The Weight of the World: A Walk to Clarity

The late afternoon sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the park as Robin and I walked along the path. The crisp air of early autumn surrounded us, but inside, I felt like I was still wading through the heat of a long summer storm. Robin was quiet, as they usually were when I needed to vent, their hands tucked into their jacket pockets, listening intently.

“So, what’s been going on?” Robin asked gently after a stretch of silence. “You seemed... heavy when we met up today.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, heavy is a good word. I just feel stuck, like I’m dragging this huge weight around. The past, my family, my career—everything feels tangled. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to move forward.”

Robin looked at me with a thoughtful expression. “What’s been weighing on you the most?”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Honestly, it’s everything at once. But mostly, it’s the past. It’s like... no matter how much time passes, I can’t shake off these old wounds. They’re just... there, you know? Like a constant reminder of everything I’ve messed up or haven’t fixed yet.”

Robin nodded, their brow furrowed slightly as they listened. “I get that. Sometimes the past can feel like it’s carved into us, like it defines everything we do in the present. What exactly are you holding onto?”

I stared at the ground for a moment, watching the leaves crunch under my feet. “A lot of it’s family stuff,” I admitted. “But also the feeling of not being good enough, like I keep letting myself down. It feels like every step I take, I’m carrying this massive boulder with me, and it’s exhausting.”

Robin nodded, giving me the space to keep talking.

“I’ve tried to let it go,” I continued, “but it’s not that easy. I’ve been using voice memos, trying to talk things out with myself, but even that doesn’t seem to help anymore. My mind just keeps spiraling.”

Robin was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Have you tried writing it down? Like, actually sitting with the thoughts and putting them on paper?”

I blinked. “You mean journaling?”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “Sometimes when it’s all in your head, it feels like a tangled mess. But when you write it down, you can actually see the threads and start to untangle them one by one. Plus, writing slows everything down. It’s different from just talking—gives you a new perspective.”

I thought about that, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ve been so scattered lately, I’m not even sure where I’d start.”

Robin glanced over at me. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think about what’s weighing you down?”

“The past,” I said again, almost without thinking. “It’s like no matter what I do, I’m always pulled back to those old memories. And physically, I feel it too—this tightness in my chest that won’t go away.”

Robin nodded, understanding in their eyes. “It sounds like you’re carrying a lot of emotional tension. Have you ever tried something like meditation or mindfulness to deal with that?”

I shook my head. “I mean, I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never really done it. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d even be able to focus long enough.”

Robin gave me a small smile. “It’s not about being perfect at it. Meditation is more like... stepping out of the storm for a few minutes, just long enough to breathe. You don’t have to stop the storm, but you can find a way to not get completely swept away by it. Even a short session, like a body scan, could help. You know, focusing on each part of your body and noticing where you’re holding onto that tension.”

I considered that, the idea of being able to step out of the storm, even if just for a moment. “That sounds... nice. I’ve been feeling like I’m stuck in this loop, you know? Like I’m fighting the same battles over and over again.”

Robin looked at me thoughtfully. “It sounds like you’ve been pretty hard on yourself through all of this. Do you ever catch yourself being really self-critical?”

“All the time,” I admitted, my voice quieter now. “It’s like... I’ve convinced myself that I’m not worthy of success or happiness. And when I do try, there’s always this voice in the back of my head telling me I’ll fail.”

Robin’s face softened. “That voice isn’t the truth, though. It’s just an echo of all the stuff you’ve been through. Have you tried challenging it?”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Robin smiled again, gently. “It’s like building a new muscle. Try using affirmations. I know it sounds a bit cliché, but over time, it really does shift how you talk to yourself. Simple ones, like ‘I am worthy of success’ or ‘I release my past.’ When you say them enough, they start to crowd out the negative thoughts.”

I sat with that for a moment, stirring my coffee. “I guess it feels kind of... fake. Like, saying these positive things when I don’t even believe them.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Robin said. “It can feel weird at first. But think of it like planting a seed. You don’t expect a tree to grow overnight. You just keep watering it, and over time, it takes root. The more you practice, the more it becomes real.”

I nodded, still unsure but willing to give it a try. “I’ll think about it. It’s just hard, especially with everything going on with my family. Every time I talk to them, I end up feeling worse.”

Robin’s eyes softened with empathy. “What’s been happening?”

“It’s always the same,” I said, frustration creeping into my voice. “They’re stuck in these patterns, and it’s like no matter what I do, nothing changes. I’ve tried to help, to be the bigger person, but I’m always the one who ends up feeling drained.”

Robin leaned in slightly. “Do you feel like it’s your responsibility to fix things?”

I paused, staring at the leaves drifting in the wind. “Yeah... I guess I do. But it’s exhausting. And deep down, I know I can’t change them.”

Robin nodded slowly. “That’s tough. But maybe it’s not about fixing them. What if it’s about setting boundaries for yourself? Protecting your energy?”

I frowned, thinking. “Boundaries? Like cutting them off?”

“Not necessarily,” Robin said. “Think of it like building a fence, not a wall. You’re not cutting them out of your life, but you’re controlling how much access they have to your emotions. If they start pulling you into their drama or negativity, you can step back. You don’t have to engage.”

I felt a pang of relief at that idea, like I could finally breathe. “That sounds... freeing. But it’s hard. I still want their acceptance.”

“I get that,” Robin said softly. “But sometimes, waiting for someone’s approval is like waiting for rain in a desert. It might never come, and you can’t control that. What you can control is how you respond to it. Maybe it’s time to let go of that expectation.”

Their words hit deep, like they were speaking to a part of me I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Maybe I’d been holding onto the hope that my family would change, but that hope had been draining me. Maybe it was time to release it.

“And what about work?” Robin asked, switching gears. “You mentioned feeling lost in that area too.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’ve been out of work for a while. And honestly, I don’t even know what direction to go in. Everything feels so uncertain.”

Robin was quiet for a moment, then said, “What if you reframed it? Instead of seeing unemployment as this scary thing, what if it’s a chance to explore? Like... a blank canvas.”

“A blank canvas?” I repeated, the idea foreign but intriguing.

“Yeah,” Robin said. “Sometimes, losing something forces us to rethink what we really want. What if this is your opportunity to explore new skills, or to work on projects you’ve always wanted to do, like your podcast or course? Start small, set a few goals, and see what grows from there.”

I thought about that, letting the idea take root. “I guess I’ve been so focused on what I lost that I haven’t even thought about what I could gain.”

Robin smiled. “Exactly. It’s like a clearing in the forest after a fire. Sure, it’s painful, but it leaves space for something new to grow. You just have to decide what seeds to plant.”

I sat back, feeling a little lighter. The weight wasn’t gone, but maybe it didn’t have to be. Maybe, one step at a time, I could start to move forward again.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice softer now. “I really needed this.”

Robin smiled, warm and reassuring. “Anytime. Just remember, you’re not carrying this alone. And you’re allowed to take things slow. One step at a time.”

The sun was nearly set now.