What Happens When You Lose Your Anchor?

Last week, our discussion prompt asked: What anchors your growth into daily life? And what happens when you lose that anchor?

The first half was easy enough. People named their relationships, their family, and this community. Others named internal anchors, like grounding and self-acceptance. God and faith came up too, sitting on either side depending on whether you experience it as something outside you or a flame you carry within.

It was the second half that stuck with me—what happens when you lose it? The more we talked about loss, the more we ended up asking a deeper question: what is an anchor in the first place?

Because for some of us, what we were calling an anchor was really something we were clinging to. And an anchor you cling to isn’t holding you where you choose to be; it’s just keeping you stuck. I know that difference intimately, because I’ve lived both sides of it with the exact same things.

Today, my anchors are simple: my community, my family, and my partnership. My partner and I have spent the last few years cultivating a community of authentic people, and it’s a space I keep coming back to. My family is reliable, and while I know that isn’t everyone’s story, they’ve been there even when we didn’t like each other. And my partnership acts as a mirror, showing me every day how to be more grounded in love and present right now. I know that everything in life is temporary, but these are my conscious choices—and that choice is what makes them true anchors.

It hasn’t always been that way, though. At different points in my life, those exact three things were attachments. I’ve been part of unhealthy communities. I’ve lived through strained seasons with family. I’ve spent stretches holding onto things that weren’t good for me, like unrequited love. Same three elements, but I wasn’t choosing them back then—I was gripping them.

I’m not sure I ever fully “figured it out” during those heavy moments. What I’ve come to believe is that reality conspires in our favor, even when it feels like it’s pulling us under. Life, God, the universe—whatever you call it—moves like a river. When we cling to something out of fear, when we get stuck and forget that we’re the ones holding the chain, the river shakes us loose. The harder we grip, the harder it shakes. I think life would rather shake us hard than let us stay stuck forever.

That’s how most of my old attachments ended. Some fell apart on their own. Others I let go of once I finally got honest with myself—like one I couldn’t release until I admitted I was just deeply lonely. It wasn’t a grand revelation, just a quiet truth I had been avoiding. And even then, I didn’t get it right immediately; I went around that cycle more than once before it stuck.

So what actually happens when you lose an anchor?

Here’s where I’ve landed: I don’t think a healthy anchor can ever really be lost, because a healthy anchor is you. The people and places we call anchors are mirrors and reminders. They reflect what’s already inside us, or remind us of it when we forget. What we actually lose is the gripping—the attachment. And since both the healthy anchor and the unhealthy attachment start inside us, that means we are the ones who get to choose. The anchors that served you in the past got you to this point, and you wouldn’t be who you are without them. So thank them—and then pull them up if your ready to keep flowing. That’s where the real growth lives in the choice. Ayahuasca doesn’t change your life; you do. Ceremony might break through your walls or let you feel untethered for a night, but integration is bringing that feeling home and building it into your everyday choices.

Anchors define our reality. They can tie us to places we were meant to move on from, or they can be steadfast reminders of the truths we hold dear. The difference is simply remembering that your hand is on the chain.

So where do your anchors hold you? What truths are they tied to? Which ones are you choosing, and which ones are you gripping out of fear, loneliness, or a story you haven’t faced yet?

If one of them were taken away tomorrow, what would be left? I’d bet it’s more than you think. The part worth holding onto was never out there anyway. It was you all along.

You don’t have to cut anything loose today. Just notice. Be honest. Be gentle with yourself. And trust the river—it’s been carrying you the right way the whole time.