Letting Go With Love

There’s a moment in healing that feels like standing at the edge of a cliff — unsure whether you’re about to fall or finally learn to fly. For me, that moment came quietly, during a Sunday meditation practice.
We had just settled into our heart practice when Victor, our Sunday meditation teacher, gently guided us: “I invite you to send Metta to the Universe.” He continued, “Now, bring to mind a difficult person in your life—someone who has caused you pain or suffering. Maybe a boss, a former spouse, or even a political figure. Hold them in your awareness and send them Metta. ‘May you be filled with loving kindness. May you be safe from inner and outer dangers. May you be well in body and mind. May you be at ease and happy.’”
I had been practicing Metta for several years, but that day was different. It was time to let go with love—to send Metta to someone who had never apologized to me, someone who didn’t even know the full extent of their impact. As I pictured them in the screen of my mind, tears began to fall. With each phrase, I saw them not as the source of my pain, but as someone who also deserved loving kindness. Someone who had suffered long enough. Someone I truly hoped had finally found peace. And with that realization, something softened in me — not just toward them, but toward myself.
There are many ways we learn to "tuck the fringe"—to hide, to minimize, to bend so we won’t break. I learned it at a young age through conditioning, in friendships, later in love, and often with those who said they cared for me the most. Letting go with love meant finally recognizing the pattern: not just walking away from people who hurt me, but releasing the bitterness — and the belief that I needed their approval to be whole.
I’d like to tell you this happened swiftly, but if you’ve read this far, you know that’s not true. It unfolded slowly, over years of shedding old skin and sitting with uncomfortable truths. But that one Sunday, something shifted. As much as I had been working on healing, it was in that moment my understanding came full circle. I wasn’t condoning — I was releasing. And with that, the burden lifted.
Letting go of toxic people doesn’t have to come from bitterness or anger. In fact, the most powerful way to release someone is with compassion. It’s the shift from asking, “How could they treat me like that?” to understanding, “Their behavior says more about their pain than it does about me.”
Letting go with love wasn’t a straight path. It was scattered—more than this methodical thinker liked to admit. But the turning point came when I realized it had to begin with me. I had spent years trying to fix what was broken around me, hoping it might soothe the ache inside. But I couldn’t offer to others what I hadn’t yet given myself. I had to meet myself exactly where I was — even in the moments when I was still tucked in and afraid to be fully seen. I had to sit with the parts of me still hurting and offer them compassion, not judgment. Only then could I begin to loosen the grip of resentment — first toward myself, then toward those who had hurt me. It was slow, stubborn, and humbling. But in time, one question surfaced and stayed:
Are you bitter, or are you better?
Closure, on my terms.
No one else can give you closure. I wanted to explain my hurt, to hear an apology — but that wasn’t possible. Closure had to come from within. Over time, I realized that living without healing — without closure — becomes a kind of violence against the heart. It keeps old wounds open. It keeps the ache alive. Sending Metta became my way of breaking that cycle — sending love into the universe, whether or not they ever received it.

Letting go with love is the ultimate act of self-respect. It says:
I choose my peace over my pride. I choose my growth over my grudges.
And that’s a choice worth making — every time.
And so, I continue the practice.
Sending Metta.
Sending love.
Choosing peace, again and again.
And again.
​
Reflection ~
Think of someone from your past or present who has caused you pain — someone who may never offer an apology or acknowledgment.
What would it feel like to release the grip of resentment, not for them, but for your own peace?
Can you offer yourself compassion for how long you've carried it, and imagine what it might feel like to let it go — with love?