The art of letting go

We have all heard the phrase countless times: Just let it go. As though it were something simple. As though we could decide, in a single moment, to release what hurts and move on. But if letting go were that easy, wouldn't we all do it?

I have found myself in this space many times—genuinely wanting to let go of something that no longer serves me, yet somehow finding that it continues to linger beneath the surface. The reason I felt drawn to write about this is because I was in this exact space just recently, and in that it dawned on me that letting go is important yes, but perhaps not always so easy.

I had been noticing an underlying sense of irritation within myself. A subtle tension that quietly followed me through my days and kept me from feeling the joy and peace I longed for. At first, I did what I always do when I feel disconnected from myself. I returned to my rituals. I meditated in the mornings, practiced breath work, spent time in nature and continued tending to the habits that usually support me.

And while these things are deeply nourishing, this feeling remained. Isn't that sometimes the way? No matter how much we focus on the things we know are good for us, we still don't feel the way we hoped we would. It can feel frustrating. Confusing, even. We begin to wonder if something is wrong with us.

What I have come to realise is that sometimes our desire to feel better can become so strong that we unknowingly turn away from the very thing that needs our attention. We become focused on creating more joy, more calm, more peace—when perhaps what we truly need is to acknowledge our sadness, our anger or our disappointment, because they also are allowed to exist.

Because beneath the tension, there is often something waiting to be felt. An old wound. A lingering hurt. A grief we haven't allowed ourselves to process. A moment when someone crossed a boundary or let us down. This, to me, is a big part of what slow living is all about. Not simply moving more slowly, but creating enough space to hear ourselves. To notice what is happening beneath the surface. To allow our emotions to exist without rushing to fix, suppress or move past them.

When I finally became curious about the tension I had been carrying instead of trying to override it, something unexpected appeared. I realized I was holding onto anger from a specific experience where I had been deeply hurt by someone else's actions. I thought I had moved on. I thought I was fine. But I hadn't truly allowed myself to feel what had happened. I hadn't given myself permission to grieve, to cry or to acknowledge how much it had affected me.

Part of me felt ashamed.

I told myself I should be stronger than this. That I shouldn't let someone else's actions affect me so deeply especially when they are so far from who I know I am in my heart. But feelings don't disappear simply because we decide we shouldn't have them, and just because we might have healed and created a beautiful life of inner peace with clear boundaries doesn´t mean we won´t ever feel hurt or be affected by someone else´s actions. I somehow thought I was - immune (as silly as that might sound)!?

Emotions wait patiently for us to listen. I think this is why the advice to just let it go can feel so frustrating. Because letting go is rarely a single decision. The deeper the wound, the more it asks of us.

It asks for honesty. For patience. For compassion. For time. And sometimes, before we can let something go, we first need to allow ourselves to fully feel it.

This is why creating space in our ordinary lives becomes so important, because in these moment we are giving ourselves the chance at connecting within, to feel, listen and hold space - not just for the beautiful parts of ourselves, but the messy and hurt ones to (instead of over-riding everything and keeping up with the fast pace of the world).

A few days ago, I went for a run through town along the water. I put on loud, upbeat music and let my body move. And somewhere along that path, I began to cry. Not quietly. Not gracefully. I cried my eyes out! And yes, there were people looking, but I just allowed them to because this was my moment and I needed it deeply.

In that moment, I finally allowed myself to feel everything I had been carrying. The sadness. The disappointment. The anger (turned out I was actually really angry when I was honest with myself). The betrayal. And with every tear, I felt something begin to soften. Not disappear completely. But loosen its grip. I felt like I could breath again!

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As I write this, I feel a tremendous sense of relief that I didn't feel just a few days ago. Not because I forced myself to let go. But because I finally gave myself permission to feel. I think this is what I am continuing to learn, that every time we feel uncomfortable, unsure or some type of pain, they always carry a message for us, something that needs our attention because there is something here for us to learn. From this specific experience, I have learned that no matter how many good intentions I have in my heart, focus on my own growth, happiness and show up for others - sometimes it won´t be enough, sometimes (or rather with some people) it simply won´t land or be seen. And that is okey. Because people project their own internal world and people can only meet you as deep as they have met themselves (I love that phrase).

Perhaps that is what letting go truly is. Not pushing our emotions away. Not pretending we are unaffected. But meeting ourselves with enough honesty and compassion that what we are carrying no longer needs to stay hidden. Because healing is rarely neat or linear. It unfolds in its own time. It asks us to trust the process, even when it feels messy, unclear or uncomfortable.

And maybe that is the invitation. Not to rush ourselves toward feeling better (I do this all the time). But to slow down enough to listen. To honor what hurts. To trust that, in time, what needs to leave us will. And when it does, what remains is often something beautiful:

Relief.

Space.

Softness.

And the quiet freedom that comes from finally setting something down.

Lots of love,

Stina