What Becomes Possible When You Stop Being Afraid of Endings?

Last week, I wrote about the passing of Aaron Char and the reminder of his spirit that is hanging in my kitchen: a giclée Aaron created of me surfing. (https://www.runninginslippers.com/blog/stop-saving-your-life-for-one-day)

Later on the day I published that story, the giclée fell off the wall.

The same fucking day.

It had been hanging from Command™ strips for around three years. And the exact day that I published that story, it fell. I don’t believe in coincidences. And furthermore, I believe that we all have a connection to the other side of the veil.

Hear me out.

I didn’t always think this way. As a matter of fact, my first encounter with a spirit on the other side scared the shit out of me, even though it was my own dad.

Below is an excerpt from Running in Slippers from the first time he visited me after he died:

I am working from home on my kitchen island, and a smell brings me out of my work trance.

Who is smoking?

The scent is pungent enough to sting my nose, so it has to be close by. But my windows are closed because, duh, it’s winter in Chicago.

The hallway. Someone is smoking in the hallway, and it’s coming in through the crack under my front door.

Because I am Treasurer on my condo association’s Board, I feel obligated to tell whoever is smoking in the hall to stop. We can’t afford to fumigate the hallways. I rashly swing open the door. Nobody is there.

They went around the corner to hide from me because they know they have been caught!

I walk around the corner to face the elevator bank. Nobody.

What the hell? Who was smoking?

I no longer smell the smoke, but there is a lingering sting in my nostrils. I’m not crazy. I know I smelled a cigarette. I slowly walk back to my kitchen, where the realization hits me. It wasn’t the smell of someone actively smoking. It was the smell of someone who had just finished smoking. And it wasn’t the smell of anyone who had just finished smoking. All smokers have their own distinct scent. I whisper into an empty room. “Dad?”

An ice-cold chill runs through my body. I can feel my heart violently thudding in my chest, while hearing the heartbeats loudly in my ears and reverberating in my skull. I am terrified because my father, who is dead, was right here in my kitchen. I am terrified that I have the ability to smell him. I am terrified because I assume he left so quickly because he hates me for being a horrible daughter. I am terrified because I have to deal with his passing by myself because my family is so emotionally unavailable. I am terrified because he and Marc have abandoned me at the same time, and it’s so fucking unfair and painful that I can’t stand it and have no idea how I am going to get through this. I collapse on the floor and sob hysterically until I don’t feel anything except my raw heart and the warm puddle of tears on the cold wood floor under my face.

After a few more olfactive visits from him, I felt like I was going crazy and couldn’t take it anymore, so I scheduled an appointment with a psychic medium.

For 2017 Me, going to a medium felt scandalous. Her office was located on the Northwest side of Chicago in a neighborhood that I hardly ever went to. I didn’t even know anyone in that area, but the entire three-block walk from my parking spot on the street, I was literally looking over my shoulder and spying all the cars driving by to make sure that nobody I knew saw me.

I didn’t even totally believe in mediumship, but I was so desperate for answers that I was willing to do anything.

Here is an excerpt from Chapter 5 of Running in Slippers about the experience:

I have chills as Luna takes me into her back room, which feels more magical than their public space. I see a Kleenex box next to the chair where I sit down.

I hope I don’t cry.

Luna doesn’t say a word. She closes her eyes to get connected to her Spirit Guides. She doesn’t even have to open her eyes or say anything, I can feel the energy in the room shift, and I break down into tears. I reach for a Kleenex as she opens her eyes to start our session.

Do I need to tell her what’s going on in my life?

“Oh, Angie, the heartbreak.”

Apparently not.

Luna cringes, and her nose wrinkles. “Your Dad has a specific smell, doesn’t he?”

“Yes!”

“What does he smell like?”

“Cigarettes.”

She nods. I can tell by her face his smell is revolting to her, but I am not offended. I’m just glad that she was able to connect with him. “Your dad says that he forgives you. He understands why you needed a break from him and knows what you did was best for you. When he was on this side, his true self was masked by his addictions, and he says he is sorry that he couldn’t be there for you.”

