Letting Go in the March Wind

The air feels unsettled.

Not winter exactly. Not spring either. The mornings still bite, but by afternoon I’m tugging at my jacket, wondering why I wore it at all.

Do you feel a change in your bones? The wind does not settle long enough to make a decision. Something is shifting.

March never arrives with certainty. It arrives in drafts.

And motherhood feels like that sometimes. A season that shifts before you are ready to name what is changing.

There is a particular kind of tension that lives in the body when you are holding on too tightly. You can feel it in your shoulders. In your jaw. In the way your thoughts circle the same worry over and over.

I felt it when my youngest was born.

When Holding On Becomes Strain

With my older two, I had an oversupply of milk that I didn’t know what to do with. It felt excessive at the time. I never imagined I would look back at that season and wish for it.

When my son arrived, I had the opportunity to stay home and just be with my baby. I was certain it would be different, and I had built an expectation for myself that this time would be.

However, within a week, he was losing weight.

The doctor had us start supplementing with formula. I decided to pump so that there would be less confusion between breast and bottle.

I hoped that, in keeping up a rigorous schedule, my body would begin producing more. Within a week, I had mastitis, so aside from the stress of my baby losing weight, I was now scheduling the day between a heating pad, massaging, pumping, and my newborn’s needs.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

There is a moment when effort turns into strain. When trying harder only tightens the grip. I remember sitting there, exhausted, emotionally frayed, realizing that I was fighting something that was not responding.

I finally gave up.

Stopping did not feel brave. It felt like surrender.
It also felt like grief.

Not because formula was wrong. Not because I believed I had failed. But because I had quietly built a picture of what this time would look like, and it was dissolving in front of me.

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The Quiet Grief of Letting Go

When I finally let go, nothing grand happened. No swelling music. No instant clarity.

What happened was smaller.

I slept.
I began to relax.
I held my baby without pain.
I watched him grow. Smile. Giggle.

The wind did not stop blowing. But I stopped bracing against it.

Loosening Without Replacement

Motherhood asks us to release things without ceremony. Expectations. Rhythms. Versions of ourselves we thought we would be. Often, there is no replacement waiting neatly on the other side. Just space.

March carries that same feeling. Something is shifting. Something is loosening. But it is not blooming yet.

And maybe it does not need to.

Permission to Stay Here

If you feel a change stirring in your bones, you do not have to name it. If something in your life feels like it is slipping from your grip, you do not have to chase it.

You are allowed to notice what is being released without deciding what comes next.

That is enough for now.

If you feel comfortable, share one thing you are letting go of this season.

From my road to yours, happy wandering.

Want to share this with someone you care about?