Dear Someone: Sometimes, letting go is the only way to hold on to yourself.

Read this if you're holding on to something that's breaking you, hoping love alone will be enough to fix what was never whole.

Dear, Dear Someone, _

There comes a time when the weight of love feels more like a chain than an anchor, when the effort to hold on starts to erode the very person you are. You gave everything, didn’t you? You stayed longer than you should have, hoping that if you loved harder, if you gave more, if you broke yourself into smaller pieces, it would somehow make them whole. But here you are, left with nothing but the echoes of your efforts and the ache of unanswered questions.

I know how it feels to give your heart to someone who no longer knows what to do with it. To pour all of yourself into a love that feels more like a one-way street. It’s exhausting, isn’t it? To carry both your feelings and theirs, to hold yourself together while trying to hold them up. You wanted so badly for the story to end differently. You wanted to be enough for them to stay, to fight, to choose you.

But love is not a fight you can win alone.

There are moments in life when you must choose between loving someone else and loving yourself. And as painful as it is to admit, sometimes the greatest act of love is walking away—not because you’ve stopped caring, but because you’ve started realizing that you deserve to be cared for in return.

You see, love is not supposed to leave you feeling hollow. Love is not supposed to make you question your worth or beg for scraps of affection. Love is not supposed to leave you waiting, counting days until someone decides whether or not you’re enough for them.

And yet, here you are—counting down the moments of what remains. Whether it's twenty-five days until they leave, six months until the lease ends, three years until your paths officially separate, or just the handful of hours until that final conversation—each tick of the clock feels significant. What about your timeline? What about the quiet prayers you've whispered in the dark, when you asked for a love that felt like home instead of something you constantly had to chase? Your heartbeats count days differently than calendars do, measuring time not in hours but in moments of hope slowly fading.

It’s okay to grieve what you thought you had. It’s okay to mourn the version of them you fell in love with, even as you come to terms with the fact that person no longer exists—or maybe never did. It’s okay to still love them, even as you step away.

Because love doesn’t always come with a happy ending. Sometimes, it comes with a lesson. Sometimes, it teaches you what you deserve by showing you what you don’t.

You are not weak for loving them. You are not foolish for trying. You are not broken because they couldn't see your worth. You are not a failure because the relationship ended. You are not less deserving of love because this one wasn't returned. You are not defined by someone else's inability to stay. You are not damaged goods because your heart has weathered storms. You are not diminished by their departure.

But you cannot keep pouring your soul into a cup that refuses to hold it. You cannot keep shrinking yourself to fit into the hollow spaces of their heart. You cannot keep losing yourself in the hope that one day, they’ll find themselves.

You are allowed to let go. You are allowed to stop fighting for someone who has already surrendered. You are allowed to choose yourself, even when it feels selfish. You are allowed to prioritize your healing over their comfort. You are allowed to reclaim the energy you've spent on dead-end hopes. You are allowed to build new dreams that don't include them. You are allowed to close doors that no longer lead anywhere. You are allowed to find peace without their permission.

Because, my dear someone, self-love is not selfish. It is survival. It is the foundation upon which every other love is built. And if you lose yourself trying to love someone else, what will you have left to give?

Remember this: You are not responsible for their unhappiness. You are not obligated to save them. You are not a placeholder for the love they refuse to give themselves. You are not the architect of their emotional landscape. You are not the caretaker of their unresolved wounds. You are not the solution to problems they won't acknowledge. You are not the remedy for insecurities they've harbored long before you. You are not the keeper of a happiness they cannot find within.

So, let the days pass. Let the countdown reach its end. Let their wish be granted, and let yourself be free. Love them if you must, but love yourself more.

One day, you’ll look back on this moment and realize it was the turning point. The moment you stopped fighting for them and started fighting for yourself. The moment you realized love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.

And when that day comes, you’ll thank yourself for being brave enough to walk away. For trusting that the love you gave was not wasted, even if it wasn’t returned. For believing that somewhere out there, someone is waiting to love you the way you deserve.

Until then, be gentle with yourself. You’re not just losing them; you’re finding you.

With all the understanding in the world,

—Ali Papa.

