The big bad monkey clung tightly to its mother, wrapping its long arms around her fur and refusing to let go. To anyone watching, it might have looked almost funny—a grown, powerful monkey acting like a frightened baby. But there was nothing playful about the grip. It was desperate, heavy, and unrelenting.
The mother monkey tried to move, but every step was slowed by the weight hanging from her side. She had places to go, food to find, and younger ones to watch over. Still, the big monkey tightened its hold, pressing its face against her shoulder as if the world would fall apart the moment it touched the ground.
At first, the mother’s patience held. She shifted carefully, murmuring low warning sounds, hoping the big monkey would understand. It was no longer small. It no longer needed constant protection. The jungle had taught it how to climb, fight, and survive. Yet fear—or stubbornness—kept it frozen in place.
Minutes passed, then longer. The mother’s muscles burned. Her breathing grew sharp. What began as concern slowly turned into frustration. She wasn’t angry because she didn’t care; she was angry because caring had become a burden. Love, when it is held too tightly, can hurt both the giver and the receiver.
With a sudden shake, the mother tried to free herself. The big monkey screeched in protest, clinging harder, refusing to listen. That was the moment her patience snapped. She bared her teeth and cried out, a clear message that this could not continue.
The jungle is not gentle to those who refuse to grow. The mother knew that letting go was necessary, even if it caused pain. Eventually, the big bad monkey loosened its grip and dropped to the ground, stunned and afraid—but standing on its own.
Sometimes, anger is not cruelty. Sometimes, it is the final push needed to make someone strong enough to walk alone.
