I’ve always been bad at letting go.
Not just of arguments or ideas, but of outcomes. Situations. People. I hold on like letting go would mean losing something—control, identity, maybe even self-respect.
And for years, it felt like a strength. I thought, If I just hold on tighter, if I can stay right, everything will work out. Spoiler: it didn’t.
Letting go feels like failure. It feels like giving up. But it’s not.
I learned this the hard way, of course. Because that’s the only way I learn anything.
There was this one project years ago—a total disaster from start to finish. I was so convinced that my solution was the solution that I couldn’t see the bigger picture. I fought for it. Argued. Derailed meetings. I wore people down with my determination to get it right.
And then it crashed. Hard.
The funny thing is, I was technically “right.” My solution was better on paper. But it didn’t matter because no one wanted to follow me there. I’d spent so much energy trying to control the situation that I missed the real goal.
I wasn’t trying to fix the problem. I was trying to win.
It’s taken me years to recognize how often I do this—how often we all do this. We cling to our ideas, our plans, our identities, because letting go feels like admitting we’re wrong.
But maybe it’s not about being right or wrong. Maybe it’s about being free.
Let me tell you about this argument I had once with someone I care about. It was one of those classic, stupid fights—something small spiraled into something big, and before I knew it, we were both standing there, arms crossed, refusing to back down.
At some point, I realized I didn’t even care about the original point. I just wanted to win. To prove I was “right.” But at what cost? The person I loved was standing right there, frustrated and hurt, while I clung to this need to control the narrative.
So, I let go.
I remember the feeling vividly—this rush of relief and fear at the same time. Like stepping off a ledge and realizing you’re not falling; you’re floating.
And you know what happened? The fight ended. Not because I won, but because I stopped needing to.
Letting go is one of those things that sounds simple and feels impossible. It’s uncomfortable. It makes you question yourself. But it also makes room for something else—collaboration, connection, growth.
I think we all get stuck in this illusion of control. We think if we can just stay right—if we can just hold on a little longer—we’ll fix things. But holding on isn’t fixing. It’s resisting.
What would happen if we let go?
I’m not saying this is easy. I still struggle with it all the time. Sometimes, I catch myself mid-argument or mid-project, white-knuckling my way to “rightness,” and I have to stop and ask myself: What are you afraid of losing?
Most of the time, the answer isn’t as important as I thought it was.
So, what’s the point of all this? I don’t know. Maybe there isn’t one.
Maybe it’s just me trying to figure out why letting go feels so damn hard—and why it also feels like the most freeing thing I’ve ever done.
Oh, and if you’re wondering where all this rambling came from, there’s a video where I talk about how needing to be “right” can get in the way of progress. You might like it—or not. Either way, I’m letting go of whether you click.
Leave a Reply