When My Nutribullet Broke: Finding Meaning in Everyday Moments of Letting Go

Today, my Nutribullet from 2014 broke.

The container — the one that’s blended thousands of smoothies, juices, and life resets — no longer clicks into the base. I twisted, turned, and tried again. Nothing. Just a dull resistance where a once-effortless connection used to be.

And to my surprise, I felt angry. Then sad. Really sad.

I stood there staring at it, as if something much bigger had just happened.

It wasn’t just a blender. It was a timeline.

That Nutribullet has been with me for more than a decade. Through new homes, new dreams, countless mornings of starting again. It travelled with me through chapters of reinvention, healing, heartbreak, and hope.

It was a quiet companion in my commitment to health — part of my ritual of coming back to myself. So when it broke, it wasn’t just the loss of a machine; it was like saying goodbye to a piece of my own story.

The emotions behind the object

I think my reaction wasn’t really about plastic threads and worn gears. It was about connection. That blender witnessed my journey into health and self-care before “wellness” became a word on everyone’s lips. It represented consistency when everything else felt uncertain.

When it finally gave in, something inside me resisted too.

Maybe because it reminded me that everything — even the constants we rely on — eventually changes form.

A quiet letting go

After the initial frustration, I found myself smiling through the tears. Ten years is a long time for anything to last. That little machine gave me energy, clarity, and a daily act of self-love for over a decade.

So maybe today wasn’t about loss at all. Maybe it was an invitation to evolve — to honour what has served its purpose and make space for the next chapter.

What I learned

Sometimes, when we feel big emotions over small things breaking, it’s not about the thing. It’s about the memories, meaning, and energy it holds.

And it’s okay to feel that.

It’s okay to mourn the ordinary — because in the rhythm of the everyday, that’s where life truly lives.

Maybe today, I’ll look for a new blender.

But now, I’m just taking a moment to honour the old one — and all the versions of me it faithfully nourished.