I have a confession: I am not going to move on.

Sometimes things happen in life that there is no moving on from. There are experiences that must simply be accepted as now being incorporated into my story.

I may be able to move on from these experiences having control over me. I need not be controlled by fear or sadness.  I need not be haunted by words and memories.

Sometimes pain is deep and the way that life unfolds is incomprehensible and I simply must be able to say, “That really happened.” It is now part of who I am. It is part of my story. It will now impact the way I see the world and how I view relationships and how I view God and how I view myself. This isn’t ‘bad’ or negative. It simply begs me to intentionally sort that which I can keep with me as a means of growth from the words and moments that I should leave by the wayside, although they are also part of my reality.

It strikes me that to tell someone to move on or to ask if they are moving on is, perhaps, the height of dismissiveness. To tell yourself to move on is to dismiss yourself. Move on? Dismiss the emotions of love and pain? Forget the reality of the lasting impact of love, grief, death, fear, abuse, heartbreak, loss?

Perhaps a better question to ask is, “How are you moving through?”

I imagine that moving through looks different for each one of us and giving one another space in the moving through is a great gift.

Maybe the goal should not be moving on. Maybe the goal should be moving through. Maybe the goal should be moving forward. Maybe the goal should simply be to keep moving.

Maybe the goal should be to live with meaning in the midst of the movement of life.

This actually feels incredibly freeing. I can release myself from the pressure of “moving on”, whatever that means.

Perhaps, instead, I can simply live.