To “let go” does not mean to stop caring, it means I can’t do it for someone else.
To “let go” is not to cut myself off, it’s the realization I can’t control another.
To “let go” is not to enable, but to allow learning from natural consequences.
To “let go” is to admit powerlessness, which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To “let go” is not to try to change or blame another, it is to make the most of myself.
To “let go” is not to care for, but to care about.
To "let go" is not to fix, but to be supportive.
To “let go” is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.
To “let go” is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes, but to allow others to affect their own destinies.
To “let go” is not to be protective, it is to permit another to face reality.
To “let go” is not to deny, but to accept.
To “let go” is not to nag, scold or argue, but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
To “let go” is not to adjust everything to my desires, but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
To “let go” is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future.
To “let go” is to fear less and love more.
by: Louise L Hay
Based on this poem, I have not let go completely. I have done only a handful of what is written above. I'm going to meditate on this daily and work to give this gift to my husband and to myself. Have you had to deal with letting go? It's truly one of the hardest things in life.
I read recently that control (which is in effect a lack of letting go) is the most destructive element in any relationship. I never realized how many ways in which I was controlling. I thought I had let go of my control. In effect, I had really let go of the Martha Stewart perfectionist in me, which was good. But there are so many little insidious ways in which I was controlling. I caused harm in my marriage.
I know, I know. It's not all on me. I know now I could have been the perfect wife and my husband would have still gone thru this "mid life crisis" which he is dealing with now. But it serves me no good to place all blame on him just as it does me no good to place all blame on me.
I woke today hurting. My home is empty without my son. Those are days where, even when well-rested, I just pray for the courage to face my day, for I feel a deep sadness and no strength to tackle (or even enjoy) what's ahead of me in the hours to come.
I don't know what happened to my strength. I know it will come again. I hope it will. That is what I have to hold onto in order to put one foot in front of the other.
Thanks for joining me in this journey.
What we grieve for is not the loss of a grand vision, but rather the loss of common things, events, and gestures. Ordinariness is the most precious thing we struggle for.