Why Letting Go Feels So Hard (Even When You’re Ready)
- Yuna Lee
- May 25
- 2 min read
Updated: May 26
A quiet reflection on lineage, love, and learning to stop proving myself
Sometimes I wonder if certain stories are passed down, not by words, but by air.
Like steam from a cup of tea, or the way one silence echoes another.
In my family, the story goes something like this:
If you want to be loved,
you have to earn it.
Be impressive.
Be beautiful.
Be helpful.
Be less of a burden.
If you're tired, don’t show it.
If you’re hurt, smile kindly.
I didn’t learn it in a lecture.
I just watched the women in my family—brilliant, over-functioning, generous women—try to hold everything together.
I inherited their capacity.
And, without meaning to, I also inherited their ache.
What We Carry Without Knowing
There’s a word for this: transgenerational trauma.
Which basically means: we carry things we didn’t choose.
Patterns. Fears. Ways of loving that don’t quite feel like ours, but feel familiar enough to follow.
Our nervous systems, it turns out, are great at remembering what we never got to forget.
Why Is It So Hard to Let Go?
Because the pattern feels like home—even if it’s uncomfortable.
Because our body thinks it’s safer to repeat something painful than to step into something unknown.
Because letting go isn’t just about stopping a behavior.
It’s about grieving.
Unlearning.
Sitting with discomfort.
And honestly?
Sometimes the old pattern is convenient.
At least I know how to perform.
How to overgive.
How to shrink
But that’s not love.
That’s coping.
Letting Go (Or Trying To)
I’ve been trying to let go.
Not in a dramatic, "burn it all down" kind of way.
More like pruning.
Softening.
But it’s harder than it sounds.
Because I fluctuate.
Between longing for someone who gives more… and recoiling when they do.
Between craving deep connection, and chasing people who can’t offer any.
Because some part of me still believes that love needs to be earned through effort, or that receiving is risky.
It’s a strange thing.
What I Know, For Now
Now I pause more.
I trust my no.
It’s a small decision:
Not to repeat what was never mine to carry.
This isn’t a breakthrough story.
I didn’t wake up healed.
But I did start noticing the pattern.
I realized I was either proving I was worth loving or retreating from the ones who offered love freely.
Now I’m practicing something quieter.
I breathe.
And I stay with the strange, tender, but beautiful feeling of self-love I didn’t grow up knowing.
If You’re Holding Something Too
If you're reading this and thinking about your own patterns, know that you're not alone.
We all have stories we’re quietly trying to unwrite.
And maybe we don’t need to fix everything.
Maybe it's enough to notice, to name it, and to choose differently—one small moment at a time.
If it helps, make tea.
If it feels right, take a breath.
Sometimes that's enough.
Comments