The Art of Letting Go Before You’re Ready
/We often talk about letting go like it’s some grand, empowering declaration — a clean break, a deep exhale, a moment of clarity where we say "I’m done with this now" and walk confidently into what’s next.
But the truth?
Letting go is rarely that neat.
Sometimes it’s slow and reluctant.
Sometimes it’s a choice you make while still clinging to the very thing you’re trying to release.
Sometimes, letting go happens in whispers — not roars.
What if you don’t feel ready?
I’ve been sitting with this question a lot lately.
As I move through pregnancy, I can feel myself being asked — over and over again — to let go.
Let go of control.
Let go of timelines.
Let go of who I used to be.
Let go of the version of myself I thought I had to keep holding onto.
And I don’t always feel ready.
There’s still so much tenderness. So much uncertainty. So many parts of me that want to know exactly what comes next.
But letting go isn’t always about readiness.
Sometimes it’s about trust — trust that on the other side of release, there’s something softer waiting.
What we hold onto (and why)
We all hold onto things for a reason — even when they no longer serve us.
An old routine, a way of seeing ourselves, a relationship, a belief, a version of success we no longer relate to...
Letting go doesn’t just mean losing something — it often means losing the familiarity, safety, and identity we’ve built around it.
And that can feel scary.
So instead of letting go, we grip tighter.
Even when it’s heavy. Even when we know, deep down, it’s time.
That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
A different way to release
What if we stopped expecting ourselves to let go all at once?
What if release could be gentle, layered, non-linear — more like loosening than cutting?
Letting go before you’re ready might sound like:
Saying “not right now” instead of “never again”
Letting something rest instead of forcing a goodbye
Practising micro acts of trust
Honouring both your resistance and your desire to grow
You don’t have to be fearless.
You just have to be honest — and a little bit willing.
A gentle ritual: journal your way through release
You don’t need to have the answers. But you can begin to soften your grip.
Take 5–10 minutes and write freely in response to these prompts:
What am I holding onto right now — and why?
What part of me is afraid to let go? What does it need?
What would I make space for if I released this?
What might become possible if I loosened my grip — even just a little?
End by writing one sentence beginning with:
“I’m learning to let go of ___, even if I’m not fully ready.”
You don’t need to feel brave. You just need to feel willing.
Letting go doesn’t have to be loud.
It can be slow, scared, soft — and still be enough.
You’re not behind if you’re still holding on.
You’re right on time if you’re learning to loosen, little by little.
