There is such tenderness in the thought that I can be mistaken without being condemned.

I have carried things from the past as though they could still define me—things I have done, things done to me, choices I wish had been different, stories I have repeated until they seemed undeniably real.

Today I am invited simply to lay them down.

Not because my experience did not matter, but because nothing that happened within the dream could alter what God created. Beneath everything I have believed about myself, I remain as I was created.

Perhaps release is not something I have to achieve. Perhaps it is the moment I stop holding onto what was never true about me.

This is my holy instant of release.