A story about letting go of what was never yours to carry…
We all must push a wheelbarrow…
This is life, we all must carry something.
What if I told you they’re full of bricks.
Heavy ones.
Old ones.
Ones passed down from family. Ones picked up from institutions, culture, religion, survival.
Get this…
They’ve been in that wheelbarrow so long, you forgot they weren’t yours to carry.
What Are Your Bricks?
A mother’s unhealed wounds.
A father’s silence.
A job you outgrew five years ago.
A friendship that rewards your self-betrayal.
A belief that your worth comes from suffering.
A story that says “if I let go, I’ll fall apart”
Some bricks were handed to you.
Some you picked up to belong.
Some you collected just to prove something—to them. To God. To yourself.
And one day, you wake up and realize: You’re not moving forward.
Not because there is something wrong with you,But because your wheelbarrow is so full, you can’t even see where you’re going. Let alone push it.
Who Told You to Carry All That?
Somewhere along the way, you were conditioned to believe: The more you carry, the more moral you are If you suffer enough, you’ll be worthy of rest, letting go is selfish, peace means laziness, struggle means strength, But none of that is truth.
Nervous System Insight
When your system is used to tension, stillness can feel like a threat.
What will happen unconsciously is that you reach for more bricks.
Why? Because: The nervous system craves familiarity, not health.
📚 “Neuroception” (Porges, 2011) is the body’s subconscious way of detecting safety and if chaos is what your body knows, safety will feel suspicious.
This is why some people resent those with lighter wheelbarrows. Not because it’s unjust, But simply because it’s unfamiliar.
And the unfamiliar feels unsafe when your baseline is suffering and reactivity.
The Cycle
Heavy wheelbarrows become identity. They become a form protection. One we hide so deep within we almost befriend the ache and fear the joy. And before long, we don’t know who we are without the weight.
So we defend it.
We justify it.
We project it.
We look at someone with five bricks and say:
“That’s not fair. They have it easier.”
But here’s what they may have done that you haven’t: They put the bricks down. They unlearned. They gave themselves permission—to let them go.
Healing Is an Act of Remembering
You’re allowed to offload. You’re allowed to grieve the story that told you pain equals virtue. You’re allowed to break generational contracts.
You’re allowed to build something lighter. Softer. Something that is just yours. The only person who can give you that permission… is you.
So will you give yourself permission today?
Reflection Prompts:
What bricks in your wheelbarrow were handed to you, not chosen?
Which ones are you afraid to let go of—and why?
Who would you be with an empty wheelbarrow?