I came across an observation online that specified we spend the first eighteen years of life growing and learning… then the rest of our lives dealing with those first eighteen years.

It’s an interesting take because, I find, the true measure of adulthood is when you accept the circumstances of your upbringing don’t get to define the life you want. Given that some circumstances are vastly more traumatic than others, getting to this point will vary.

Yet, the real difficulty is every time we look upon our past and consider our lives at that time, we keep it attached to our current selves. If who we are is a narrative of where we’ve been, then creating a new story needs a new beginning, and that involves letting go of the wounds.

Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, but allowing the wound to scar over instead of keeping that tissue ripped open.