hands been craving? And what freedom might you catch if you finally stopped carrying what was never yours?
Help Me Heal
Writing these blogs each day is what my soul needs to mend the parts of me life tried to break. But healing is not meant to happen in isolation — I need you too.
Every paid subscription is more than support. It’s a hand on my shoulder saying, keep going. It’s a reminder that these words matter, that rest and joy and worth matter. If this series is shifting something inside of you, I invite you to invest in this work so it can keep growing and reaching others who need it.
