Letting go – what is it?
When Searching Becomes an Inner Journey
When what is called spirituality today began to open up within me in a completely new way, it was as if a door—I didn't even know it truly existed—suddenly stood ajar. It was not something I had been looking for before, nor was it something I could explain—but it was real.
There was a depth there that called to me, a longing to understand what it was I was experiencing, what it meant, and where it wanted to lead me.
In my search for answers, a completely new language emerged.
Words, expressions, and symbols that were used as if they were already self-evident. I wanted to understand them, not just repeat them. I wanted to feel them from within, so that they could have real meaning for me.
It is human to seek meaning when something changes
Longing itself carries a direction. When something begins to move deep within us, it is an invitation to listen more closely, to be attentive to what wants to reveal itself.
One of the expressions that came back to me often was:
“Let go.”
I carried a large, deep question mark within about what it really meant. And far beyond theory and mantras, I needed a lived experience in the body and in the heart. Question after question circled in my mind, without a clear answer or path to follow.
What is it really that one holds onto?
Are they memories?
Interpretations?
Identities?
Roles?
Feelings that were once true, but no longer carry in the same way?
And how do you do something like that in practice—let go—in the midst of real feelings, real relationships, real memories, and real life?
It was as if the words pointed to something deep, but the path there itself was silent.
For many years I carried a confusion that settled in both the body and the soul. I felt trapped in circumstances I had not created, events that held me back even though I tried to move on. And perhaps you are standing there now and wondering: How do you let go?
What it does not mean to let go
When I first heard the expression “Let go” in the spiritual context, in healing, I tried to understand it with my mind. I thought it might mean that I should forget, stop feeling, move on, or close the door to something that had hurt.
But trying to force yourself not to feel, not to remember, not to long, or not to care—that does not create freedom, but tension. It puts a lid on the heart, and it makes the breath shorter, not deeper.
Letting go does not mean:
- shutting down your feelings when it comes to what hurt
- forgetting something that was important
- pretending that something never hurt
- “forgiving” before the body is ready
- forcing yourself to move on
- cutting off parts of yourself or your history
And it is not an achievement. It is not something you can decide in your head. It is not something you can force. If we try to let go before we have fully understood what we are holding, the body feels it.
It says, more or less quietly:
“Not yet.”
And that is not a failure.
It is wisdom.
It is certainly meant kindly when someone says “you need to let go”. It may come from care, from goodwill, from the desire to help.
But the words themselves do not show the way.
They do not tell what one is holding onto, or how to let the grip soften. And when what feels strong inside does not get its place or its time, the words can almost feel empty—as if something important is lost between the lines.
Letting go cannot be summoned. It cannot be ordered. It needs to grow from within, when the body is ready, when the heart has caught up with the mind, when the feeling has been allowed to exist and be heard.
And sometimes letting go is about something still:
approaching what we have long turned away from. Giving it time, daring to see what we previously have not had the strength to bring into the light. It can be sides of ourselves that have been pushed aside. Old feelings that never got words. Memories that have continued to speak, even when we thought we had moved on.
Letting go can begin at the moment when one is ready to look at their shadows—their traumas, their wounds—with presence, gentleness, and recognition. Letting them exist there as a part of our history, as something that actually belonged to us.
When something is allowed to be seen, it can also begin to soften.
What it can mean to let go
The first thing that became clear to me personally was that I did not understand how I could let go. I did not know how to do it, or where in the body it happens. Not when it would be time. But over time I realized that letting go is not an action. It is not something we do.
It is something that happens when:
- what once hurt has been acknowledged
- the feeling, the pain, the grief has finally been allowed to exist
- the story has been given its place
And suddenly we notice:
Something in us no longer holds on as tightly. The breath goes a little deeper. There is more room inside.
It is not big. Nothing dramatic.
It is quiet.
When we get to grow together with our experiences
For many, it rarely begins with a great insight or a clear direction. It more often begins with curiosity, a feeling that something within us is moving and wants to be understood—even if we may not know what it means yet. It can feel as if something is calling, but in such a gentle way that it is almost just a whisper. And for some, it comes as a greater impulse, almost like a nudge from within, that says: “look here.” It usually comes first as a feeling, long before a truth or an answer becomes visible.
In the curiosity that follows, it becomes natural to seek contact with others who also feel, wonder, and explore. Conversations open, relationships form, questions are shared. We try our way forward, often with uncertainty about whether the steps are “right” or “wrong.” We learn by feeling, and the meanings that circulate around us—such as “let go”—become true only when they have slowly grown within ourselves.
Otherwise, the path can become fragile. One can lose their footing. Doubts can grow. Feelings can swell up that we are still seeking a way to meet. It can feel as if one is lost for a while.
