The Gentle Art of Letting Go | Mindfulness Practices for Release

"The trees don't ask if they're ready - they simply release. Trust the air to hold them."

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The Gentle Art of Letting Go

Dear you,

October closed with laughter - pumpkin soup on the hob, the house filled with the chaos of our little Halloween tradition: children running wild, giggling as they wrapped each other in toilet-paper mummies. It felt like a celebration of autumn itself - warmth, comfort, simple joy.

Then November arrived - quieter, softer, like a long, needed exhale after the noise. I took down the decorations, made tea, breathed in the hush before the next season begins to knock. For a moment, I thought: maybe things are finally steady.

But life, as it often does, had other plans.

A few days later, something cracked. Not loudly - more like the sound of an old branch giving way under quiet strain. A new pain arrived where I didn’t expect it, a reminder that some people’s chaos can bruise your peace if you let it.

I stood by the window on my roof terrace, tears falling heavy and slow - as if the sky itself had found its way through me. The trees below were trembling in the wind, yellow leaves swirling down in spirals of surrender. And I thought, so this is what letting go looks like again.

The trees don’t ask if they’re ready - they simply release. They trust the air to hold them.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning too: that letting go isn’t about forgetting or being unhurt. It’s about trusting that love will remain, even after the breaking.

Because love - not the personal kind, but the wider, quieter one - is what stays when everything else shifts. It’s the soft thread that holds through every ending, every beginning.

So I whisper to myself:

“Through love, I will carry it all - the breaking, the healing, the letting go.”

Letting go, I’ve come to see, is not weakness but grace. It’s the quiet art of returning to love when life tests your peace again and again. We don’t learn it once. We learn it every time the wind changes.

"We don't learn to let go once - we learn it again and again, through love, not fear."

Why We Hold On

Our brains are wired for safety. Neuroscience tells us the nervous system prefers the familiar, even when the familiar is heavy. Holding on feels like control; releasing feels uncertain. That’s why we cling - to routines, to objects, to stories, even to pain.

But here’s the good news: the brain is not fixed. Through awareness, self-compassion, and practice, we can teach ourselves a different way - loosening the grip, step by step.

Ancient Wisdom on Letting Go

Anthony de Mello once wrote:

“You will never live until you stop clinging to life. Let go. When you cling, happiness dies.”

His words remind me that clinging isn’t living - it’s fear.

Marcus Aurelius said:

“Letting go all else, cling to the following few truths. Man lives only in the present, in this fleeting instant.”

He knew that the past and the future are outside our reach - only the present is alive.

Epictetus taught that peace comes from knowing what is within our control and letting go of what is not. How many times have I exhausted myself fighting storms I could never steer?

Sometimes I notice how tightly I grip the past or the future. I replay old stories or run ahead to what might come, as if clinging could somehow keep me safe. But all it really does is pull me away from now.

Letting go, I’m realising, isn’t about throwing anything away. It’s about loosening my grip just enough so that my hands - and my heart - are free to hold this moment. Because this moment is the only place life ever really happens.

The Dalai Lama reminds us:

“The key to happiness is letting go.”

Simple - not easy, but always possible. And I can only agree, from my own experience.

Gentle Ways to Practise Letting Go

Here are a few practices I return to - no pressure, just gentle invitations:

The Leaf Ritual

Hold a fallen leaf. Name what you’re carrying, then place it back down.

Let it remind you that not everything is yours to hold.

The Journal Release

This is one of my favourites. Write what feels heavy, then close your notebook and whisper:

“I don’t need to carry this right now.”

Sometimes I write on a loose sheet instead - and if it feels right, I tear it up, or even safely burn it as a small act of release.

 The Exhale

On your next long breath out, think:

“I let this go.”

It’s tiny, but the body learns release through repetition. I love this one because I can do it anywhere - in the car, in a queue, or just before sleep.

The Question

When a worry arrives, ask:

“Is this mine to hold?”

Often, the answer is no. (Try it - it’s simple, but it’s done magic for me.)

The Compassion Switch

When the inner critic appears, place a hand on your heart and whisper:

“I’m doing my best. That is enough.”

This is how we begin to let go of harshness - one breath, one kind thought at a time.

Before You Go…

Letting go doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in small moments - in a breath, a whisper, a quiet choice to loosen your grip just a little. It happens between tears, in silence, in the way you keep showing up for life even when something heavy still lingers.

I’m learning that letting go isn’t something you achieve - it’s something you live. Some days, it feels like peace. Other days, it stings. But even in the sting, there is movement. Healing has its own pace, and we meet it breath by breath.

So maybe this week, as the leaves fall, you’ll join me in practising this gentle art - one step, one exhale, one kind moment at a time.

Because even in the ache of beginning again, love is still here - steady, unbroken, waiting to guide us home.

And that’s where I’ll leave you for now - in that soft space between holding on and letting go.

With calm and warmth,

Eva

If this piece spoke to you, take a mindful moment this week to pause beneath a tree, notice a falling leaf, and breathe with it.

You can also subscribe or follow along for the next chapter of The Letting Go Series — where next Wednesday, we’ll explore how to release expectations with kindness and a little more ease.

"Not every wound needs a war. Some just need space, stillness, and time to breath."

P.S.

Note from my diary: I’m still a little stunned by how quickly life can sting - like an old branch snapping when you least expect it. I’m learning to stand still long enough to feel it… before I try to fix it. ~E.

References

(Gentle, relevant, and easy for your readers to recognise - fits your signature format)

1. Davidson, R. J., & Begley, S. (2012). The Emotional Life of Your Brain. Penguin.

On how awareness and self-compassion reshape emotional patterns and help the brain adapt.

2. Neff, K. (2011). Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself. HarperCollins.

Explores how kindness towards ourselves supports emotional resilience and letting go.

3. Kabat-Zinn, J. (2013). Full Catastrophe Living: Using the Wisdom of Your Body and Mind to Face Stress, Pain, and Illness. Piatkus.

Foundational mindfulness research explaining how awareness calms the nervous system.

4. Siegel, D. J. (2010). The Mindful Therapist: A Clinician’s Guide to Mindsight and Neural Integration. W. W. Norton & Company.

On how mindfulness rewires the brain’s response to stress and attachment.

5. Gilbert, P. (2020). Compassion: Concepts, Research and Applications. Routledge.

Highlights how compassion-based practices create emotional safety and support release.

6. The Greater Good Science Center, University of California, Berkeley.

(n.d.). Articles on gratitude, emotional regulation, and the psychology of letting go.