The art of letting go: how strong people deal with things they can’t change

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from wrestling reality.

I’ve felt it building businesses, in relationships, even while marathon-training. You try to white-knuckle a situation into submission—convince a client to stay, make a partner see it your way, force a body to perform when it needs rest. The more you grip, the more it slips.

Letting go used to sound like quitting to me. Now it feels like strength. Not the flashy kind—more like quiet, grounded competence. The kind that frees up your energy for what you can actually influence.

Here’s how I practice it, and how you can too.

What letting go really means

“When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” – Viktor E. Frankl

That line hit me the first time I read it, and it still lands like a bell. Letting go isn’t apathy. It’s a pivot of responsibility—from changing the thing to changing the way I meet the thing.

When I catch myself spiraling—refreshing analytics, replaying a conversation, stalking the outcome—I pause and ask: is this a lever I can actually pull? If not, my job is to turn toward the levers I do have: my attention, my posture, my next small step.

It’s shockingly practical. You stop leaking energy into fantasy battles and start putting it into useful work.

Why we resist reality

If letting go is so sane, why is it so hard?

Two reasons I see in myself:

• Identity. We’re attached to being the person who can fix it. Founder, partner, parent, high performer. Letting go feels like letting that identity die. 
• Sunk cost. Time, money, effort. The mind hates the idea that it “was for nothing,” so it throws good years after bad.

Both keep us locked in combat with what is. The antidote isn’t to bully yourself into “moving on.” It’s to tell the truth: this hurts, and clinging hurts more. Then choose the less painful path.

A three-sphere map I use every day

I keep a simple map in my notes app. Three bullets. Three spheres:

1. Control: actions fully up to me (what I write today, who I call, how I speak). 
2. Influence: actions that shape the odds but don’t guarantee outcomes (pitching a partnership, making a request, offering feedback). 
3. Witness: realities I can neither control nor meaningfully influence (other people’s choices, past events, interest rates, today’s weather).

When something spikes my stress, I drop it into one of these bullets. If it lands in “witness,” I practice releasing it. If it lands in “influence,” I pick one concrete move. If it’s “control,” I schedule it and get on with my day.

Sounds basic. It works because it re-anchors you to the only time and place you can act: right now, where your feet are.

A practice for unhooking in the moment

Letting go is a muscle. Here’s the quick drill I use when I feel hooked:

• Name it. “I’m clinging to X outcome.” Naming kills the fog. 
• Normalize it. Of course I want control. I’m human. No self-judgment needed. 
• Breathe and soften. One slow exhale. Relax the jaw, belly, hands. The body cues the mind that it’s safe to release. 
• Reset the ask. Shift from “make them change” to “show up how I want.” What’s the smallest next step that reflects who I want to be? 
• Return. Go do the step. Then the next one.

It’s not glamorous. It is repeatable. Strength is just consistency in the right direction.

Grieve the fantasy so you can move on

There’s a part we skip when we talk about letting go: grief. You’re not just dropping an outcome; you’re burying a dream, a version of the future you liked, a role you identified with.

“Resilience is accepting your new reality, even if it’s less good than the one you had before. You can fight it or you can accept it and try to put together something that’s good.” – Elizabeth Edwards

I think about that quote when I’m tempted to sentimentalize the past or catastrophize the future. Acceptance isn’t passive. It’s the first honest step toward building “something that’s good” from here, not from the imaginary place I wish I were.

Give yourself room to feel it. Journal. Go for a long run. Talk to a friend who can hold space without fixing. The emotion passes faster when it’s allowed.

Boundaries are not anger; they are clarity

Letting go often means drawing cleaner lines.

When a negotiation drags on because someone keeps moving the goalposts, a firm “no” is not aggression. It’s stewardship of your time and attention. When a relationship cycles the same argument, stepping back isn’t punishment. It’s choosing sanity.

Here’s a script that’s helped me: “I care about this and I’m not willing to keep doing it this way. If you want to revisit it under X conditions, I’m open. If not, I’m moving forward now.” Calm, specific, not up for debate.