But even that is ultimately a part of the path.
It does not indicate failure; it shows that something within us is being reshaped. It takes time for the inner self to rearrange, to understand what is old and what is new, to feel the difference between what belonged then and what belongs now. When it happens, it can feel uncertain—but it is precisely that uncertainty that is often a transition, a place where the old has let go and the new is still waiting to take shape.
It is an open place.
A place where nothing needs to be rushed.
A place where the next step gets to grow by itself.
Sometimes one continues immediately, perhaps even too fast, almost in the same breath. Other times we manage to stop, rest, or let something land before the next step comes.
The important thing is never the pace.
The important thing is rarely to understand everything.
The most important thing is that the movement remains.
That something in us continues to want to move on, even when the steps are small.
Everything has its meaning on our personal paths
Insights often land only afterward. How letting go takes shape, how the phrase “let go” is understood, and how the process develops—that is something that grows from within. Everyone finds their way there on their own path, at their own pace.
Sometimes understanding comes much later, when the heart and body have caught up with the mind. When what we have been through has had time to sink in and weave together into something coherent. Then it feels like something that has finally landed where it belongs.
Letting go is often a process of trying one's way forward, slowly and gently. Letting thoughts, feelings, and experiences meet at their own pace, free from the pursuit of a quick answer. No one is expected to know the way from the beginning. The path becomes clear as it is lived.
It is through experience that something changes deeply. Through what has been felt in the body, far more than what has been thought in the mind. That is why it can take time.
It is not a delay, it is maturity.
A gentle rooting into what is true, step by step.
This is how I understand it today, at least.
And understanding gets to continue growing.
Just as I.
Just as you.
When presence gets to lead
Approaching letting go is primarily about daring to be with what once hurt. What damaged, wounded, shook you.
A gentle way to begin is to become attentive to the moment when something within you tenses—and let it exist there, as it is—at its own pace and without any demand for answers. When the tension is allowed to be seen, the breath can slowly find its way back.
Uncertainty is also allowed to take its place here. Everything needs time before it is understood. The feeling comes first, understanding later. The heart has its own rhythm, and it moves at a completely different pace than the mind.
If it feels supportive, you can, for example, place a hand on your chest or stomach in such moments.
Breathe in slowly.
Breathe out even more slowly.
Listen inward with your whole self, beyond the filter of the mind.
It is in presence, more than in action, that letting go can begin.
There are moments when inspiration comes from outside: through healing, different forms of therapy, conversations, or a course.
The shift itself needs to take shape within first. In the moment when the body is ready to soften and what has long been held tightly gets to breathe for the first time with and within you.
Letting go is never something we force.
It happens.
When the time is ripe.
When there is room.
When something inside says: now.
A moment of stillness
There are moments when something within draws back to catch up. As if the inner self needs the silence to hear itself again.
To feel, free from demands, free from resistance, and at its own pace.
In such moments, the breath can begin to change by itself, almost imperceptibly.
Because the body remembers the feeling of being allowed to breathe freely from tension.
And sometimes, in the midst of the utterly simple, the words can come:
“I get to take it one day at a time.”
As something still.
As a natural movement inward.
Just as a gentle gesture inward, saying that it is allowed to be as it is right now.
In the still room between inhalation and exhalation, what has been tense can begin to loosen.
Gently and at its own pace.
And if it ever feels like the body wants to be with it a little more,
you can let it do so in its own way. Through a movement, perhaps through a sigh, or by simply sitting still for a little longer.
There is nothing to do right or perfectly.
Where everything gets to take its shape in peace and quiet
There is nothing in you that needs to disappear for you to be able to move on. Feelings that still feel alive, memories that still speak, and parts of you that once protected something important are allowed to remain. Everything that has been in you has had a place, a meaning, and a time.
And there is no reason to hurry. There is no level you must reach and no point you need to arrive at now. You get to be exactly where you are, in the rhythm that is your own, in the process that is already ongoing within you.
What you are holding onto will begin to let go when it has been acknowledged and received. When it has been allowed to be felt fully, when you have lived through it, and when it no longer requires being held on as tightly.
Letting go happens through stillness. It happens when the body is ready, when the heart has caught up, and when something inside slowly begins to soften.
It is a path that rarely moves forward in clear steps and directions. It resembles more an inner movement that slowly settles into place, at the pace that is possible to carry.
Life continues to grow from within, by letting go of control and allowing it to take the shape it needs to take, right now.
And in that, a quiet wholeness can be found, like a soft certainty in the wordless:
That what is, gets to be here.
That what was, gets to have been.
And that what is to come, gets to come in its time.
© by HerMine’s