Letting go – what is it?
When the search becomes an inner journey
When what is today called spirituality began to open up within me in a completely new way, it was as if a door – which I didn't even know truly existed – suddenly stood ajar. It wasn't something I was 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 I was experiencing, what it meant, and where it wanted to lead me.
In my search for answers, a whole 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's human to seek meaning when something changes
Longing itself carries a direction. When something begins to stir 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 often recurred for me was:
“Let go.”
I carried a big, deep question mark within me about what that truly meant. And far beyond theory and mantra, I needed a lived experience in my body and in my heart. Question after question circulated in my mind, without clear answers or a path to follow.
What is it one is really holding onto?
Is it memories?
Interpretations?
Identities?
Roles?
Feelings that were once true, but no longer carry the same weight?
And how does one do something like that in practice – let go – amidst real feelings, real relationships, real memories, and real lives?
It was as if the words pointed to something profound, but the path itself was silent.
For many years I carried a confusion that settled both in my body and in my soul. I felt trapped in circumstances I hadn't created, events that held me fast even though I tried to move on. And perhaps you are there now — wondering: How do you let go?
What letting go does not mean
When I first heard the expression “Let go” in a spiritual context, within healing, I tried to understand it with my mind. I thought it might mean 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 doesn't create freedom but tension. It puts a lid on the heart and makes the breath shorter, not deeper.
Letting go does not mean:
- shutting off your emotions when it comes to what has 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's not an achievement. It's not something you can decide to do in your head. It's not something you can force. If we try to let go before we have fully understood what we are holding onto, the body feels it.
It says, more or less quietly:
“Not yet.”
And that is not a failure.
It is wisdom.
It is certainly well-intentioned when someone says “you need to let go”. It can come from care, from goodwill, from the desire to help.
But the words themselves don't show the way.
They don't tell you what you're holding onto, or how to loosen your grip. And when what feels strong inside doesn't 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 urged. It cannot be commanded. 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 quiet:
approaching what we have long turned away from. Giving it time, daring to see what we previously couldn't bear to bring into the light. These can be sides of ourselves that have been pushed aside. Old feelings that never found words. Memories that continued to speak, even when we thought we had moved on.
Letting go can begin the moment one is ready to look at their shadows – their traumas, their wounds – with presence, gentleness, and recognition. To allow them to exist as a part of our history, as something that truly belonged to us.
When something is seen, it can also begin to soften.
What letting go can mean
The first thing that became clear to me personally was that I didn't understand how I could let go. I didn't know how to do it, 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, pain, sorrow has finally been allowed to exist
- the story has found its place
And suddenly we notice:
Something within us no longer holds on so tightly. The breathing goes a little deeper. There is more space inside.
It's not big. Nothing dramatic.
It is silent.
When we can grow together with our experiences
For many, it rarely begins with a grand insight or a clear direction. It often begins with a curiosity, a feeling that something within us is stirring and wants to be understood – even if we may not yet know what it means. It can feel like something is calling, but in such a soft way that it's almost just a whisper. And for some, it comes as a stronger impulse, almost like a nudge from within, saying: "look here." It usually comes first as a feeling, long before a truth or an answer appears.
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 unclear about whether the steps are "right" or "wrong." We learn by feeling, and the meanings that circulate around us – like "let go" – become true only when they have slowly grown within ourselves.
Otherwise, the path can become fragile. Footing can be lost. Doubts can grow. Emotions can swell that we are still trying to face. It can feel like you are lost for a while.
But even that is ultimately part of the path.
It doesn't show failure — it shows that something within is being reshaped. It takes time for the inner self to rearrange itself, to understand what is old and what is new, to feel the difference between what belonged then and what belongs now. When this happens, it can feel uncertain – but uncertainty itself is often a transition, a place where the old has let go and the new is still waiting for form.
It is an open place.
A place where nothing needs to be rushed.
A place where the next step can emerge on its own.
Sometimes you continue directly, perhaps even too fast, almost in the same breath. Other times, we manage to pause, rest, or let something settle 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 within us continues to want to move forward, even when the steps are small.
Everything has its meaning on our personal paths
Insights often land only afterwards. How letting go takes shape, how the phrase “let go” is understood, and how the process unfolds – that is something that grows from within. Each person finds their way there, at their own pace.
Sometimes, understanding comes much later, when the heart and body have caught up with the mind. When what we have experienced has had time to sink in and weave itself into something coherent. Then it feels like something has finally landed where it belongs.
Letting go is often a process of trying things out, slowly and gently. To allow thoughts, feelings, and experiences to meet at their own pace, free from the chase for 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, much more than what has been thought in the mind. Therefore, it can take time.
It is not a delay — it is maturation.
A gentle, ingrained growth into what is true, step by step.
This is at least how I understand it today.
And understanding is allowed to continue to grow.
Just like me.
Just like you.
When presence is allowed to lead
Approaching letting go is primarily about daring to be with what once hurt. Wounded, scarred, shook you.
A gentle way to begin is to become aware of the moment when something within you tenses up – and allow it to be there, as it is – at its own pace and without demands for answers. When the tension is allowed to show, the breath can slowly find its way back.
Uncertainty is also allowed to take 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 slower.
Listen inwards with your whole being, beyond the mind's filters.
This is where letting go begins – in presence, more than in action.
There are moments when inspiration comes from outside: through healing, various forms of therapy, conversations, or courses.
The shift itself takes shape internally, often later. In the moment when the body is ready to soften and what has long been held tight can breathe for the first time with and within you.
Letting go is never something we force.
It happens.
When the time is right.
When there is space.
When something inside says: now.
A moment of stillness
There are moments when something within withdraws 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 on its own, almost imperceptibly.
Because the body remembers the feeling of breathing freely from tension.
And sometimes, in the midst of the utterly simple, the words can come:
“I can take one day at a time.”
Like something still.
Like a natural inward movement.
Just a soft inward gesture, saying that it's allowed to be as it is right now.
In the quiet space between inhalation and exhalation, what has been tense can begin to loosen.
Not fully — just gently.
And at its own pace.
Just a little.
Enough to make it feel possible to be here.
And if it ever feels like the body wants to participate a little more,
you can let it do so in its own way.
Perhaps through a movement,
perhaps through a sigh,
or perhaps by just sitting still for a while longer.
There is nothing to do right.
There is nothing to finish.
Where everything is allowed to take its form in peace and quiet
There is nothing in you that needs to disappear for you to move forward. 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 existed in you has had a place, a meaning, and a time.
And there is no need to rush. There is no level you must reach and no point you need to arrive at now. You are allowed to be exactly where you are, in your own rhythm, in the process that is already unfolding within you.
What you hold onto will begin to release when it has been acknowledged and received. When it has been fully felt, when you have lived through it, and when it no longer demands to be held so tightly.
Letting go happens through stillness. It happens when the body is ready, when the heart has caught up, and when something within slowly begins to soften.
It is a path that rarely moves forward in clear steps and directions. It is more like an inner movement that slowly settles into place, at a pace that is bearable.
Life continues to grow from within, by us letting go of control and allowing it to take the form 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, is allowed to be here.
That what was, is allowed to have been.
That what comes, is allowed to come in its own time.
© by HerMine’s
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