You Don't Have to Hold Everything So Tightly
Lately, I've been noticing how much energy it takes to hold on.
To a thought because I think I need to figure it out.
To a feeling because I think I shouldn't be having it.
To a plan because I need everything to happen the way I imagined.
To a thing because I loved having it.
To a version of life because I don't know what comes after it.
For a long time, I think I believed peace would come when I became better at managing all of those things. If I could control my thoughts, stay ahead of what needed to be done, prepare for what might happen and keep the things I loved safely within reach, then maybe I could finally relax.
But something has been changing in me lately.
I'm beginning to wonder if peace isn't found in getting better at holding everything together.
Maybe it's found in realizing how much we can put down.
Not Every Thought Needs to Go Somewhere
I've spent a lot of my life thinking my way through things.
And there is nothing inherently wrong with thinking. Some thoughts do need our attention. They alert us to something we need to do, a conversation we need to have or a change we've been avoiding.
But others?
They seem to show up carrying an invitation to worry.
And I used to accept almost every invitation.
One thought could become a conversation in my head. Then a scenario. Then another scenario about the first scenario.
Before I knew it, I wasn't responding to anything actually happening in my life.
I was responding to something happening entirely in my mind.
Lately I've been practicing something different:
Let the thought pass. Keep the peace.
Interestingly, there's research behind the idea that trying forcefully not to think about something can backfire. Meta-analyses of controlled studies have found a rebound effect from thought suppression: after people try to suppress a thought, it can become more accessible again.
The effect isn't identical in every situation, but it helps explain why demanding, "Stop thinking about this!" doesn't always quiet an overthinking mind.
Maybe we don't have to win a fight with every thought.
Sometimes we can simply notice:
There you are.
And let it keep moving.
You Can Feel Something Without Needing to Fix It
This lesson became much more personal for me this week.
A young technician who works with us was leaving.
He's only 19, and I genuinely enjoyed having him around. There's something about his desire to go after the life he wants that I admire. He still has this excitement about what's possible for his life.
When it came time to say goodbye, I was much sadder than I expected to be.
And I could feel myself doing something familiar.
Resisting the sadness.
I didn't want to break down. I didn't want to feel that sad about it. Part of me wanted to get myself back to okay.
Then I realized:
I was sad because I cared.
There wasn't necessarily anything to fix.
Research on what psychologists call habitual acceptance has found something interesting here. Across laboratory, diary and longitudinal studies, people who tended to accept their thoughts and emotions without judging them showed better psychological health, and acceptance was associated with less negative emotional response during stress.
That doesn't mean acceptance magically makes difficult feelings disappear. It suggests that adding judgment and resistance to an already difficult experience may create another layer of suffering.
That distinction has been sitting with me.
Maybe peace doesn't mean I never feel sad.
Maybe peace means I no longer need to be afraid of feeling sad.
There are days when you're going to hurt.
There are days when you'll be disappointed.
There will be people you'll miss.
And maybe a peaceful life has room for those days, too.
Give the Feeling Somewhere to Go
Sometimes I find it easier to stop carrying everything internally when I give it somewhere physical to land.
A quiet chair. A bath. A walk outside. A notebook.
It doesn't have to be elaborate.
A few things that can make a quiet corner feel softer are a warm lamp instead of overhead lighting, a comfortable throw, a mug you genuinely enjoy using, or a simple notebook kept nearby.
Not because any of those things can fix sadness.
They can't.
They're simply ways of creating an environment that says:
Nothing is required of you here.
But Not Everything Is Asking to Be Accepted
This is where I think the conversation about "letting go" can become oversimplified.
Sometimes we need to stop fighting what we're feeling.
But sometimes the feeling keeps returning because something really does need our attention.
If I have one difficult day, that doesn't necessarily mean I need to change my life.
But if I am constantly recovering from my life?
If every weekend is spent trying to become okay enough to do Monday again?
If the same situation continually takes me so far from my peace that I'm always searching for another way to cope with it?
I think I'm allowed to notice that.
Peace isn't always asking us to calm down. Sometimes it's asking us to change something.