You’re not responsible for other people’s reactions. You are responsible for the standards you live by.

What I do when I can’t change something

I’ve talked about this before, but here’s my short list—the checklist I reach for when I’m stuck in an unchangeable loop:

• I shrink the timeframe. Can’t change next quarter? What’s the one thing I can improve today before 5 p.m.? 
• I move my body. Running is my reset button. If I can’t run, I walk. Motion shakes loose fixation. 
• I write the truth. One page, unfiltered. “What I want. What is. What I can do.” It clears the mental cache. 
• I ask for the clean request. Not “Why won’t you…?” Just “Are you willing to…?” A yes/no I can act on. 
• I stack a win. Something small and unambiguous—ship an article, clean the inbox, fix the leaky tap. Momentum is medicine. 
• I prune inputs. Fewer dashboards. Fewer opinions. Reality, not noise. 
• I design my exit ramp. If it’s truly not working, I sketch conditions for walking away. A date, a metric, a budget. Clarity creates calm.

When I founded Hack Spirit in my twenties, the hardest pivots weren’t technical—they were emotional. Letting go of pet projects, redesigning processes that once worked, admitting a strategy wasn’t serving the mission. Every time I clung, we stalled. Every time I released and re-centered on the mission, we moved.

A note from Buddhism

My degree in psychology gave me tools; Buddhist practice gave me texture. Impermanence (anicca) isn’t a theory—it’s the felt reality that everything shifts. Non-attachment isn’t numbness—it’s loving fully without insisting that life obey your script.

I explore this more in my book, Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego. The punchline: you can care deeply and still let go. In fact, that’s often when your actions are most skillful—because they’re not clouded by grasping.

If you want a deeper nudge

A friend of mine, Rudá Iandê, just released a book that spoke to this in a way that felt raw and useful: Laughing in the Face of Chaos.

Reading it recently, I caught myself clinging to an old belief about how “success is supposed to look.” The book nudged me to question that script and stop fighting myself. It didn’t give me platitudes; it gave me prompts I could test in the mess of real life. If you need a push to loosen your grip, it’s worth your attention.

How to tell if you’ve really let go

Quick self-check:

• Your nervous system says so. You can think about the situation without your stomach dropping out. 
• Your calendar reflects it. You’ve stopped scheduling time to “check on it” every hour. 
• Your language shifts. Less “should,” more “here’s what I’m doing now.” 
• You’re kinder. To yourself, and often to the other people involved. Release softens edges. 
• You’re creative again. When grasping loosens, ideas return.

If these aren’t true yet, no problem. It takes reps. Go back to the three spheres. Run the unhooking drill. Keep practicing.

What letting go isn’t

A few myths to retire:

• It’s not avoidance. Avoidance is pretending the fire isn’t there. Letting go is calling the fire brigade, evacuating the building, and not trying to change the wind direction with your mind. 
• It’s not “low standards.” It’s saying yes to standards you can uphold and no to outcomes you can’t manufacture. 
• It’s not forever. You can release for now. If conditions change, you can re-engage. Flexibility is a feature, not a bug.

Strong people don’t hold on the longest. They choose where to hold on—and where to unclench.

Final words

To wrap things up, letting go is less an event and more a practice. Some days it’s effortless. Other days you’ll pry each finger off the ledge one by one. Both count.

Start where you are. Map the spheres. Unhook your body. Grieve the fantasy. Draw the line. Stack a small win. Repeat tomorrow.

You’ll know it’s working when your energy returns. When you catch yourself laughing again. When you realize you’ve stopped trying to control what was never yours—and started building what is.

And if you need something to anchor you when everything feels out of control, keep this thought close: letting go isn’t about giving up—it’s about transforming how you show up.

It’s the shift from wrestling with what you can’t change to creating something meaningful with what’s left.

That’s the heart of this art: not surrendering to life, but partnering with it.