Lightly child, lightly.
There’s something I’ve been unlearning. Something quiet and hallowed. The belief that I have to carry it all. That healing must be heavy. That growth must ache. That love must pull me apart to prove it’s real.
But Aldous Huxley whispers to me through time:
“Lightly child, lightly.”
Not because life is light.
Not because feeling deeply is wrong.
But because I don’t have to grip it all so tightly.
I’ve spent much of my life armoring up for life: bracing for pain, proving my resilience, holding tension like a second skin. But what if the bravest thing isn’t holding on?
What if it’s loosening the grip?
What if healing isn’t climbing a mountain with bleeding hands, but walking barefoot, slowly, with awe?
What if it’s okay to feel it all… and still move softly?
“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days…Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me. So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly, my darling.”
When things feel heavy or unclear, the way back to yourself is often quiet. These prompts are here to help anchor the wisdom already within you:
Prompts to Anchor the Wisdom:
1. Where in my life am I clenching instead of trusting?
2. What does it look like to approach my healing lightly, but not shallowly?
3. If I moved through this week like a breeze instead of a storm, what would change?
I think your soul already knows the answer:
You don’t have to prove your depth by drowning in it.
You are allowed to be deep and gentle,
wounded and weightless,
feeling it all… and still choosing to float.
Lightly, child.
Lightly.