The difference is discernment.
Is this something I need to feel?
Is this something I need to release?
Or is this something I need to change?
We don't have to answer those questions immediately.
Sometimes noticing is enough for today.
How to Let Go of Control Without Letting Go of What Matters
I'm getting ready for a four-day golf trip in northern Michigan.
Normally, the days before something like this would involve me rushing around trying to finish everything.
Work.
Packing.
Things around the house.
Things for The Nook.
All the little loose ends that suddenly seem incredibly urgent because I'm leaving for a few days.
This time I've been trying something different.
What actually needs to happen?
What can wait?
What isn't mine to control anyway?
Then I do what I can.
And if everything doesn't get done?
Oh well.
That little "oh well" has taken me a long time to earn.
Because there will always be another thing we could finish before allowing ourselves to enjoy our lives.
And if enjoyment requires everything to be finished first, we're going to spend a lot of our lives waiting.
I'm beginning to think learning how to let go of control isn't about becoming passive. It's about recognizing what is actually mine to carry and what never was.
So I've been returning to this:
Flow with what you can't control. Root in what you can.
Do what is yours.
Then let that be enough for today.
Somewhere to Put Down What You're Carrying
This is one of the reasons journaling has become meaningful to me.
Sometimes writing something down creates just enough distance for me to see it differently.
There is some experimental evidence behind that idea, too. Studies of expressive writing have found that writing about worries can reduce their cognitive interference in certain stressful situations; one study of people with chronic worry suggested expressive writing may help "offload" worry from working memory.
The research doesn't mean journaling works identically for everyone, but I love the idea of paper becoming somewhere our minds don't have to hold everything at once.
That's also the spirit behind 30 Days to Grounded Peace.
I didn't create it to give someone 30 more things to accomplish.
I wanted it to feel like somewhere to return.
An affirmation.
A question.
A few quiet minutes.
A place to put down what you're carrying before you carry it into tomorrow.
Maybe You Were Never Meant to Carry It All
The more I think about it, the more I realize how many different ways we can hold on too tightly.
We hold onto thoughts because we think we need to solve them.
We resist feelings because we think peace means feeling good.
We carry things that aren't ours to control.
We rush to finish everything because we've convinced ourselves that rest and enjoyment have to be earned.
And sometimes we keep carrying all of it simply because we don't realize we're allowed to put some of it down.
Maybe that's what I'm learning.
Not every thought needs an answer.
Not every feeling needs to be fixed.
Not every unfinished task needs to follow me into tomorrow.
Not everything outside my control deserves more of my energy.
And not every difficult moment means I've somehow lost my peace.
I can feel what needs to be felt.
Change what needs to be changed.
Do what is mine to do.
And loosen my grip on the rest.
Maybe letting go isn't caring less about my life.
Maybe it's making more room to actually live it.
And I've Been Noticing Something Else...
Something happened recently that made me wonder what might fill all that space when
we're no longer spending so much of our energy trying to control, fix and hold everything together.
I was standing on a golf course in northern Michigan when I looked toward the woods.
A deer was standing there in a beam of sunlight.
It was such a small moment.
But I haven't stopped thinking about it.
Because maybe there's another side to letting go that I hadn't considered before.
What do we begin to notice when we're no longer holding everything so tightly?
I think that's a story for another Note.
Notes from the Nook
A quiet note about the things I'm noticing, learning and practicing as I find a softer way to live.
If This Felt Familiar, You May Want to Read Next
For the mind that keeps believing one more answer will finally let it rest.
For creating somewhere that doesn't ask you to be anything other than where you are.
For bringing a little more of this feeling into ordinary days.
Sources & Further Reading
Ford, B. Q., et al. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology — research on acceptance of emotions and thoughts and psychological health.
Abramowitz, J. S., Tolin, D. F., & Street, G. P. Clinical Psychology Review — meta-analysis examining the paradoxical effects of thought suppression.
Wang, D. A., et al. — meta-analysis examining ironic effects of thought suppression.
Schroder, H. S., et al. Psychophysiology — research on expressive writing and chronic worry.
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