She pauses to receive more information. “Your dad is funny. He doesn’t believe in people like me, so he keeps trying to pull away, but I’m like, ‘We’re already doing this, so let’s keep doing it.’ Does that sound like your dad?”

I laugh because that totally sounds like Dad. “Oh yeah.”

“Tell me about the shirt.”

“Shirt?”

“Did you take a shirt from his closet?”

“Yes! I took a sweater from his closet!”

When Mom and I were cleaning out Dad’s bedroom, I found an old sweater he had from high school. It was a big, heavy wool sweater and I knew I would never wear it, so I don’t know why I took it. I think I just wanted something of his other than box cutters. The only other person besides me who knows I have the sweater is Mom. Any doubts I had about mediumship have been extinguished. I find it comforting that even though I can’t see him or hear his messages, Dad is involved in this interaction.

“He wants you to know that while he couldn’t be there for you while he was alive, he is here for you now. That is why he visits you.”

Death is not the end.

It’s the end of the human relationship. But the soul relationship is still there. And I know this sounds esoteric and maybe even downright crazy if you have never experienced it, but my dad’s passing taught me that ultimately, we are all souls.

In human form, my dad’s soul was riddled with addiction and depression. Growing up, he was physically present in the house, but he was always emotionally checked out. I don’t ever recall talking to him beyond communicating necessary information, like what time I needed to be picked up from something.

And he never seemed to care about what was going on with me, even as an adult.

But his soul is different. He has my back like he never has before, and at least once every day he will make sure his presence is known. At first, it would freak me out, but now I find it comforting.

One time while talking to a friend about this, he said, “It must be healing for your dad for you to give him the chance to be able to show up for you in a way he never was able before.”

I had never thought of it that way. But I think he was right.

Healing doesn’t end in the meat suit.

That doesn’t mean we don’t grieve. We still have to grieve the person who died, the relationship that ended, the job we thought we would retire from, the friendship we thought would last forever, and even the version of ourselves we thought we would always be.

Because something did end.

And sometimes I think we get so focused on what ended that we turn our backs on whatever is beginning.

My relationship with my dad as I knew it ended when he died. And that was really fucking hard to grieve. But something else began because for the first time in my life, I started experiencing my dad as someone who had my back.

I didn’t have that when he was alive, and I will always grieve that I didn’t get to have that. But I’ve also learned not to let my grief over what I didn’t get keep me from receiving what he’s giving me now.

And I think this is true for more than death.

Because sometimes the thing we’re grieving is who we used to be.

It can be the woman who built her entire identity around her career leaves the company she worked at for 20 years and suddenly doesn’t know how to introduce herself without her job title.

Or the woman who spent years raising her kids finally gets them out of the house and realizes she has no fucking idea what she likes to do on a Saturday when nobody needs her.

Or maybe it’s the woman who gets divorced and grieves the version of herself who was someone’s wife and the future she assumed they would have together.

Or perhaps the woman who spent her entire life being the responsible one, the high achiever, the Good Girl, the person everyone could count on starts setting boundaries and wonders, Who the fuck am I if I’m not that person anymore?

I think we underestimate how much grief can come with becoming someone new.

Even when we want the change.

You can desperately want to leave the job and still grieve the woman who built her life around succeeding there.

You can know the relationship needed to end and still grieve the future you pictured with that person.

You can be proud that you no longer people-please and still miss the version of you who knew exactly how to keep everyone happy.

Because the old version of you may have been exhausted, unhappy, or living a life that no longer fit, but she was familiar.

But we get so busy mourning who we were that we don’t notice the woman standing on the other side of that ending saying, Hi! I’m fucking terrified, but maybe we should see what happens.

And then there’s the part of endings we don’t talk about enough.

There is a weird stretch of time where the old version of you is gone, but the new version doesn’t quite feel like you yet.

And you don’t have to rush through that part. You can enjoy the process of discovering who you actually are, even if you don’t know.

There’s an old metaphor about Tarzan swinging from vine to vine. At some point, he has to let go of the vine behind him before he can grab the one in front of him.

I think that’s the part we’re so afraid of.

We want to know exactly what we’re grabbing onto before we let go of what we already know. We want the new identity, new relationship, new career, and new life to be securely in our hands before we release the old one.

