COLUMN: Don’t mind the mess – Emotional baggage: Now boarding

Years ago, I was roped into doing a skit at church. You know the kind—something meaningful and mildly awkward, performed under harsh fluorescent lights with a microphone that squeals just as you find your confidence.

The skit started with me walking across the stage, toting an empty bag. As I journeyed, I picked up blocks labeled “fear,” “regret,” “shame,” “resentment,” and “worry.” Classic church skit stuff. By the time I was halfway across the stage, I was lugging this bloated, overstuffed bag like a woman who had misunderstood the airline’s carry-on policy. Eventually, weighed down and stuck, I gave it all up to God in dramatic fashion. Exit stage right. Everyone clapped. I was relieved it was over.

It was a simple object lesson—but one I’ve been trying to live ever since. And let me tell you, living it is a whole lot messier than acting it out in front of a congregation armed with coffee and bulletins.

Some people seem to glide through life like seasoned travelers—packing light, carrying only the good stuff: sweet memories, hard-earned lessons, love. And then there are the rest of us. We pick up everything along the way. That rude comment someone made in 2009? Toss it in. The time we embarrassed ourselves in front of the whole class? Yep, pack it. Every heartbreak, every disappointment, every sleepless night worrying about things we can’t control—we haul it all.

We become emotional hoarders, stuffing our metaphorical bags until the zipper won’t close and we have to sit on it just to get through the day. And sometimes, we do just that. We sit on our baggage, stuck in one spot, unsure how to move forward without spilling our mess all over the floor.

Life doesn’t wait for us to figure it out. It just keeps handing us more to carry: responsibilities we didn’t ask for, losses we weren’t ready for, fears that sneak in when we’re too tired to argue. Some of it we choose; some of it we inherit. All of it adds weight.

But here’s what I’ve learned, usually the hard way: the real work is learning how to unpack. It’s not glamorous. No one claps. There’s no spotlight. It’s just you, sitting on the floor with your emotional clutter, picking up each item and asking, “Do I still need this? Or have I just gotten used to carrying it?”

Sometimes the answer surprises you.

There is no one-size-fits-all method to letting go. There’s only grace and trial and error. And the occasional ugly cry in your car. But there is wisdom in knowing that not everything deserves to come with you. Not the cruel words spoken in haste. Not the guilt you’ve already apologized for ten times over. Not the story you keep telling yourself about why you’re not enough.

Here’s the kicker: we often fear that letting go of these things will make us lose part of who we are. Like if we stop carrying our pain, we’ll forget how strong we’ve been. But I promise you, strength doesn’t live in the pain. It lives in the healing. In the choosing to love anyway. In the decision to hope again.

And love? Love makes the baggage light.

When we fill our bags with love—real love, the kind that forgives and laughs and shows up anyway—everything else shifts. Regret softens. Fear quiets. The road ahead doesn’t look so steep. And maybe we even find ourselves walking a little taller, breathing a little deeper, ready to keep going.

So, what’s in your bag?

Maybe today’s the day you open it up, start sorting through the mess, and decide that love—not fear, not shame, not the past—is the only thing you really need to bring along.

And if you need help, I know a woman who once did a church skit about this. She’s still learning, too.