The Art of Letting Go

There’s this thing I’ve been thinking about a lot lately—letting go. Not in the casual, "Oh, let me drop this coffee cup" kind of way, but the deep, messy, soul-wrenching kind of letting go. The kind that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the void, and choosing to jump anyway because holding on is somehow scarier.

And let me tell you, I’m not great at it.

I hold on to things. Memories. Words. People. Sometimes it feels like my mind is this overstuffed suitcase bursting at the seams, with memories poking out like mismatched socks. You know, like when someone said something offhanded five years ago, and you still think about it every other Tuesday? Yeah. That’s me.

But here’s the kicker: holding on doesn’t feel good. It’s heavy. It’s like dragging a boulder around everywhere you go, pretending it’s just a quirky accessory. And yet, letting go? That feels like asking a part of yourself to disappear.

I remember this one night—it’s burned into my brain like a bad tattoo. I was sitting on the floor of my apartment, the kind of sit where you’re not really sitting but collapsing, with my back against the couch. There was an empty wine glass on the coffee table (it was definitely not my first), and some sad acoustic playlist was playing in the background. You know the type—melancholy but not too intense. I stared at my phone, scrolling through old texts like they held the meaning of life. Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

Why was I doing this to myself?

Because I was holding on to something—or maybe someone—that was already gone. A friendship, a relationship, a version of myself that didn’t exist anymore. It’s funny how you can miss something even when it’s not good for you. Like, why does my brain romanticize things that, in reality, made me cry into my pillow more nights than I’d care to admit?

Anyway, that night, something shifted.

I don’t know if it was the third glass of wine or the fact that the playlist shuffled to that one song—you know the one. The kind of song that feels like it was written just for you, like the universe is reaching out and shaking you by the shoulders. And in that moment, I realized something I’d been avoiding for months: I had to let go.

Not just of the person or the situation, but of the narrative I’d built around it. The story I kept telling myself about how things should’ve been, how I could’ve fixed it if I’d just tried harder, been better, whatever. It hit me like a ton of bricks—I wasn’t mourning the loss of them. I was mourning the version of me I thought I’d be if they’d stayed.

Ouch, right?

But here’s the thing: letting go isn’t this grand, dramatic act. It’s not like the movies where someone throws a box of memories into the ocean and walks away in slow motion. (Although, full disclosure, I did consider doing something like that.) It’s smaller. Softer. More like the quiet decision to stop opening that old photo album every time you feel lonely. Or choosing not to text someone when you know the conversation will leave you worse off than before.

It’s not easy. God, no. Sometimes it feels impossible, like trying to untangle a knot that’s been there so long it’s practically fused together. But every time you manage to loosen just one little strand, it gets lighter.

I wish I could say I’ve mastered it. That I’m this enlightened, Zen-like person who floats through life unbothered. But the truth? I’m still learning. Still fumbling through the messiness of it all, still holding on to things longer than I should. But I’m trying.

And trying counts for something, doesn’t it?

Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

You Don’t Have to Forgive to Let Go.

Okay, controversial take, but hear me out. Forgiveness is amazing, sure, but sometimes it’s not realistic—at least not right away. Letting go doesn’t mean you’re okay with what happened. It just means you’re choosing not to let it define you anymore. And that’s powerful.

Closure is Overrated.

This one took me years to accept. I used to think I couldn’t move on without some grand gesture or heartfelt conversation where all loose ends were tied up. But sometimes closure isn’t about answers; it’s about deciding that the chapter is over, even if the ending feels unfinished.

Feel All the Feels.

Letting go isn’t about pretending you’re fine when you’re not. It’s about making space for every messy, complicated emotion that comes up—grief, anger, nostalgia, even love. Especially love. Feel it all. Let it wash over you. And then, slowly, let it ebb away.

It’s Not Linear.

Oh, this one’s a doozy. Just when you think you’ve moved on, something—a song, a smell, a random Tuesday afternoon—pulls you right back. And that’s okay. Healing isn’t a straight path. It’s more like a squiggly, looping line that eventually, hopefully, leads you forward.

The more I talk about this, the more I realize how universal it is. We’re all holding on to something, aren’t we? A relationship, a dream that didn’t pan out, a version of ourselves we’re scared to leave behind. And we’re all, in our own ways, trying to figure out how to let go.

So if you’re reading this and feeling like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, know this: you’re not alone. And you don’t have to do it all at once. Start small. One moment, one memory, one strand of that knot at a time.

And when it feels like too much, remember this: letting go isn’t about losing. It’s about making space. For new memories, new dreams, new versions of yourself. For lightness.

It’s not the end. It’s a beginning.

And isn’t that kind of beautiful?

If this resonated with you—if you’ve ever found yourself tangled in the chaos of holding on and wondering how to let go—know that you’re not alone on this journey. Life is messy, beautiful, and full of moments that shape us, even when we least expect it.

For more heartfelt stories, reflections, and advice on navigating life’s ups and downs, visit www.digitalzenzone.com. It’s a space where I share insights, tips, and experiences to help us all find a little more clarity and calm in this whirlwind we call life.

Let’s keep growing, one step at a time. 🌿