Liberating Your Essence
Linda MacInnes, LMFT #145910, Exp 3/31/2026
The Art of Detachment
Detachment is not about indifference or emotional numbness; it’s the practice of loving without clinging, caring without controlling, and remembering your essence even in the presence of surrender, where you no longer let external circumstances, people, or outcomes dictate your inner peace.
When you’re attached, your sense of self becomes entangled with something outside you, a person’s approval, a relationship outcome, a story about how things should have gone. Detachment gently unhooks that energy and brings it back home. It’s a sacred act of returning to your center, to the calm observer within you who can witness life without being consumed by it.
In essence, detachment is love without ownership and presence without expectation.
How it Heals Resentment and Anger
Resentment and anger often arise when our energy is still tied to the past, to unmet expectations, unspoken words, or the belief that someone else holds the key to our peace. Detachment transforms this by:
-Releasing the illusion of control. Anger thrives when we believe someone else should have acted differently. Detachment helps us see that we cannot rewrite another person’s sotry, only our relationship to it.
-Restoring energetic sovereignty. When we detach, we reclaim the energy that’s been scattered into old wounds or narratives. We stop reliving what hurts us and begin re-inhabiting our own wholeness.
-Creating space for compassion. Once you step back from the emotional charge, you can see that everyone, including you, was doing the best they could with the consciousness they had at the time. Compassion can only enter where control has been released.
-Reframing pain as a teacher. Detachment allows us to ask, “What was this trying to show me about myself?” rather than “Why did this happen to me?” That shift in perspective transforms wounds into wisdom.
The Role of Detachment in Remembering Your Essence
Your essence, the soul-self beneath conditioning, is already whole. But attachment to pain, identity, or story clouds that rememberence. Detachment clears the fog. It helps you return to the observer consciousness, the part of you that can hold both love and loss without needing either to define you.
Through detachment, you remember:
-You are not what happened to you.
-You are not the emotions that visit you.
-You are the still, luminous awareness beneath it all, the witness of your becoming.
A Gentle Practice:
When resentment or anger rise, try saying:
“I release the need to rewrite the past.
“I return my energy to the present”
“I bless what has been and make space for what is becoming”
With every breath of detachment, you’re not abandoning what was, you’re liberating your essence from its weight.
Remembering….
We are not here to reinvent ourselves…
We are here to remember. Your essence is the unbroken self you were born with-the one that existed before the wounding, before the roles, before the performance. It is still there, beneath the layers of survival, of striving, of stories you thought you had to carry.
To liberate you essence is to peel back what is not you—the resentment, the regret, the fear of not being enough. It is not about becoming something else. It is about coming home.
Every tear shed, every moment of stillness, every quiet breath is not a breakdown—it is a breakthrough.
It is your soul’s way of saying: I am still here. I have always been here.
Panic is not loud at first.
It begins as a flicker—
a glitch in the chest.
A sudden drop, like missing a step on the stairs.
A moment of Wait—What Was That?
Then the body remembers something the mind can’t control.
Panic is the heart falling through the floor
while the rest of you is still standing.
It’s the rush of adrenaline with nowhere to go.
The sensation that something terrible is about to happen, even when you’re sitting in a quiet room.
Your skin feels too tight.
Your thoughts get too sharp, fast, wild.
There’s a pressure behind your ribs like you haven’t breathed in hours, even though you’re breathing too much.
Your world narrows to one job:
Survive what isn’t actually happening.
You scan your body for danger—
your chest, your pulse, your throat.
You notice every sensation and call it a threat.
Your mind searches for an exit even when there is nothing to escape.
The room is the same,
but it no longer feels safe.
Panic is when fear is the loudest voice in the house.
It speaks with urgency and certainty.
It tells you this moment is life-or-death.
It does not care that you know the difference.
Your logic whispers.
Your fear screams.
And yet—panic is not proof of danger.
It is the body remembering an old story
and sounding the alarm before asking if anything has changed.
Panic is the body wanting to protect you
long after the danger is gone.
Which means panic is not your enemy.
It is your younger self still trying to save your life.
And healing is not silencing it—
but placing a hand on your heart
and whispering back:
I hear you.
I know you’re scared.
But we are not in danger anymore.
