Unclench.
Not just your jaw—though that’s where it starts.
That tight spot you didn’t even notice
Until it pulsed like a warning light.
Yeah, that.
Unclench your fists, love.
You’ve been holding ghosts like they’re gospel.
Trying to rewrite endings that already hurt you.
Keeping score with pain like it owes you closure.
Unclench your shoulders, your gut, your timeline.
You don’t have to heal on schedule.
There is no finish line for trauma,
No neat little bow for grief.
And I get it.
Letting go sounds poetic until you're standing
In a cold room with no one to blame but your mirror.
Until it feels like weakness to loosen the grip
That held you together when you were breaking.
But let me be blunt—
Control is a lie with great PR.
It made you feel safe,
But baby, it also made you stuck.
So this is your permission slip,
Your poetic exhale,
To breathe like you survived something—because you did.
To stop bracing for the next blow
From someone who’s not even in the room anymore.
Unclench your old narratives.
The “I should’ve known betters”
The “Why wasn’t I enoughs”
The “Maybe they’ll change next times.”
Spoiler: they won’t.
And you are.
Enough, that is.
Unclench the version of yourself
Who needed to be small to feel loved.
She served you,
But she doesn’t run the show anymore.
You do.
Messy, healing, beautifully undone you.
No longer gripping life like a weapon.
But holding it gently—like something you get to enjoy.
So exhale.
Not because someone told you to calm down.
But because you're finally, finally,
Ready to feel what peace tastes like
When it’s real.
And yours.
Now tell me, what are you still holding that’s holding you back? Drop it in the comments, or let it go right here. This space is yours. Unclenched and unapologetic.
