The Quiet Freedom of Letting It Be
(4 minute read) HOME
Yesterday, I found myself sitting alone on a bench, waiting for my turn on the court to play pickleball.
Conversations drifted around me. I recognized faces, but not many first names. For a brief moment, I noticed a familiar feeling. I had the old nudge of fight-flight. That awkwardness I remembered so well. Years ago, that feeling would have sent me searching for a way to disappear. Yesterday, I simply noticed it. And then I watched it leave.
It was interesting. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I looked as awkward as I felt. Should I try to engage? Say something? Did they think I was unfriendly because I wasn't engaging? Then, I realized something that settled me, I didn't “need” to do anything.
The anxiety could take care of itself. I noticed the feeling of it. I didn't argue with it. I didn’t obey it. I didn't try to make it disappear. I didn’t run from it. I simply let it be there.
I thought about all the ordinary moments that used to feel overwhelming. Walking into a meeting. Joining a new group. Sitting alone before others arrived. Waiting while conversations happened around me. Wondering what expectations others had of me. It made me wonder what had changed. When did it begin to loosen its grip? I couldn't remember the exact moment it happened. There wasn't an earthquake breakthrough. No dramatic realization. Along the way, something simply became...different.
When was it that I stopped believing every uncomfortable feeling required me to do something? Not just while waiting to play, but in so many ordinary moments when I felt different or out of place. Years ago, standing alone didn't just feel uncomfortable. It felt like confirmation of something I already feared: that I was easy to overlook, unworthy, easy to dismiss, someone who simply didn't belong. I didn't want to be the person standing by herself, wondering if everyone else could see what I believed about myself. It wasn't conversation I was searching for. It was reassurance that there was nothing wrong with me.
Looking back, I can see how quickly I turned ordinary moments into judgments about my worth. Standing alone felt like evidence that something was wrong with me. If I wasn't talking to someone, I assumed everyone noticed. If I wasn't included, I assumed it meant I wasn’t good enough, I didn’t belong.
Driving home, I found myself thinking about all the places those same feelings used to appear sitting alone at a social gathering, walking into a networking event, starting a new job, joining a book club, or waiting quietly before a meeting while everyone else made small talk. When had those moments begun to feel...okay? When had I come to understand that a few butterflies were simply part of being human instead of something I needed to dread and escape? It didn't happen overnight, nor was there one defining moment.
The change was quiet, gradual, and built through one ordinary experience after another. Little by little, I learned I could sit beside those old feelings without letting them decide what happened next. It was almost as if the younger part of me simply needed reassurance that we were safe now.
Maybe that was the biggest change of all. Somewhere along the way, I stopped believing my worth depended on being accepted everywhere I went. I still value belonging and genuinely hope a friendship will grow over time. I just no longer believe I have to earn it by becoming someone I'm not or feel responsible for making every room choose me. I've also come to accept that I'm not for everyone, and that's okay too. That's simply part of being human. The people who are meant to be part of my life don't need me to become someone else first. Somehow, that has become okay too.
Yesterday, that old thought knocked quietly at the door. This time, I didn't invite it in. And it reinforced my awareness that healing isn't always the absence of an anxiety. Sometimes it quietly looks like sitting on a bench and realizing you no longer have to obey it.
The awkwardness wasn't new.
My relationship with it was.
