Let’s talk about the baggage.
No, not the cute little carry-ons, I’m talking about the giant, seventy-pound, overstuffed suitcase with a broken wheel and a busted zipper that you've been dragging behind you your entire fucking life.
The one filled with your mother’s anxiety, your father’s scarcity mindset, and your grandmother's belief that martyrdom is a virtue. It’s heavy. It’s awkward. It bangs into every doorway, trips you up on the stairs, and you have to pay extra just to haul its dead weight onto every flight.
You’ve been dragging it around for so long you probably think it's just a part of you. The chronic people-pleasing, the fear of not being enough, the conviction that you have to work twice as hard for half the credit. You think it's your stuff.
It's not.
You inherited it. It’s a collection of hand-me-down coping mechanisms, secondhand fears, and expired beliefs that were packed for a journey you aren't even on. These are your "emotional heirlooms." And this Cry Baby Summer, with its high-tide emotional energy, is the perfect time to finally lose the luggage.
Honoring your ancestors does not mean you have to carry their burdens. You can love them, be grateful for the sacrifices they made, and still refuse to lug their seventy-pound suitcase of trauma through your one precious life.
It's time to open the bag, audit the contents, and start mailing shit back.
The Diagnostic: How to Read the Luggage Tags
Before you can return a package, you have to read the tag. You deserve to know where this shit came from.
Step 1: The Master List. Grab a pen. For the next ten minutes, make a raw, unfiltered list of all the negative narratives your brain tells you about yourself. 'I'm not smart enough,' 'I'm unlovable,' 'My body is wrong,' 'I'll always be broke,' 'I have to do everything myself.' All of it. Do not judge it, just dump it onto the page.
Step 2: Pick Your Target. Look at your list. Do not start with the heaviest one. That's a pro-level move. Start with a softer target, a narrative that feels a little less cemented in your soul. Circle it.
Step 3: Trace the Root. Now, for that one circled narrative, get quiet. Ask these questions. Go with the very first answer that surfaces. No second-guessing.
- Where do I feel this in my body? (A knot in your stomach? A tight throat? A heaviness in your chest?)
- Whose voice is this, really?
- Whose opinion, whose fear, whose rule is this?
Go with the first name, face, or feeling that pops into your head. Was it a parent, a teacher, a partner? Was it a message you absorbed from society or culture? Pinpoint the source.
The Unmasking: Why This Works
The moment you trace that narrative back to a source outside of you, it loses its stickiness. You have been over-identifying with this thought, believing it was an essential part of you. Because it’s in your head and sounds like your voice, you’ve accepted it as truth.
And because you accepted it as truth, you built a life around it. It shaped what you think you're capable of.
The moment you can trace that voice back to its origin, let's call her "lame-ass Samantha from third grade", things shift. You’ve snatched off its mask, Scooby-Doo style, and realized the monster chasing you was just Old Man Jenkins in a costume all along. It unsticks from your identity. You see it for what it is: a secondhand opinion, not a reflection of you.
The Ritual: The Release & The Refill
Now that you've identified the sender and have a tool for the echo, it's time to return the package. Acknowledging that the person who gave you this "gift" probably thought they were protecting you in some misguided way is useful. Their fear was a strategy for their survival, not yours. You can appreciate the intention while refusing the inheritance.
Part A: The Release.
You have a target. Let's fill out the paperwork.
THE ENERGETIC RETURN RECEIPT
ITEM FOR RETURN: [Name the "gift," e.g., The Itchy Poncho of Self-Doubt]
ORIGINAL SENDER: [Name the source, e.g., Lame-Ass Samantha]
REASON FOR RETURN: [Check all that apply] [ ] Does not fit my soul. [ ] The vibes are off. [ ] Thank you for the lesson, but this was never mine to carry. [ ] Is no longer in style for the life I am building.
ACTION REQUESTED: Returning to sender with love. No store credit or exchange necessary. I'll be choosing my own damn clothes from now on.
Write it out. Sign it. Then safely burn it, tear it into tiny pieces, flush it, whatever feels like a definitive act of disposal.
Part B: The Refill.
You never leave a cleared space empty. Nature abhors a vacuum. When you banish something, you must fill that void with what you want, or any old weed will move back in.
Where Samantha's shitty voice used to be, you will plant something new. Craft a new affirmation, a direct counter-statement that feels like the real you. It doesn't have to be a huge leap. It just has to be a step in a better direction.
If the old narrative was about your capability, you could replace it with: "I am capable of figuring this out. I am the authority on what I can do."
If the old belief was about money, you could install a new truth: "An empty wallet is a circumstance, not my identity."
Pick one that makes you feel solid. Write it down. Say it out loud. Put it on a post-it note on your mirror. This is your new tenant. Your job is to make it feel at home.
The 90-Second Glitch
Once you've unmasked it, the ghost of it will still show up, especially when you're stressed or tired. This is where you use a little biological loophole.
A neuroscientist named Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor discovered that when an emotion is triggered, it takes about 90 seconds for the chemical rush to move through your body. That first wave of heat, panic, or shame is a physiological event. You can survive that for 90 seconds.
Anything you feel after that 90-second mark is you consciously choosing to refuel the story. The initial chemical reaction is over. The rest is a story you're keeping on life support. This is your moment of power. When the echo of "Samantha’s bullshit" shows up, feel it in your body, let the 90-second chemical wave pass without adding a story to it, and let it go.
🜙 Looking at, navigating, and healing trauma is a multi-layered, complex thing. If shit gets too heavy and you have access, do some of the unpacking with a therapist. If you don't have access, make sure that you have anchors while you're doing this work. Ground often, identify loving, supportive, safe spaces. And if you’d like one of those spaces to be a one-on-one session with me to unpack this shit together, my Shadow Work readings are designed for exactly that. The link is here.
