What are you holding onto? That part of you is dead. (An Echoes of Recovery Post)

As we drove down my neighborhood street on a recent Sunday morning, I noticed a tree that still had all of its leaves on it. Sheri said it was a Japanese Maple. I don't know, but it sure looked silly with all of those brown, lifeless leaves in the middle of January. I said out loud to the tree, "What are you holding onto? That part of you is dead."

How would you answer that question? Please write about it.

What am I holding on to? 

I am holding on to

A lot of things 

I am holding on to 

My youth 

It's easy to say I'm holding on the part of me that wants everything to be OK 

I'm holding on to 

You 

I am holding on to the ability to tell myself that everything will be OK. 

I am holding on to me. 

I am holding on to my sanity. 

I am holding on to my serenity. 

I am holding on to my ability to cope 

With everything. 

I am holding on to the idea that life is the same as it was before we met 

I am holding on to the idea that we will be able to travel freely again 

I am holding on to the idea that people will be allowed to be themselves. 

I am holding on to the idea that if I didn't want to be a woman anymore, I could be any gender I wanted to be. 

I am holding on to the idea that the next generation will be alright. 

I am holding on to a lot of ideas. 

Oy. 

I am holding on to the space where Ariana Grande can play the good witch AND have tattoos. 

I am holding on to the idea where my voice means the same as an immigrant 17 year old's and we are both safe. 

I am holding on to the space where I am able to tell my alcoholic but not recovered partner everything and have him tell me everything will be OK. 

I am holding on to the idea that I have a voice. 

I am holding onto the idea that I MATTER. 

I am holding onto hope. 

I know hope is dead. 

I know January is a long month. I am holding on to January. 

I am holding space for my newly arrived to the country students. 

I am even holding space for the loud-mouthed Brazilian teenagers that just love life and hate reading. Even if they told me to day that non-binary people don't exist. They are young and uneducated. 

I am holding on to the space and idea that the education system works for everyone in this country. I know it does not. 

It doesn't even work for me and I am the teacher. 

I am holding on to the idea that Pigma Micron pens make me feel better about life. 

I am holding on to the idea that journaling is theraputic. 

I am holding on to the idea that I can make a difference even though I've been told I don't. 

I've been holding on to the idea that I can have a relationship where I am heard. 

I have been holding on to the idea where I can have a relationship where I am seen and felt deeply and emotionally. 

I am fool for holding on to this idea. 

That part of me is definitely dead. 

https://750words.com/stats/RockstarTeacher2024/cJB-0cTrM1Wfep3c5yje