P.S. —You can love someone and still let them go. You can miss someone and still move on. And you can break your own heart and still be proud of the person you’re becoming.

The heart heals in its own time, following no schedule but its own mysterious rhythm. Some days you'll wake up feeling lighter, only to be ambushed by grief while standing in line for coffee. That's okay. Some nights you'll scroll through old messages, searching for clues you missed, wondering if there was something you could have done differently. There wasn't. Some friends will tell you to move on before you're ready, while others will sit with you in silence when words fail. Treasure the latter. Some memories will soften around the edges while others remain razor-sharp—both are teaching you something valuable.

The person you become through this pain will be more compassionate, more discerning, more authentic than before. Trust that process. Trust that one day, perhaps when you least expect it, you'll realize you've gone hours without thinking of them, then days, then weeks.

One day, you’ll look back and realize this wasn’t the end—it was the beginning of everything you were meant to be. And in that space where they once lived inside you, something beautiful will grow—not in spite of your broken heart, but because of it. This ending, painful as it is, is fertilizing the soil for everything that comes next. Keep going. You’re worth it. Water it with your tears if you must, but know that eventually, inevitably, something magnificent will bloom.

—Permission Slips:

The following permission slips are sacred contracts with yourself—gentle reminders that healing isn't linear, neat, or convenient. They are declarations of your sovereignty over your emotional landscape, boundaries drawn in ink rather than sand. In a world that rushes us toward closure and forgiveness before we've properly honoured our wounds, these words serve as shelter.

Keep them close on days when guilt creeps in, when you question your right to protect your peace, or when well-meaning voices urge you to "just move on." There is profound courage in claiming these truths, in standing firmly in your own authority.

Read them aloud when needed, add to them as you discover new edges of your healing, and know that in giving yourself these permissions, you're reclaiming pieces of yourself that love once scattered.

• I give myself permission to grieve at my own pace, without apology or timeline.

• I give myself permission to remember the good moments without rewriting the painful truth of what was.

• I give myself permission to delete their number, unfollow their social media, and create space for my healing without explanation.

• I give myself permission to feel relief alongside sadness, recognizing that both can coexist within me.

• I give myself permission to want what I deserve, without minimizing my needs or settling for less.

• I give myself permission to trust my instincts, even when they whisper that walking away is the bravest form of self-love.

• I give myself permission to begin again, carrying forward only what serves the person I am becoming.

—Thank you for taking the time to read my letters.

If these words have wrapped around your heart like a familiar embrace, there's more waiting for you. Reliable Anchors contains this letter and many others designed to steady you during life's storms and transitions. These are not just words on a page but lifelines extended when you need them most—gentle reminders of your resilience, permission to heal at your own pace, and metaphors that illuminate the beautiful transformation happening within you even when it feels like breaking.

Your healing journey deserves thoughtful companions. Download Reliable Anchors today and carry these affirmations, permission slips, and healing metaphors with you wherever you go. Because sometimes the steadiest voice in the chaos is the one that reminds you that you're exactly where you need to be—and that you're never alone in getting where you're going.

If you were unable to find yourself in today's letter, you don't have to worry. Tell me what you feel here, and I will write you a personal letter. The same God who can help you get by in life can also help you excel in life.

—Who is Ali Papa?

I'm a husband, father, friend, and merchant of faith, hope, and love, crafting heartfelt letters for every season and story. Writing to you is more than a hobby for me. It's a passion, a calling, and a way of life. I pour my heart and soul into every letter I send you, hoping to inspire you, inform you, heal with compassion, illuminate paths, instill courage, uplift spirits, spread positivity, and connect with sincerity.

My wish is that you continue to find the words that express your deepest and strongest emotions from them, regardless of the circumstances, and that you keep experiencing life, love, freedom, and fulfilment in your relationship. I live in Port Harcourt with my supportive wife and three adorable kids, who teach me the value of love every day.

For daily reminders of your worth, healing affirmations, and a safe space to share your journey, follow Vistas of Hope Instagram, Facebook, Threads, or 𝕏 page and become part of a supportive family who understands exactly what you're going through. Every like, share, and comment helps another heart find their way to healing. Your presence in Vistas of Hope community matters more than you know.