“Sometimes letting things go is an act of far greater power than defending or hanging on.” ~ Eckhart Tolle

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We live in a world that loves to hang on.

We hang onto people. We hang onto things. We hang onto anger. We hang onto pain. We hang onto hurts. We hang onto regrets. We hang onto the stories we tell ourselves. We hang on desperately to the past. We hang onto how things used to be. We hold grudges. We do everything but let go when we should.

Some people think hanging on is a super power. The truth is, fear keeps us hanging on.

Letting go is hard. It’s scary. We aren’t really taught to let go because it’s perceived as the “easy” route, or even a weakness, when the reality is it takes strength and courage to let go and it takes self-awareness and compassion to let go with grace.

I’ve had my fair share of hanging on. Hanging on so tight my knuckles turned white. Hanging on out of fear to the point that I lost myself. Hanging onto the memories of how it “used to be.” I may have physically let go, but emotionally and energetically I was still hanging on for dear life. Because letting go is final. It’s real. It’s saying goodbye to hope in that situation. It’s coming to terms with finality. With the ending of that part of your life. And that can be so damn hard, as it can feel like your head, your heart, and your soul are at war with each other.

He came into my life with an energy that was hard to overlook. A presence that was magnetising. He couldn’t be ignored. He wouldn’t be ignored. The logical and sensible parts of myself tried feebly to be heard, but honestly, they didn’t stand a chance. My heart and soul were betraying my overthinking mind at every turn. My energy was drawn to his in an almost hypnotic way. Even when my logic and sense did speak up, it was no match for his words. He was captivating. He was like a force of nature. He would have said that I was captivating. He would have said I felt like his addiction. He would have said he couldn’t do life without me. He would have said I caused a red-hot heat within him. Indeed, he said all of these things. Indeed, those words did far more than charm the pants off me—they charmed my soul.

There was a chemistry and passion between us that was addictive. It was indescribable and unexplainable. It never dulled; instead it simmered, always hot. Always ready. Always leaving us wanting more. Always satisfied but with an insatiable appetite. There was a vulnerability and rawness that was fascinating and enticing. There was this heightened awareness whenever we were around each other. Everything felt more alive and colourful, like our combined energy was energising everything around us. It was a desirable place to be and we were fully immersed in the bubble.

But like all bubbles, they eventually burst. And those original reservations and logic crashed down upon me, almost crushing me. Because whilst there were all these amazing things, there was also this unhealthy jealousy that radiated from him. There were projections. There were cruel words that I tolerated and there was increasing selfishness. I was trying to fill all his voids and that was wrong. I became a shell of myself.

I had a choice that I refused to acknowledge, the choice between persevering and hanging on, or walking away and letting go. I hung on like it was the only choice there was. I hung on even though it was painful and hurtful. I hung on even though it was incredibly unhealthy. I hung on even though my needs were not being met. I hung on even though I knew there was a level of manipulation and control that was toxic. I hung on because I loved him. Or did I love the version of him I had created?

It’s not easy to see the toxicity when you’re drowning in your feelings and clinging onto the future you had planned out in your head. It’s not easy when you thought this was your person. It’s not easy when you made sacrifices, significant sacrifices, only to realise he was unwilling to sacrifice anything. It’s not easy to face the reality that this isn’t your person, as much as you want them to be, even if all that chemistry and attraction is still there. Sometimes it’s so bloody hard to be honest with yourself.

Yes, letting go is one of the hardest things to do. We are taught to “keep trying,” but how long do we try if it’s affecting our mental health? We are taught “not to give up,” but sometimes giving up is the safest, smartest, and healthiest thing to do. We are taught that walking away makes us “failures,” yet staying somewhere, with someone in a space that no longer serves us or is conducive to happiness, is seen as a sign of strength. This conditioning and belief system is harming people all over the world. Patterns and cycles don’t change unless we change them.

It was a despairing and gradual period of trying to let go, but really still hanging on. We ended, as we needed to do, but we still struggled with that decision. There was no screaming or harsh words said in those ending moments. There was no fighting. There was just a sad resignation that we had run our course. There were still a lot of feelings. There was grief. This immense loss and grief for the relationship we used to have. The future I thought we’d share. The man I thought he was. The woman that now felt lost. But there was also no finality because he kept “in touch,” so hope was still alive, even though I knew it was the right decision to end and move on. Even though I knew this relationship was damaging and emotionally harmful.

The following months were filled with intense periods of anguish. It was over. But he kept messaging me. Calling me. Wanting to see me in a “friend way.” He made it clear we could not continue, but at the same time he was expressing how hard it was to stay away, or even hide his attraction to me. It messed with my head. I thought I was making progress, but then I would plummet back into the rawness of that initial grief. It was so f*cking hard. How do you fully let go and move forward if you keep being pulled back? It was clear we both were wrestling with the past and battling the thoughts of a future without each other. But that didn’t stop the knowing and deep understanding that our relationship could not continue. He was with someone else and he needed to focus on that and commit to that, but instead he lived in this in-between space. And it was wrong.

I can’t tell you how long it took to let go, but it was a few years. Emotionally and energetically it was like a tug of war, and sometimes I felt like I was going around in circles. Back and forth. Up and down. It was exhausting. I could still feel his energy and it felt draining. I cried so many tears and my heart and soul felt splintered for longer than I care to admit.

What I didn’t do was search for external validation. I didn’t look for another relationship, or even a casual lover. I knew that would only mask my pain and provide a temporary fix. That’s no way to let go because you’re simply distracting yourself from the inevitable grieving and letting go process. I needed to work through that disconnect from him on every level before jumping into something else. I needed to let go.

I did let go over time. Early on, I muted his social media as a way to pull back. I didn’t have the strength at that time to fully disconnect or block. But I found his viewing of my stories and things a mix of complicated and stressful, but also, I hate to admit, I got a dopamine hit from that and it kept me stuck. Eventually, after about 18 months he stopped that but still reached out from time to time. I realised I was still being drawn in by him. As time moved forward, I just slowly and quietly shut down everything connected to him. It helped. I was finally healing and growing. I was letting go of all the pieces and moments of him.

Several years down the track with a deeper understanding of that relationship and myself, I have a newfound wisdom about letting go. No contact and blocking doesn’t mean you have let go. Jumping into another relationship or casual sex isn’t letting go. Escaping into unhealthy coping mechanisms isn’t letting go. Pretending you feel great and don’t think of them anymore isn’t letting go.

Letting go is a process. It’s raw, honest, and messy. It’s grieving what was and allowing yourself time, space, and grace to acknowledge how you feel. It’s accepting your part in what didn’t work. It’s forgiving yourself and the situation. It also takes strength and courage to recognise it’s time to let go and put things in motion to move forward. It also takes a level of resilience to push yourself forward when there hasn’t been any real closure. Letting go isn’t the easy path, nor is it any sort of weakness.

We are not meant to live in unhappy, unhealthy, abusive, neglectful situations. We are not meant to keep striving and trying if we are miserable and our needs are repeatedly being unmet. We are not meant to “put up” with emotional avoidance, constant selfishness, deception, relationship inequality, or stay in environments where we continue to wither away.

Letting go is f*cking hard. It’s one step forward and three steps backward, or three steps forward and one step backward. But it also leads to a more fulfilled self. It creates space for what’s next. It replaces powerlessness with power.

Sometimes letting go isn’t just the best choice—it’s the only choice.

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