what it means to let go

a reflection on endings, trust, and the gentle art of releasing control

It’s the beginning of November and somehow the year has already rushed past me.
I’ve tried my best to live in the moment, but time keeps slipping away anyway.
And whenever something beautiful, exciting, or heart-warming happens, I have this deep urge to hold on to it.

Sometimes a piece of cake and a warm cup of tea, surrounded by books, give me that kind of feeling. It’s not always the big, exciting things.

But lately, I’ve realized that holding on too tightly steals the magic from the moment itself. The more I try to keep it, the faster it fades.

When this so called magic occurs in my life I stand there and take everything in: the people around me, the space I’m in, the way joy hums quietly inside my chest.
That warmth that floods my whole body. That tingling on my skin. That smile I can’t stop. Moments that feel like this, I want to capture them forever.

And whenever life feels that vivid, I think of the movie Elizabethtown. One of my favorites since I was a teenager. There’s a scene I’ve carried with me ever since: when something feels worthy of remembering, you simply stand still, imagine holding a camera, and take a picture - not with your phone, but with your mind.

From the movie Elizabethtown (2005)

A picture you keep inside you, hoping it stays as alive as the moment itself.

Letting go of beautiful moments feels a bit like watching your best friend move across the world, knowing you might never see her again. You want to go with her, you want to stay in the laughter, in the lightness…but life, as it is, doesn’t work that way. So whenever I feel that kind of joy, I try to absorb everything - to be fully present.

For me, concerts are like that.

Just minutes before one of the best nights of my life - the Love On Tour concert in Barcelona, 2023. I can still feel the magic of that night.

That rush of sound and freedom. I want to keep every note inside me, every heartbeat of it. When my favorite song comes on, I’d never take out my phone. I want to feel it. Completely.

Here’s me, last year at the Eras Tour in Hamburg. I remember thinking, I don’t think life gets better than this.

I dance, I sing, I let go - right there, in that moment - so I don’t have to later. So I can walk home still full, not aching for what’s gone, but holding the memory I took in my mind.

But letting go can also mean saying goodbye to someone you love. A kind of letting go that tears you apart, that hurts not just emotionally, but physically. When there’s no way back. When all the moments have been lived and none will return, you have to decide: Do you keep holding on to what was? Replaying memories like a film on repeat, wishing for more scenes that will never be filmed? Or do you let it move through you, let it become part of you and allow it to rest there peacefully?

It hurts more at first. Because it means accepting that it’s really over. That a person, a time, a feeling won’t return. But that’s the only way to be free again, because holding on keeps you trapped.

Not letting go means living in the past. It leaves no space for the present, no space for what could be next. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means allowing people and moments to become part of who you are - the way they shape you, teach you, change you. That’s what life does.

To let go is to make peace. To open the window again, breathe deeply and face the world as it is right now. You deserve that kind of peace. You deserve to feel light again - to laugh, to look forward, to believe that new moments can be just as warm, maybe even warmer.

And it’s not always the big things we have to release. Sometimes it’s smaller things: a bad habit, an old version of yourself that doesn’t fit anymore or an expectation you keep failing to meet. They can all weigh you down in quiet ways. But when you start to accept them as chapters, not definitions, they lose their hold.

When I think about letting go and especially heartbreak, I always come back to Let It Go by James Bay. There’s something about that song - the ache, the softness, the quiet strength in surrender, that perfectly captures what I wrote about today. The kind of letting go that hurts, but also sets you free.

I used to recognize myself
It’s funny how reflections change
When we’re becoming something else
I think it’s time to walk away

So come on, let it go
Just let it be
Why don’t you be you
And I’ll be me?

The moment you make peace with what was, the door opens for what’s next.
You stop being held back by what you’re gripping so tightly. That’s when you’re free.

So let go, especially when you want to hold on the most. Because every time you do, you make space for life to rush back in. And that’s what freedom feels like.

In the end letting go isn’t just about release, it’s about trust. The trust that what’s meant for you will stay and that what leaves creates space for something even more aligned. The more you practice letting go, the less you chase. And the less you chase, the more free you become.

Here are 3 journaling prompts, if you struggling with letting go:

• What are you still holding on to and what would it feel like to finally release it?

• When was the last time you felt fully present in a moment, without needing to capture it?

• If you could take one “mental photo” of this season of your life, what would be in the frame?

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post, if you feel like sharing. 💌 Thank you for being here and meeting my words with yours. I’m endlessly grateful for this little corner we share. 🤍

If my writing met you where you needed it most, this is your quiet way of saying thank you. It helps me keep writing for hearts like yours.