The Gentle Art of Letting Go

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The scene is etched painfully in my memory: the time more than 50 years ago when I took a deep breath and told my long-time boyfriend Mike that I had fallen in love with someone else. He was blindsided, bewildered, furious, and profoundly sad.

“Let me ask you something,” he said at last, his voice shaking and tears in his eyes. “Think of all the love and joy we’ve shared the past six years. Doesn’t that mean anything at all to you?”

Frozen with sorrow and shame, I whispered that all of that meant a lot to me.

His face tightened. “Right,” he said and stormed out of my apartment, slamming the door behind him.

But that wasn’t the end of our relationship. Mike was a master at forgiving and selective forgetting. We never reconciled as a romantic couple, but we enjoyed a lifelong friendship, though eventually married other people and lived in different states. In an era long before texting and emails, we agreed that we would write to each other on Christmas, his birthday in February, and mine in April, and call each other in between with any life-changing news like the deaths of our parents or my thoracic surgery in 2003. Learning of my impending surgery in my somber 2002 Christmas letter, Mike called me at work to ask what was going on medically and how he could help. He asked if I needed any logistical, emotional, or financial help. I told him that just hearing his voice and his concern was a special gift to me at a difficult time.

About ten years ago, while working out at the gym, I heard our favorite song from our early romantic days – “Come Saturday Morning” – playing over the gym speakers and was inspired to write a blog post about relationship regrets, wishing I had been more transparent and kind to Mike in our dating days. But first I called Mike to ask his permission and if he wanted a name change in the post. He laughed. “Don’t change my name,” he said. “How else am I going to be famous?” And when he saw the post, he wrote me a lovely note saying that I was being too hard on myself, that he didn’t remember me being snarky or unkind, only that we loved each other and shared much fun and tenderness in our time together. He urged me to forgive myself for the pain of our breakup, having let go of the hurt and anger himself long ago. I felt a rush of joy and gratitude for his emotional generosity.

The gentle art of letting go of grudges and grievances can free one from the heavy burden of anger and bitterness that can haunt one’s thoughts and dreams for months and years after a romantic breakup. The sour mix of bitterness and rumination can erode the soul. So can the need to be relentlessly right while seeing the other as all wrong.

A former neighbor recently confided to me with anger and sorrow that every man to whom she had been married – there had been three – as well as every man she had dated had turned out to be an impossible, disgusting, totally horrible narcissist. It made me wonder how she managed to feel any joy in her life with this heavy burden of anger and regret. And it made me wonder, too, why she kept connecting with the same kind of man. Didn’t she ever learn to see the red flags or familiar patterns in new relationships? And was it possible that she was seeing others through the prism of her own negativity? How might letting go of that lighten her spirit and change her life?

How does one begin to let go of the anger, pain, and regret that come with a romantic breakup?

1. Ask yourself “What did I learn?” We learn from all kinds of experiences. And learning can be empowering.
2. Focus on what was good. Often in the wake of a romantic breakup or divorce, we focus on what was terrible, disappointing, and devastating, and in doing so can stockpile anger and grudges for years. Focusing on the good, grieving the relationship, and moving on can set you free.
3. Letting go can help to prevent romantic breakups — or ease the pain of an inevitable split. Letting go of unrealistic expectations and setting reasonable boundaries in troubled relationships may help you to resolve major differences and avoid total estrangement. And letting go of anger and blame can free you to feel hope and joy as you move on.
4. Free yourself of goals and dreams that no longer work for you. My mother always hoped that I’d marry a doctor, and when I was 29, I met her dream man: a nice, tall, handsome, Catholic doctor. My mother was delighted. I was besotted, breaking up with my boyfriend Mike to be with this dazzling new love. And, in a very real sense, he was instant karma, coming out of the closet a year into our relationship and breaking up with me, shattering my heart. But from that painful experience, I learned to listen to my own sense of a love that could last, eventually marrying a man who did not fit my mother's dreams at all but who felt just right for me. In time, I realized that my doctor ex-boyfriend and I were better suited to be work partners. We wrote several successful books together after our breakup. And we salvaged an enduring friendship out of our romantic wreckage. Mike had shown me how to do that with grace.
5. Focus on simplifying your life by letting go of your old relationship patterns. My late younger sister Tai was a rescuer, her inclinations honed by growing up with a father whose alcoholism and mental illness had sabotaged his great promise in his career and his life in general. Tai was married twice and both of her ex-husbands were addicts. “I’m done with rescuing,” she told me after her second divorce. " I’ve decided that I’ll be a helper/caregiver in my work (she was a registered nurse) and then come home and just relax. I’m sad that I couldn’t save those three important men in my life. I loved them. But I’ve let go so I can live my own best life."

In his birthday letter to me in 2018, Mike reported that he was working out every day, still slim and fit at 77. He talked with joy about a beloved granddaughter whom he had encouraged and mentored since she was a toddler and who had graduated from college into a successful career. He told me that he had recently become fascinated by old silent movies and early Laurel and Hardy films. Life was good.

When I didn’t hear from him at Christmas that year, I felt a tinge of fear. I Googled his name and there it was: an obituary. He had died on November 11, a sudden cardiac death, just like his parents. In the years since, I've missed him more than I ever could have imagined. Birthdays and holidays just aren't the same. But the gift of his forgiveness and lessons in letting go will be with me always.