Letting Go of What I Can’t Control
There’s this thing I keep coming back to on this whole healing ride: letting go of what I can’t control. And listen, it’s not some zen, slow-motion, Instagram reel where I’m floating down a river all peaceful and wise. Nope. It’s usually me gripping on for dear life, muttering through clenched teeth, “Fine. I’ll let it go,” like I’m trying to convince myself it was my idea.
Because what I am slowly learning is that, at the end of the day, feeling something doesn’t mean it’s true.
Why Feelings Don’t Always Equal Truth
That’s a hard one for me to accept, because my nervous system doesn’t just feel; it literally hijacks the entire operation. When CPTSD kicks in, I don’t just feel unsafe; I am unsafe. At least that’s how my body writes the story. And for a long time, I believed it. If I felt it, then it had to be real. If I felt rejected or abandoned, then I must have been. That clearly everyone had already packed up their bags and left me behind.
Truth is, though, they hadn’t.
What it comes down to is feelings are signals, not verdicts. They serve as warning signals. Sometimes they save you, and sometimes they’re just letting you know the toaster burned your bagel. The trick is learning the difference.
The Cost of Holding On to What You Can’t Control
And that’s where the whole practice of letting go comes in. Because honestly, I’ve noticed something about myself: when I cling to stuff I can’t control, things like other people’s choices, the past, the “what if” future, it’s like I’m gripping a live wire. And surprise, surprise, it zaps me every single time. But do I let go? Nope. I hang on, thinking, “Maybe this time it won’t hurt.” And you know what? it always does.
Ultimately, that grip doesn’t protect me. It only drains me.
What Letting Go Really Means
Letting go doesn’t mean pretending the feelings don’t exist. I’m not out here shoving them in a box and slapping on a “just get over it” label. Cause believe me, I’ve tried that. And all it did was turn me into a walking pressure cooker, you can only rattle the lid for so long before something blows.
For me, letting go looks more like this: “Okay, yes, I feel scared. I feel rejected. And abandoned.” I actually put a name to it. I let it sit there without pushing it out of the room. And then, here’s the part I still trip over, I remind myself that just because I feel those things doesn’t mean they’re actually true. My nervous system may be screaming but that doesn’t mean the world is actually on fire.
That little pause, the tiny space between what I feel and what’s actually true, that’s where I find a bit of freedom. It’s the place where I can say, “Okay, sure, I feel all of this, but I don’t have to let it run the show.” Even when my emotions are loud, messy, and doing their best to convince me otherwise, I can still take a breath and choose how I respond.
Practicing Letting Go Every Day
It’s also not a one-time thing. I wish it were. I wish I could declare once and for all, “I’ve let go!” and then ride off into the sunset, cured. But in reality, it’s more like brushing my teeth. Daily maintenance. Sometimes hourly. And sometimes every five minutes when my brain wants to spiral.
But each time I let go, each time I put down what was never mine to carry, I feel a little lighter. I make a little more space for peace, for presence, and for the parts of me that actually want to live, not just survive.
Finding Freedom in Letting Go
So no, letting go isn’t easy. And no, it doesn’t erase the feelings. But it does give me permission to not be ruled by them. And for me, that’s the kind of freedom worth practicing.
Photo by Claire Finch on Unsplash