The things we hold onto hold onto us, that's what they say. The labels and descriptors- that ridiculous idea of identity. The excuse that "this is how I've always been" or "that's just who I am" keeping us bound to old patterns, old thoughts, old stories that no longer serve us.
It's a thick, sticky kind-of stuck. The kind that clings and rips when we try to break free.
And falling is scary- no doubt about it. A million ways we could land, and the pain we will feel when we do. We tend to scream and flail, as if that helps.
But freedom can only take us when we let go of the moorings, when we shrug off the fastenings and let ourselves fall. And sometimes there is pain, sure. Sometimes we find that we jumped too soon, missed our mark and we get some scars to help us remember where we've been and what we've learned.
But sometimes, there's not a hard bottom waiting for us. Sometimes the wind kicks up and takes us on a wild ride. Sometimes, sometimes we fly.