Good Friday: The Part of You That Is Ready to Fall Away
It’s Good Friday as this reaches you.
And I find myself wondering what this day means to you now — not what you were taught, not the version you were given growing up, but what it feels like in your body today.
Because for me, this day has been moving differently this year.
Less like a story outside of me…
and more like something happening within me.
A quiet recognition that something I have been carrying for a long time… is ready to fall away.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
But gently.
Like something I’ve outgrown… but haven’t quite put down yet.
And as I’ve sat with that feeling, I’ve found myself thinking about Mary Magdalene.
Not as a distant figure in a religious story, but as a woman.
A woman who stayed.
While others left, while everything she thought she knew was falling apart, she didn’t rush to fix it or turn away from it.
She stayed present with the grief.
With the uncertainty.
With the not knowing.
And in that staying… she became the first to truly see.
It made me reflect on how often we do the opposite.
How quickly we try to move through discomfort.
How instinctively we try to fix what feels messy.
How tightly we cling to the version of ourselves that feels familiar — even when it no longer feels true.
Because so much of what we hold onto isn’t just pain.
It’s identity.
The strong one.
The one who keeps everything together.
The one who doesn’t fall apart.
And we don’t question it, because it feels like who we are.
But what if it isn’t?
What if that version of you was never your truth… but a part of you that learned how to survive?
This is where the work deepens.
Not in trying to get rid of that part, or fix it, or push it away…
But in recognising it.
Seeing it for what it is.
A part of you that was trying to protect you.
And gently beginning to loosen your grip on it.
Good Friday, for me, feels like a moment of that loosening.
A moment of surrender — not in the sense of giving up, but in the sense of no longer insisting that things stay the same.
There is a quiet question that sits underneath it all:
What am I still holding onto… that I am ready to lay down?
Not because it was wrong.
Not because it shouldn’t have been there.
But because it is no longer who I am becoming.
There is something deeper in all of us.
A place that can witness the fear without becoming it.
That can feel the emotion without being consumed by it.
That doesn’t need to perform or prove or hold everything together.
It doesn’t shout for attention.
It doesn’t force its way forward.
It simply waits…
until we remember it’s there.
And perhaps that is what this time is really inviting.
Not a dramatic transformation.
Not a complete reinvention.
But a quiet remembering.
That you are not the part of you that is afraid.
You are not the patterns you learned to survive.
You are not the version of yourself you’ve been trying so hard to hold together.
You are the one who can be with it all.
And from that place, something begins to shift.
Not loudly.
Not all at once.
But in a way that feels real.
So today, there is nothing you need to fix.
Nothing you need to force.
Just an invitation to pause…
and gently ask yourself:
What part of me am I still living from… that I am ready to put down?
And am I willing to stay… long enough… to meet what remains?
You were never broken.
You simply learned to live from a part of yourself that was trying to keep you safe.
And maybe now…
you’re ready to come back.
So… where did Easter really come from?
I wrote the previous part of this blog last night, and this morning I woke up with this strong sense of WHY, is today Good Friday, it is really early this year, I head someone else say that the other day, but I didn’t quite recognise that the date changes every year…..
If it’s the story of Jesus dying on a cross, as an historic event, how does the date change, my Grandad died on the 27th August, it doesn’t change every year……
So down a rabbit hole I went this morning…..
There’s something I didn’t fully realise until I sat with this more deeply…
Easter doesn’t just come from one place.
It sits at the meeting point of sky, earth, and story.
Long before the Church, long before organised religion, humans were already marking this moment in the year — the return of life. The thawing of winter. The quiet, almost miraculous, rising of something that looked like it had disappeared.
The Spring Equinox.
A threshold.
A remembering.
There is mention of a goddess named Eostre, written about by the monk Bede. But the truth is, we don’t know much about her. Just a whisper in history. A name carried through time.
And yet… the symbols remain.
Eggs.
Hares.
Fertility.
New life.
These didn’t begin with Easter.
They were already here.
So what happened?
When Christianity spread, it didn’t arrive into an empty space. It met people who were already living in rhythm with the land, already honouring the cycles of life, death, and rebirth.
And instead of erasing that completely, something else happened.
The story was laid over the season.
The resurrection of Jesus Christ placed into the exact moment the earth itself begins to rise again.
Not separate from nature… but woven into it.
And when you really feel into that, something softens.
Because whether you see Easter through religion, through nature, or through your own inner journey…
It speaks of the same thing.
The part of you that thought it was over…
beginning again.
And maybe this is why she matters
It is Mary Magdalene who stands at the tomb.
Not as a priest.
Not as authority.
But as a woman who stayed.
Who witnessed.
Who recognised life when it returned.
And maybe this is the piece we are remembering now…
That resurrection isn’t something we are told about.
It’s something we feel.
Something we notice.
Something we know when it rises within us.
A quiet truth
Maybe nothing was stolen.
Maybe everything was simply… translated.
Different languages.
Same moment.
Same mystery.
And here we are, all these years later, still feeling it.
Don’t forget to catch up with this weeks podcast episode, you won’t want to miss it: AROUND THE KITCHEN TABLE
