This past week, I noticed the first hints of autumn. The mornings are cooler. The light falls differently in the afternoon. Leaves are just starting to shift from green to yellow. It’s subtle, but it’s there—the reminder that life moves in seasons, whether we’re ready or not.
Moving into autumn always reminds me of when we moved to New England from Southern California. It was 2011, and I’d been living primarily in California my entire life, with several stints scattered across the globe, but home was California.
Bob grew up in Indiana and was used to seasons. In fact, he wanted them back, which was a factor in deciding to move to New England. About 4 months before he died, he had raked a huge pile of leaves in the front yard—far more than I’d ever seen where we previously lived. The kids were 9 and 11, and Bob had such child-like joy with the change of seasons that he couldn’t help but get everyone to jump in the huge pile of leaves.
I have a video of those moments that I revisit each fall, which brings a smile to my face.
The changing season got me thinking about how much of grief, and of life itself, is about learning to let go. Trees don’t cling to their leaves. They release them, trusting that spring will bring new growth. For us, letting go isn’t as easy. We hold on to memories, roles, identities, and even pain. Sometimes we hold on because it’s all we have left. Sometimes we hold on because we’re afraid of what might come next.
But eventually, like the trees, we face a season where holding on is heavier than releasing.
Why Letting Go Matters
When I speak of “letting go,” I’m not talking about forgetting; I’m not talking about discarding love or memories. I’m talking about loosening our grip on the things that keep us stuck, like those expectations of who we used to be, regrets about what didn’t happen, or guilt for not “getting it right.”
When we don’t make space, we don’t leave room for new growth. Just like a tree can’t sprout fresh leaves without dropping the old ones, we can’t step into what’s next while clinging to what was.
And here’s the paradox: letting go isn’t a one-time act. It’s seasonal, both literal and figurative. Just as the leaves return every year, so do the reminders of our grief. And each time, we’re invited again to loosen our grip, to release a little more, to trust that something new will come.
Practical Ways to Practice Letting Go
If you’re wondering what that might look like in real life, here are a few practices you could try:
Write it down. Take a piece of paper and write what you’re ready to release—an expectation, a regret, a “should.” Then fold it up, tear it, or burn it safely. The act itself can be freeing.
Use a leaf. Pick up a fallen leaf. Hold it in your hand while thinking of what you want to let go of. Then release it into the wind, or float it down a stream.
Declutter one thing. Choose a small space, like a drawer or a shelf, and clear it. Letting go of something physical can make room emotionally, too.
Shift your calendar. If a date still feels heavy, plan something intentional for it—a walk, a call with a friend, or an act of kindness in someone’s name. Change the script of the day.
Start something new. Letting go isn’t just about release—it’s also about planting. Enroll in a class, pick up a hobby, or say yes to something small that reminds you life is still unfolding.
No, they’re not cures. They are actions that give you small, physical ways to honor the truth: grief asks us to carry both loss and possibility, release and renewal.
The Space That Remains
Letting go provides us with the gift of space; space for something new. When a tree drops its leaves, it doesn’t look barren—it looks ready. Ready for snow, ready for rest, ready for whatever comes next.
Maybe that’s what this season is offering us, too: permission to stop clinging, to rest, to prepare for new growth we can’t yet see.
My Challenge for You
My challenge for you this week is this: take a few minutes to reflect on what you’re holding onto that no longer serves you. Write it down, say it out loud, or simply acknowledge it. Then ask yourself: what might grow if I made space by letting this go?
What’s one leaf you’re ready to release this season?