But sometimes we don’t get to know. There’s just that terrifying space in between.

And maybe part of grieving an ending is learning to trust that space.

At some point, we have to stop holding so tightly to what ended that there’s no room to receive whatever comes next.

Even if we have absolutely no fucking idea what “next” is yet.

Insight Is Cute. Now Act.

Because you can’t grab the next vine while you’re still holding on to the last one.

Think about something in your life that you know is ending, has already ended, or maybe needs to end, like a relationship you keep trying to resuscitate, a career that hasn’t felt like you in years but you stay because it’s comfortable, or a friendship you’ve outgrown but keep maintaining because you’ve known each other since college,

Or, maybe it’s even the version of you who was always the responsible one, the successful one, the Good Girl, the person who never needed anyone, but it leaves you exhausted and feeling like you don’t even know who the hell you are anymore.

Pick one. Now ask yourself: “What am I afraid will happen if I really let this go?”

Not what you’ll lose. You probably already know that. What scares you about the empty space after it?

Who will I be without this?

What if nothing better comes along?

What if I regret it?

What if I don’t know what I want next?

What if this was as good as it gets?

And then ask yourself: “What might become possible if I stopped requiring myself to know what comes next?”

You don’t need to immediately replace the relationship, choose the next career, reinvent yourself, or produce a color-coded five-year plan.

Maybe your action this week is simply to stop reaching backward.

Delete the draft text you keep almost sending, donate the clothes that belong to a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore, cancel the commitment you keep robotically doing out of obligation, or finally throw away the box of your ex’s shit.

Make one small decision that tells yourself:

I don’t know what’s next. But I’m willing to leave some fucking room for it.

Okay, But Now What?

The thing you’re holding onto could be a money story: you stay in the underpaid job because at least the paycheck is predictable, you keep overworking because you learned that working harder is how you make yourself valuable, or you keep $20k sitting in savings but feel guilty booking the trip because spending money still feels less safe than hoarding it.

You know the old way isn’t working anymore. But letting go of it means stepping into that uncomfortable space where you don’t know what happens next.

And that can be fucking terrifying.

But you don’t have to know what the next vine looks like to start figuring out why you’re still holding onto this one.

That’s exactly what we’ll investigate in a complimentary 30-Minute Money Story Audit.

You bring me the money behavior that makes you think, Why the fuck do I keep doing this? I’ll bring the questions. Together, we’ll uncover one subconscious money story that may be keeping you stuck and identify one practical action you can take to start rewriting it.

Before you can let go of the old vine, it helps to understand why the hell you’ve been gripping it so tightly.

👉 Book Your Complimentary Money Story Audit: https://www.runninginslippers.com/email

P.S. If you’re waiting to stop being scared before you do the thing, I have some unfortunate news for you.

In this video, I’m telling the story of the solo trip to New Zealand where I learned that sometimes courage is: “I’m scared as shit, but I trust myself to handle what happens next.”

I’m breaking down 3 lessons from that trip that can help you stop trying to prepare your way out of uncertainty, build fierce self-trust, and give your subconscious evidence that you can do scary fucking things.

👉 Watch: How to Overcome Fear Without Bungee Jumping Off a Mountain (But You Can If You Want To!)

With Love & Fire,

Angie

https://www.innerglowbyangie.com/

I help you rewrite the childhood stories that are keeping Adult You quiet, overworked, and underpaid, so you can say what you fu*king mean, know your worth, and make more money.

Because you deserve to feel excited about your own life.

Through my signature GLOW Method, I combine money story rewriting, identity work, practical money strategy, and real-time action to help women stop playing small, use their voice with confidence, and become the kind of woman who naturally attracts more money, opportunities, visibility, and fulfillment.

I’m the author of Running in Slippers, a raw and vulnerable memoir about my journey from self-loathing and a suicide attempt to self-love and thriving. Life kicked me in the a$$, and, in hindsight, I needed it to.

I have moved from Chicago to Hawaii on my own, jumped out of a helicopter and into the ocean Navy SEAL-style, bungee jumped, skydived, and cliff jumped, yet I am still terrified about allowing myself to be seen.