A Season of Lint: When Clearing Hurts
March 11, 2026
Spelunking for that lost sock wasn’t as simple as reaching down and picking it up. It was also about noticing what was hidden behind the dryer. But no biggie, right? Just grab the vacuum and suck it all up! Presto!
Well….maybe not so much.
In my eagerness to get things cleared away in the laundry room, I banged the crevice tool into the dryer vent line and…I said WORDS! I said many WORDS!
Turns out there’s a big difference between clearing the lint trap and clearing the vent line. The lint trap is superficial — easy to reach, expected. Even the junk on the floor behind the dryer isn’t such a big deal.
But the vent line? That’s altogether another story, one that’s compacted, layered, and older than you think. Upon beginning to clear it, I realized something uncomfortable: this stuff has been here for a long time.
Lent and Letting Go
Not all accumulation begins as a problem. Some of it starts innocently enough as protection. We learn to stay quiet because speaking up has cost us. We maintain a bit of a sharp edge because softness feels unsafe. Control those details because chaos is overwhelming. Withdraw because being abandoned hurts.
These coping strategies work for a while. They keep us steady, help us survive, and serve as a kind of emotional insulation. But after a while, sometimes what once kept us safe now keeps us stuck.
Which brings up the harder question: What am I holding onto that no longer serves the person I want to become? The better version of myself!
And Lent is still here, pressing gently on the places we’ve grown accustomed to. To what’s accumulated. To what’s hiding out in the corners. To what’s clogging the vents.
This is where clearing begins to hurt. Because letting go is rarely theoretical.
When Clearing Feels Like Loss
Sometimes release feels like losing an old, familiar part of ourselves. We’ve been carrying the weight so long it hurts to put it down and stand upright.
If I’m not the one who fixes things, who am I? If I’m not the strong one, the steady one, the responsible one, who am I? If I’m not the doormat who always goes along to get along, who am I? If I’m not the one doing the heavy lifting in this friendship, who am I?
Letting go of an identity — even a constricting one — can feel disorienting. But just like the dryer vent — it’s hard to be the best versions of ourselves if we’re filled to overflowing with what best belongs to yesterday, not today.
Clearing isn’t erasing ourselves, but it is honing away what doesn’t belong. And sometimes the process of divesting is painful.
The Harder Way
The deeper we move into Lent, the more we see Jesus deliberately choosing the narrowing path.
Consider how Jesus doesn’t shout a defense of himself from the rooftops. He’s not wrestling for control. He avoids forced outcomes. Instead, the Lenten story allows space for misunderstanding, abandonment, and loss.
And there’s a resilient strength in the restraint — there’s courage in the winnowing.
Lent invites us into a smaller version of that same courage. How can we clear? How do we narrow our own paths? How do we loosen our grip on the habits that no longer fit who we are becoming?
A Question and an Invitation
A Question: What are you holding tightly right now — a habit, a posture, an identity — that once protected you but may now be restricting you?
An Invitation: This week, what would one small act of release or loosening your grip look like?
Because it’s possible to offer an apology without an explanation. Because it’s okay to allow someone else to have the last word or admit you were wrong without adding a “but.” Because you can surrender the facade of being “the reasonable one.” Because it’s okay to wish someone well and then walk away.
Sometimes this kind of clearing stings, and it doesn’t always feel triumphant. Sometimes clearing costs pride or feels impossibly tender. But it also moves you one step closer to being the person you most want to be.
With you in the clearing,
Next week: Repair is rarely dramatic — but it may be the bravest work we do.