The Things We Stop Carrying

They call the second Friday in January Quitter’s Day—the day most people abandon their New Year’s resolutions.

The gym gets quieter. The planners close. The motivation fades.

But some of us didn’t quit a habit or a goal.

Some of us quit carrying something that was never ours to hold alone.

For estranged moms, quitting doesn’t look like failure.

It looks like finally setting something down after years of lifting it with shaking arms.

Estrangement doesn’t begin with walking away.

It begins with trying harder than is healthy.

It begins with explaining yourself over and over, hoping clarity will fix what accountability won’t.

It begins with apologizing just to keep the peace—even when you’re not sure what you did wrong.

It begins with believing that if you love enough, sacrifice enough, bend enough, things will eventually change.

You don’t quit easily when you’re a mother.

     You endure.

          You rationalize.

               You wait.

                    You hope.

                         And eventually, you realize the cost.

Quitter’s Day, for me, wasn’t about giving up on my child.

It was about giving up on abandoning myself.

It was the day I stopped carrying responsibility for someone else’s healing.

The day I stopped chasing conversations that only left me smaller.

The day I stopped believing that love requires suffering.

The day I stopped confusing endurance with loyalty.

Letting go doesn’t mean you stop loving.

That’s the lie we tell mothers to keep them silent.

You can love fiercely and still step back.

You can grieve the relationship you wanted while protecting the life you still have.

You can miss someone every day and still choose peace.

This kind of quitting doesn’t come with relief right away.

It comes with grief.

It comes with guilt.

It comes with questions that don’t have clean answers.

You mourn birthdays and holidays that carry an empty chair no one talks about and the version of motherhood you thought would last forever. 

There’s an uncomfortable truth estranged mothers don’t say out loud.

Some of our children continue to believe they hold the power—that without them, we are miserable, broken, and waiting. That denying access, especially to our grandchildren, keeps us small and compliant.

That belief only works as long as we keep carrying it.

When we let go, the control evaporates. Not through confrontation—but through refusal.

Refusal to beg.

Refusal to show grief as proof of love.

Refusal to live as if joy requires permission.

We don’t stop loving our children or our grandchildren.

We stop believing our lives end at the edge of their approval.

Letting go doesn’t make us empty.

It makes us free.

Free to live according to our own blueprint—one built on peace, self-respect, and truth. 

And that kind of freedom cannot be taken away.

Quitter’s Day is meant to sound like failure-like weakness- like something to be ashamed of.

But for some of us, quitting is the first honest choice we’ve made in years.

I didn’t quit loving.

I quit performing pain for someone else’s comfort.

I quit carrying guilt that was never mine.

I quit dragging silence, blame, and impossible expectations into another year.

When I stopped carrying what was crushing me, I didn’t lose my life.

I found it.

This is what freedom looks like on Quitter’s Day:

Living fully.

Loving from a distance.

And choosing peace without apology.

Some things are worth quitting.

And peace—earned, quiet, and self-directed—is one of them.

Here's a few things I'm challenging you to in the New Year, Momma.

• Quit waiting for permission to live fully.
       Your joy doesn’t need to be delayed until reconciliation.
• Quit rehearsing explanations in your head.
       You don’t owe anyone a perfectly worded defense of your boundaries.
• Quit measuring your worth by access.
       Love is not proven by proximity.
• Quit carrying shame that doesn’t belong to you.
       Estrangement is complex. Blame is rarely clean or singular.
• Quit believing peace means you’ve stopped caring.
       Sometimes peace is what caring looks like when you choose yourself.

You don’t have to quit everything at once.

You don’t have to quit forever.

But on Quitter’s Day, you’re allowed to set something down.