I used to think letting go was something you did once. A decision. A door closing. A clean break.
I've learned it's not.
Letting go is something you do over and over. Sometimes about the same thing. The same person. The same hope you've already released three times, but there it is again, in your hand, in the morning.
This week, I noticed something about myself: I hold on to things long after they've stopped serving me. Not because I want them. Because letting go feels like losing. Like admitting it didn't work. Like betraying the version of me that believed in that thing.
I held onto a project I wasn't excited about anymore — because I had already told people about it. I held onto a version of myself I had outgrown — because I didn't know who I'd be without it. I held onto hope for something I knew wasn't coming back — because accepting that felt heavier than carrying it.
Here's what I'm learning: letting go is not a single act. It's a series of small, unremarkable releases.
Not saying goodbye forever. Just putting it down for now. Picking it up again in the night. Putting it down again in the morning. Each time, the space between pickup and put-down gets a little longer.
That's the practice. Not the grand release. The small, repeated choice to put something down, even when you know you might pick it up again.
This week's practice:
Notice one small thing you're holding onto that you no longer need. It doesn't have to be big — an old screenshot on your phone, a mental grudge, a plan you made months ago that no longer fits. Just one small thing.
Ask yourself: What would it feel like to put this down, just for today?
You don't have to actually let go. You don't have to delete anything. Just notice what it would feel like.
I put something down this week. It wasn't dramatic. I just stopped carrying it. The next morning, I picked it up again without thinking. That's okay. I'll put it down again tomorrow.
That's the practice. Not perfect release. Repeated release.