No One Teaches Us How to Let Go.
“You only lose what you cling to.”
– Buddha (or any man after a divorce, bankruptcy, or ego death)
Letting go sounds peaceful in theory.
Like a leaf falling from a tree.
Like something gentle. Elegant. Wise.
In reality, it’s a bloodbath.
Because no one teaches us how to let go.
They teach us how to hold on.
To grind. To commit. To fix.
To persist, no matter how much it costs.
We’re told:
“Don’t give up.”
“Stick it out.”
“Fight for it.”
And sometimes that’s right. But not always.
Sometimes holding on isn’t strength - it’s fear.
And until we learn how to let go with clarity and courage, we’ll keep mistaking attachment for purpose, and stuckness for loyalty.
We Hold On Because We Think Letting Go Means Losing.
Letting go feels like death.
Because part of it is.
It’s the death of an identity, a fantasy, a story we’ve wrapped around our worth.
We hold on to:
Relationships that have expired.
Friendships that drain us.
Careers that defined us ten years ago but now leave us hollow.
Ideas of who we should be.
Wounds we don’t know how to live without.
We think if we let go, we lose control.
We lose love.
We lose a version of ourselves we’re scared to meet without the anchor of what came before.
But here’s the truth:
Letting go doesn’t mean giving up. It means growing up.
No One Modelled It For Us.
Who taught you how to let go?
Did you ever watch a man release something with grace?
Not walk away in anger.
Not cut ties out of spite.
Not numb out, ghost, avoid, or burn bridges on the way down.
But actually let go - with love, with integrity, with strength?
Probably not.
Most of us were taught exit through drama or denial.
We watched men bury feelings until they snapped.
We saw them trade peace for power.
Or pretend they didn’t care, even when it was killing them.
So now we overstay, overwork, overthink -
trying to make endings feel like victories instead of grief.
But grief is not failure.
Grief is the price of living with your heart open.
And learning to grieve well is one of the most masculine things a man can do.
The Turning Point: Letting Go Is an Act of Power.
There’s a lie we tell ourselves:
“I can’t let go until I understand it.”
“I can’t move on until it’s resolved.”
“I can’t release this until it feels fair.”
Let me be blunt:
Life doesn’t owe you closure.
People don’t owe you understanding.
Pain doesn’t have to make sense for you to leave it behind.
Letting go is not about certainty.
It’s about trust.
Trusting that you’re still whole without what you’ve lost.
Trusting that peace is better than the illusion of control.
Trusting that you can move forward without having it all figured out.
It’s not soft. It’s savage.
It’s saying, “This hurts like hell - and I’m still walking.”
That’s what makes it powerful.
What Letting Go Actually Looks Like.
Unfollowing without bitterness.
Declining the invite with no explanation.
Turning down the project that strokes your ego but drains your soul.
Deleting the draft of the message you wanted to send just to get the last word.
Ending the friendship that only lives on nostalgia.
Mourning the man you thought you were supposed to become - and making space for who you actually are.
It’s not a grand gesture. It’s a daily decision.
To choose space over story.
Stillness over drama.
Freedom over familiarity.
The Real-World Task: Name What Needs to Die.
Tonight, take ten quiet minutes.
Ask yourself, with full honesty:
“What am I still clinging to that’s already gone?”
Write the answers down. No filters. No fluff.
Then pick one.
Just one.
And take a symbolic action to release it.
Delete the contact. Burn the letter. Cancel the recurring payment. Close the tab. Return the sweatshirt.
Doesn’t matter what it is.
What matters is this:
You practice letting go.
Not once. Not perfectly. But on purpose.
That’s where your power begins.
Reflective Exercise: Letting Go With Honour.
What am I afraid will happen if I let go of this?
What has holding on cost me?
What version of me is clinging to this - and is that man still who I want to be?
If I let go fully, what might I make room for?
What would it mean to honour the past without being ruled by it?
Don’t rush. Write it all. Then sit in the silence that follows.
That’s where the medicine is.
Reading List:
The Untethered Soul – Michael A. Singer
Letting Go: The Pathway of Surrender – David R. Hawkins
Broken Open – Elizabeth Lesser
Falling Upward – Richard Rohr
The Wisdom of Insecurity – Alan Watts
