Ever notice how we talk about "closure" like it’s a package delivered by FedEx? We wait for it. We think if we just say the right words or hear the right apology, the weight in our chest will magically evaporate. It doesn't. Honestly, the way we talk about ending things—jobs, relationships, old versions of ourselves—is kinda broken. We use words that imply a clean break, but life is messy.
The language of letting go isn’t actually about saying goodbye. It’s about how we reframe the narrative inside our own heads. Research in narrative therapy, spearheaded by figures like Michael White and David Epston, suggests that the stories we tell about our lives literally shape our reality. If your internal vocabulary is full of "loss," "failure," and "abandonment," your nervous system stays in a state of high alert. You’re stuck in the "what if" loop.
Why our vocabulary keeps us stuck
Most people think letting go is a single event. It’s not. It’s a series of micro-decisions made every single morning when you wake up and realize that the person or thing you miss isn't there. We often use "should" a lot. "I should be over this by now." "They should have treated me better."
The word "should" is a trap.
When you use "should," you are arguing with reality. And reality always wins. Clinical psychologist Dr. Albert Ellis famously called this "musturbating"—the insistence that things must be a certain way. To change the language of letting go, we have to move from the language of resistance to the language of acceptance. This doesn't mean you like what happened. It just means you stop fighting the fact that it happened.
- Stop saying: "I lost five years of my life."
- Try saying: "I spent five years learning what I don't want."
It sounds like semantics, but neuroplasticity tells us otherwise. Your brain is listening to your internal monologue. Constant repetition of "I am broken" reinforces neural pathways that keep you feeling, well, broken.
The myth of "Closure" and what to say instead
Psychologist Pauline Boss coined the term "ambiguous loss." This is the kind of loss where there is no body to bury, no final conversation, and no clear ending. Think of a breakup where someone ghosts you, or a loved one with dementia who is physically there but mentally gone. In these cases, the traditional language of letting go fails us because there is no "end" to point to.
You're waiting for a period at the end of the sentence, but life gave you an ellipsis...
Instead of seeking closure, experts suggest seeking "meaning." Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor, wrote extensively in Man’s Search for Meaning about how humans can endure almost anything if they can find a "why." Letting go becomes easier when you change the word "closure" to "integration." You aren't closing a door; you're integrating the experience into the quilt of who you are. It’s a part of you now. It’s not the whole story, but it’s a chapter that informed the next one.
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The trap of "Moving On"
We use the phrase "moving on" like we’re physically walking away from a burning building. But memories don't work like that. You don't leave them behind; you carry them differently.
Think about the weight of a backpack. If you hold it with your arms outstretched, it’s exhausting. You’ll drop it eventually. But if you strap it on properly, you can walk for miles. The weight is the same, but the way you carry it has changed. That is the essence of the language of letting go.
We need to stop asking "When will I be over this?" and start asking "How am I growing around this?"
The physiology of the words we choose
Your body reacts to the metaphors you use. If you say you feel "stabbed in the back," your brain processes that using similar pathways to actual physical pain. This isn't hippy-dippy talk; it's basic biology. The anterior cingulate cortex doesn't distinguish much between social rejection and a physical injury.
When we use violent or permanent language—"I’ll never recover," "This destroyed me"—we trigger a prolonged cortisol spike. Chronic stress isn't just a mood; it’s a physical state that prevents the prefrontal cortex from rationalizing the situation. You literally cannot think your way out of a problem when your language is keeping you in a state of "fight or flight."
Shift the script: Practical linguistic changes
It's helpful to look at how we describe our emotions. Instead of "I am sad," try "I am experiencing sadness."
It’s subtle.
By saying "I am sad," you are identifying yourself as the emotion. You become the sadness. By saying "I am experiencing sadness," you create a tiny bit of space between your identity and the feeling. The feeling is a visitor. It’s passing through. This is a core tenet of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR), developed by Jon Kabat-Zinn.
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The "And" Philosophy
The language of letting go thrives on the word "and."
- I am heartbroken and I am capable of making breakfast.
- I miss my old job and I am excited about having more free time.
- What they did was wrong and I am responsible for my own healing.
Binary thinking—the "either/or" mindset—is the enemy of moving forward. You think you have to either be completely over it or completely miserable. You don't. You can exist in the middle. The middle is where the actual healing happens.
Let’s talk about the "Release"
In many Buddhist traditions, the concept of "Upadana" refers to attachment or clinging. It’s often translated as "fuel." When we cling to a grievance or a past version of ourselves, we are providing the fuel for our own suffering.
The language of letting go in this context is about "releasing the grip." Imagine you’re holding a hot coal. You don't "let go" of the coal by throwing it with force; you simply open your hand. The moment you stop gripping, the coal falls.
But opening your hand hurts if you’ve been clenching it for years. It’s okay to acknowledge that the release feels like a different kind of pain.
Real-world application: The "Draft" phase
When you're trying to re-write your story, don't worry about the final version. Treat your life like a Google Doc. You’re just in the editing phase.
I once talked to a woman who had lost her business after fifteen years. She kept saying, "I am a failure." We looked at the language of letting go and realized that "failure" was a noun she was wearing like a heavy coat. We swapped it for a verb. "The business failed."
The business failed. She didn't.
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That distinction saved her. It allowed her to look at the data of what went wrong without feeling like her entire soul was being audited.
Actionable steps for changing your narrative
Don't try to change your entire mindset overnight. That’s a recipe for failure. Start small.
Audit your adjectives. Spend one day just noticing the words you use to describe your "stuckness." Are you using words like "always," "never," "forever," or "ruined"? These are "terminal" words. They leave no room for change. Try replacing them with "currently," "lately," or "so far." "I haven't found a new partner so far" feels a lot different than "I'll be alone forever."
Write a "Release Letter" you never mail. This is a classic for a reason. Get the raw, ugly, unpolished language out of your system. Don't be "mature." Be petty. Be angry. Use the "bad" words. Once they are on paper, they aren't taking up space in your head. Then, burn it. The physical act of seeing those words turn to ash provides a sensory cue to your brain that the "venting" phase is over.
Change your "Why" to "What."
"Why did this happen to me?" is a hole with no bottom. You can dig forever and never find the answer. Shift to: "What can I do today that makes me feel 1% more like myself?" This moves you from the past tense to the present tense.
Stop "Checking In" on the ghost.
In the digital age, the language of letting go includes digital language. If you are still "translating" your ex's Instagram stories or LinkedIn updates, you are keeping the old story alive. You are ghostwriting a sequel to a book that’s already been closed. Block, mute, or delete. Your attention is your currency; stop spending it on someone who isn't in the room.
The reality is that letting go isn't a destination. It’s a practice. You’ll probably have to let go of the same thing a thousand times before it sticks. And that’s fine. Just watch your language while you do it.
Moving forward
Focus on the "Next Right Thing." This is a concept often used in recovery circles. When the big picture of "the rest of your life" feels too heavy, the language of letting go shrinks the timeline. You aren't letting go of the next forty years. You're just letting go of the last ten minutes.
Focus on the immediate.
Drink water. Take a breath. Change the way you describe your struggle. If you can change the words, the feelings usually follow—eventually. It’s not a fast process, but it is a real one. You've got this, honestly. Just take it one sentence at a time.