Letting Go is Sacred
Lessons from Autumn
As the leaves begin to fall and the morning air starts to cool, autumn whispers a gentle truth to me: Letting go is not an end but a sacred act of renewal. A rebirth. The more I heal, the more I realize the importance of shedding and starting over. Nature does not fail or fight the shedding that happens each year—and I don't want to either. I'm learning how to soften more these days. The truth of the matter is that all of this life is a practice of processing, remembering, releasing, and remerging with grace.
Remembering that I can find liberation in unfurling from what no longer suits me has been my practice lately. Trusting that surrendering will make space for my new growth. In this season of change, I see clearly that every rebirth is a cycle—a call to restore my spirit and take good care of my heart. Nature seems to do this with ease, without hesitation. I admire that. Watching the seasons change shows me that it's okay to let go.
When I zoom out, look at my life, and take in all I've walked through, I see that my journey thus far hasn't been in vain. I am living proof that joy is a perennial in the garden of my healing.
Autumn, in its vibrant yet fleeting glory, can teach us all about the delicate art of release. There's no resistance in how the trees surrender their leaves. They simply let go—trusting in the rhythms of life. The rustling wind carries away what is no longer needed, making space for winter's hushed but nurturing rest. And it's during this stillness, this temporary pause, that the groundwork for new beginnings is laid.
Nature teaches us to trust this process. To understand that letting go isn't about loss but creating space for change and self-nurturing.
There have been many instances in my life where I've held on to things too long—whether it be relationships, expectations, or outdated versions of myself. The fear of shifting and the comfort of what feels familiar makes it easy to adhere to what feels safe. But when Fall brings her glory to my neck of the woods, I am reminded that clinging too tightly to anything suffocates growth. The trees are my teacher every autumn—nudging me to see how beautiful letting go can be.
The older I get, the clearer I am about not being a hoarder of people, places, or things. When it's time to shift, it's time to shift. I am making deep peace with that. A lesson that's made itself undeniable to me is that releasing isn't about abandoning what's meaningful but honoring its place in [or out] of my life.
Now more than ever, I recognize that everyone's spirit needs room to breathe and expand. We cannot fully exhale without letting go of what no longer facilitates healthy growth or well-being.
Letting go is an act of patience that requires trust in timing. Just as the trees know they will flourish again, we must also practice believing that growth and healing are taking place beneath the surface in our stillness. A quiet preparation starts in the spaces we clear. There is beauty in releasing to receive, even when the fruits of our labor don't emerge in our preferred timing. For me, patience is the hardest part of my healing cycle—the waiting in the quiet, the trusting in what's to come without knowing when or how it will unfold.
Autumn, in all its wisdom, offers so much comfort to my soul. It shows me that purpose exists even in moments of apparent loss. Even when we feel bare and exposed, we are not diminished in our strength or worth. We can stand tall knowing and trusting that our time to bloom will return. Every single day carries a lesson—teaching us how to stand with hope in hand, trusting that this period of releasing is not an ending but an integral part of new beginnings.
There's something deeply empowering about all of this. Letting go acknowledges that we are not defined by what we cling to but by our capacity to embrace change and welcome the unknown. In releasing what no longer aligns, we start creating space for something more authentic to take root. Whether it's a new direction, a clearer perspective, or a deeper connection with self, the space we’ve opened will eventually fill with something nourishing.
Today’s Meditation: May we all remember that our blooming cannot be rushed. May we all remember that our rebirth isn't immediate. May we all remember that change is possible. May we all remember to keep showing up. May we all remember to welcome to patience. May we all remember that each of us unfolds in our own time. May we all remember that trusting the season we’re in is an act of courage. May you offer yourself the permission to let go. May you trust that each release is a step toward the next version of yourself. May we all learn what surrendering truly feels like this season. May everything that is to be—be so.
Journal Questions for the Season
1. What is something you are holding onto right now, and how might letting go create space for new growth?
2. How can you practice patience during transition or change?
3. In what ways have you grown after releasing what no longer aligns? How did that process feel at the time? How do you feel now?
4. What does Autumn teach you about trusting the natural cycles of life?
5. What does renewal look like for you right now, and how can you honor this period of rebirth with self-compassion?
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I deeply enjoyed this piece! As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to embrace change, letting go, and the unknown of it all. It’s a necessary part of our journey, meant to be experienced fully. You mentioned how patience has been the hardest part of your healing cycle and whewww, I resonate with that so much!🫣 Patience has never been my strong suit but where I’m at now, I’m trying to be more like the seasons…not resisting the shedding, not basking in the blooming, or everything in between. Thank you for this essay!
"The older I get, the clearer I am about not being a hoarder of people, places, or things. When it's time to shift, it's time to shift. I am making deep peace with that. A lesson that's made itself undeniable to me is that releasing isn't about abandoning what's meaningful but honoring its place in [or out] of my life." I felt that thank you for these words on the beauty of autumn and change.