Letting Go as an Act of Love
Not everything we release is lost.
dear friend,
There’s a moment we all reach—
after the remembering,
after the rebuilding,
after the protecting—
where we’re asked to do something even harder:
let go.
Not because we failed.
Not because we’re giving up.
But because life is movement,
and sometimes love means allowing something to leave.
Letting go is one of the quietest things a person can do.
It’s not loud.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s not always visible from the outside.
But inside—
it can feel like a storm.
Especially when what you’re releasing once meant everything.
A dream.
A story.
A version of yourself that carried you this far.
A person who, at some point, felt like home.
But here’s something I’ve come to believe:
Letting go doesn’t mean erasing.
It means honoring.
Honoring what was.
Honoring who you were.
Honoring the season that held you—
and gently opening your hands to what comes next.
Because sometimes, holding on becomes a kind of resistance.
A way to pause time.
To avoid change.
To stay inside the known.
But love—real love—doesn’t hold too tightly.
It trusts.
It blesses.
It releases.
I’ve had to let go of things I didn’t want to.
Versions of myself I outgrew.
People who couldn’t walk the next part of the path with me.
Ideas that no longer felt true when I said them out loud.
It hurt.
But it cleared space.
And in that space, I found breath again.
So if you’re here now—
at that tender threshold where something inside says,
“It’s time…”
know this:
Letting go is not the end.
It’s a transition.
And sometimes, it’s the most loving thing you can do.
For you.
For them.
For what wants to grow next.
with care and softness,
Malte
P.S.
If something in your life is asking to be released—
even if it’s hard, even if it’s unclear—
may this letter remind you that letting go isn’t a betrayal.
It can be an offering.
A quiet, sacred kind of love.
Next week, I’ll write about what remains.
The parts that stay with us—
even after the letting go.
The seeds that grow, even when we can’t see them yet.
A question to sit with:
What in your life might be ready to be released—gently, with love?