There you were, trapped in the scary place. Everywhere you looked it was wild eyes, loaded guns, and barred doors.

You couldn’t stay.

You had to go.

And there it was— a bicycle.

Sure, it was too small, and a little rusty, and the handlebars were a little bent. But so what? It had two wheels and it would take you out of there.

And so you (brave beautiful you) you hopped on, heart pounding, and got the hell out of dodge.

You rode that thing with all your strength and all your courage and you rode it as hard and as far as you could.

And then one day, it couldn’t take you any further.

The bicycle turned out to have some problems. The chain chewed up your ankles. The gears would barely turn. It pulled to the left, even though your heart pulled to the right.

Somewhere along the way, the bike had become your prison. You were chained to its handlebars, palms bloody, shins bruised.

It was time to say goodbye to the bike.

The bike is all the things we learn to do to get through impossible situations.

People pleasing to keep you safe.
Saying yes when you meant no.
Eating too much to fill the emptiness.
Drinking too much to drown the yearning.
Shopping too much to nourish your soul.
Losing your temper to mark your space in this world.
Staying hidden so you wouldn’t be hurt.
Keeping yourself small so you could get by.

But let’s be very clear— it wasn’t a bad bicycle.

No, it was a steady friend, a loyal ally, a blessed escape route. It was an honorable bicycle.

It’s just time to leave it behind.

Because here is the secret no one told you:
It turns out, all along, you knew how to fly.

Oh, you couldn’t have known this at the time.

Your wings were still so little. You would have broken them against the winds.

So don’t berate the sweet, sweet self who had the courage to look around, say “I’ve got to get out there,” and make it happen.

Salute her willingness to grab the bicycle that presented itself and ride it the hell OUT of there.

The bicycle was a gift. A helper.

But just remember this, dearest heart—

now that you can fly, don’t keep lugging that clunky old thing around.

Just blow it a kiss from the wild blue yonder.

much love,
Anna