This is a symbolic story about the faith I inherited—what it gave me, what it took from me, and the weight it carried. Told through the metaphor of a backpack, it reflects the journey of growing up believing I had everything I needed, only to discover that much of what I was carrying wasn’t mine to begin with.

At first, the backpack made me feel safe. Certain. Part of something bigger. But as I got older, it began to hurt—physically, emotionally, spiritually. The tools stopped working. The answers didn’t fit. And yet, I kept carrying it, because I was told I had to.

This piece is about the quiet moment when that changed. When I set it down. When I looked inside. When I finally asked: What have I been carrying all this time?

For anyone who’s ever inherited belief, identity, or expectation without being asked—this is for you.

If this story stirred something in you— if you’ve ever felt the weight of something you didn’t choose, if you’ve ever questioned what you were handed and wondered what was really yours— just know: you’re not alone.

I carried it too. For a long time. And I’m still learning what to let go of, what to hold on to, and how to walk with my own breath in my lungs.

If you want to reach out, share your story, or just connect, you can email me at gofund.me/7ebb0524, or grab something meaningful from clemenzwithaz.com to help keep this space alive.

Until next time— set it down if you need to. Breathe deep. And remember: you get to choose what you carry now.

Peace.