Losing Everything to Find Myself…
I’ve lost all my possessions more times than I can count, sometimes through chaos, sometimes by choice, and sometimes because the universe gave me a firm nudge and said, “You won’t need that where you’re going.”
I’ve walked away from houses full of things, furniture, clothes, memories stacked in boxes, and ghosts hiding in drawers. And every time, I’ve discovered that once you stop clinging to what you own, you finally start uncovering who you are.
There’s a strange kind of freedom in having nothing. You learn that you can’t pack peace into a suitcase or store self-worth in a wardrobe. You realize the real treasures are the ones you carry inside: courage, laughter, a bit of faith, and maybe a slightly dented but loyal heart.
People panic at the thought of losing everything. But truth be told, when everything’s gone, that’s when the truth shows up, sometimes barefoot, sometimes late, but always honest.
If I lost it all again tomorrow, I think I’d brew a strong cup of tea, take a deep breath, and whisper to myself, “Here we go again.” Because each time I’ve started over, I’ve found a better version of myself waiting on the other side, a little scruffier, perhaps, but much more real.
And as Granny Frass used to say from beyond (and still does):
“You can’t lose what’s truly yours, Mae, you can only shed what was weighing you down. And if you ever misplace your teapot, I’ve got a spare in Heaven. It whistles like an angel when it’s ready.”
Mae 🧡
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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