Letting go is one of those phrases people say easily but rarely understand deeply. “Just move on” sounds simple until you are the one trying to let go of something that once shaped your world. When a relationship ends, when a role changes, or when life takes a turn you never expected, letting go becomes an emotional terrain far more complex than most people realise. It is not simply a matter of being strong or deciding to stop caring. The difficulty comes from how we attach, how memories work, how identity forms, and how the mind responds to loss. Letting go isn’t an instant act; it is a slow psychological shift, often beginning long before we realise it’s happening. Understanding this shift begins with examining the bonds we form.
We form emotional bonds not only with people but with routines, hopes, and a sense of safety. According to attachment theory, which explains how people form emotional bonds, the end of a relationship or role doesn’t just take away a person; it also takes away a sense of identity and security that was built around them. While losing a person evokes the pain of missing their presence and the joy they brought, losing a self-concept strips away the core elements of who you are and what you once cherished as your reality. When something ends, the break is both external and internal. The mind feels as if a part of its foundation has been removed. This is why letting go produces such an extreme feeling of instability. It forces a reconstruction of identity. You are no longer who you were in that relationship, in that chapter, or in that imagined future. Something familiar disappears, and the mind struggles to understand who it is without that anchor. I think we underestimate how slowly the heart adjusts, even when the mind understands something has ended.
Neurological studies support this emotional experience. The areas of the brain involved in reward and connection are activated both during bonding and during separation. The loss of someone who once represented comfort triggers the same circuits involved in withdrawal. In simple terms, the brain doesn’t differentiate between emotional and physical loss; it only recognises that something important is missing. This is why letting go can feel like an ache in the chest, a restlessness at night, or a heaviness you cannot fully describe. The past pulls you back because the brain is still trying to adjust to the sudden emptiness. In these quieter moments, kindness toward oneself matters more than people realise; a gentle inner voice can soften the sharp edges of grief.
Letting go also does not happen in a straight line. Psychologists explain that healing follows a natural pattern where people shift between feeling the loss and gradually rebuilding their lives. When you focus on what you've lost, you feel the ache, the memories, the longing, and the weight of what has ended. In another phase, you begin to return to your routines, rediscover parts of yourself, and gently step into a different future. People struggle most when they get stuck in one phase, usually focusing on the loss , replaying memories, and holding on to the future they imagined. Letting go becomes possible when both emotional movements are allowed: experiencing grief when it arises, and also allowing moments of rebuilding without guilt. These shifts often begin quietly, perhaps in a moment as small as waking up to a morning that feels a little less heavy than the one before. Mindfulness, even in the simplest form of noticing your breath or observing a thought without chasing it, helps create these small openings.
Part of the heaviness comes from what we’re actually releasing. When something ends, we aren’t only losing what was; we are letting go of the future we imagined. The plans, the identity we were becoming, the moments we assumed were ahead ,all of that dissolves too. Psychologists call this the loss of “possible selves.” It explains why people sometimes cling to what ended, not because it was perfect, but because they are grieving the future they believed in. Letting go means accepting that the imagined future will not unfold, and that acceptance takes time. For some, this acceptance begins with small acts of symbolic release, like writing down thoughts they can no longer carry or quietly choosing to put away objects that hold too much of the past. These gestures do not erase anything, but they create little pockets of emotional space.
The loss of someone who once represented comfort triggers the same circuits involved in withdrawal. In simple terms, the brain doesn’t differentiate between emotional and physical loss; it only recognises that something important is missing.
In cultures like Sri Lanka, the process becomes even more layered. We live in a society where family, community, and social expectations play a major role. When a relationship or chapter ends, it becomes more than an individual experience; it becomes a story others comment on. Research comparing Sri Lankan and Western participants shows that people in collectivist cultures often carry greater external shame and a stronger fear of judgment. This makes letting go emotionally heavier. People may hesitate to move forward out of concern for what the family might think, how the community might interpret the ending, or how much pressure they feel to uphold certain ideals. It can feel like carrying both your own grief and the expectations of everyone around you. Here, letting go is not just an internal shift but also an act of social courage, because it means stepping out of a narrative others may still be holding onto. In these moments, the presence of one or two supportive voices ,a trusted friend, a sibling, or even a professional can provide steady ground when everything else feels uncertain.
Despite all these layers, letting go eventually unfolds not in grand moments but in quiet shifts. It happens when you stop trying to rewrite the past. It happens when a memory no longer brings the same sharp sting. It happens when your thoughts shift from what has been lost to the present. Sometimes it begins with a small act of forgiveness . Forgiving someone who hurt you, or forgiving yourself for the choices you made while you were trying to cope. It happens when you find yourself breathing a little lighter, even if only for a moment.
Healing rarely makes a dramatic entrance. It arrives subtly, in mornings that feel lighter or in days when the silence no longer feels unbearable. Letting go does not mean forgetting or pretending nothing mattered. It means allowing the past to remain part of your story without letting it control the pages ahead. It means accepting that what ended shaped you, but it does not have to confine the rest of your life. The true essence of letting go is not about losing. It is about returning slowly, patiently to yourself, with a deeper understanding of who you are now and what you now deserve.
In the end, letting go is less about releasing something external and more about giving your mind permission to move forward. It is a quiet, deeply human process of shifting from “why did this happen?” to “who am I becoming now?” When that shift finally comes gently, gradually life begins to expand again, making space for peace, clarity, and the new stories waiting to unfold.
The writer holds a MSc. Clinical & Health Psychology (UK), BSc Psychology (MY), Adv. Dip. CBT, DBT & Art Therapy (UK), BSc. (Hons)Computer Science (UK).
She can be reached at: nimmiu@gmail.com
