We’ve all heard of the idea of letting go. It’s something we’re often told to do, by others or by ourselves.
I need to let go.
You need to let go.
The phrase gets repeated so often that it can begin to feel hollow, or even dismissive. Still, beneath it lives something real. Letting go circles around the ability to release or surrender, most often, control.
As human beings, existentially speaking, we have an old and complicated relationship with control. And with the lack of it.
We try to hold on to it wherever we can. Cultures, especially in the West, celebrate autonomy, agency, and choice, all values that reinforce and reward our attachment to control. We like to believe we have it, because the thought of not having control can feel terrifying. It can send us into a familiar felt sense of spiraling: anxiety, fear, helplessness, and powerlessness.
In a world shaped by vast systems, unpredictable events, and forces far beyond our influence, it makes sense that we reach for control. And yet, we are constantly confronted by its limits, or more accurately, by how little of it we truly have.
It’s a balancing act.
In psychology, we talk about locus of control*, what we perceive as within our control and what we experience as outside of it. In this post, I’m focusing on letting go of what lies outside our control, and more specifically, on the act of letting go as something embodied, not just conceptual.
Lately, with all that’s been happening in the world, and with the constant exposure to large-scale violence, destruction, and uncertainty delivered straight to our phones, I’ve been feeling quietly helpless and scared. The news around immigration has been especially activating. As an immigrant myself, there’s a part of me that desperately wants to do something.
When the future feels unclear, when I can’t predict what’s coming next or imagine a hopeful outcome, I panic. I worry. I search. I stay hyper-informed. I tell myself that staying engaged, activated, and vigilant is a form of responsibility. It gives me the feeling that I’m doing something— anything.
Some days, that works. I find meaningful ways to contribute. I take action where I can. I feel grounded in what is within my control.
But there are other days when I feel completely out of control. I become a watcher. I stay on guard. I scroll endlessly, searching for information that might finally bring relief, hope, reassurance, or proof that everything will be okay. I reach for control when what I actually need is comfort, care, or a plan, however limited that plan might be.
And sometimes, no plan is possible.
That’s when I’ve learned that letting go isn’t a luxury. It’s an essential skill. At first, I practiced letting go as a mental exercise— a phrase I repeated to myself like a mantra. And it helped, but only to a point.
I needed more. I needed something at the level of the body.
Because when we’re scared, panicked, or shaken, when we feel unsafe, telling ourselves to let it go is only half the work. The other half is allowing the body to receive that message at a psychobiological level, so the nervous system and muscles can actually register it.
And this is where things get difficult.
If the environment doesn’t feel safe, the body won’t let go, and for good reason. Our survival instincts are doing their job. When the world feels threatening, our system tells us to stay alert and stay alive. And that means it doesn’t feel safe to rest, to soften, to step back, or to release control.
So the question becomes: How do we work with our biology instead of against it?
Letting go, I’ve learned, is not a one-time decision. It’s a practice, an active verb.
Below are some embodied practices offered as invitations. They may help us rehearse the act of letting go and offer small pockets of relief as we continue to live in a world that can feel unstable, frightening, and overwhelming.
Embodied Practices for Letting Go
Singing, Chanting, or Music
Singing and chanting are ancient human practices for healing and regulation. They directly engage the vagus nerve, our primary pathway for rest, digestion, connection, and calm alertness.
You might begin by asking yourself: What’s a song that brings the imagery of letting go?
For me, it’s “Tu Jhoom” by Abida Parveen and Naseebo Lal. Or even “Vienna” by Billy Joel. A client once shared this song with me, and it’s been close to my heart ever since. Let your song carry you into release.
Movement and Exercise
Stretching muscles and fascia while coordinating with breath allows thoughts to come and go without attachment. Holding and releasing poses becomes a lived experience of letting go. A pose like child’s pose, for example, allows us to practice release and surrender. It’s also deeply supportive for the neck, back, and hips, places that often hold a great deal of tension.
Running
Through bilateral stimulation*, running helps activate problem-solving regions of the brain while quieting the amygdala, our threat alarm system. It releases dopamine, endorphins, and serotonin, supporting emotional release while teaching the body that it can move through discomfort rather than cling to familiar patterns of control.
Progressive Muscle Relaxation (PMR)
This practice intentionally invites tension and then releases it. It may be one of the most literal, embodied ways to practice letting go. If you need guidance, there are many PMR scripts available that can support you through the process.
Posture Practices
If it feels accessible, try holding your arms out like you’re surfing and riding the waves. You don’t need to know how to surf. I don’t even know how to swim. For me, it’s about imagining myself riding waves of emotion or circumstance. It’s playful and often makes me smile, especially when I make swishing sounds as I ride the waves. The body expands, countering the instinct to shrink into smallness or powerlessness.
You can also lie flat on the ground and imagine the earth holding you, or water carrying you, allowing yourself to float.
These invite tension and release through pendulation*, a core concept in somatic experiencing. They help discharge trapped energy, pain, and tension held in muscles, tissues, and fascia through repeated micro-movements.
Dancing
Across cultures, dance has been a way to surrender to something larger, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I grew up fascinated by Sufi* dancers, who embody devotion and release through motion, and Tandav* dancers, who channel rage so it can move through the body rather than stay trapped within it. You might begin simply by playing a song that wants you to move, whether it meets you in happiness, sadness, anger, or exhaustion. Start by swaying to the music. Let the body respond in its own way, without needing to look a certain way or make sense of it.
Swinging or Swaying
Rhythmic movement can be deeply soothing, activating the vagus nerve and restoring a sense of safety, much like how babies are rocked and comforted. You might also notice what’s happening inside as you move, with curiosity and care.
Breathwork
Practices that involve breathing, holding, and releasing, such as box breathing or different pranayamas* (including alternate nostril breathing, cooling breath, or bee breath), help consciously regulate the nervous system.
Crying
Crying acts as an emotional valve, releasing pressure that words often cannot. If you’re not a natural crier, you might imagine yourself crying, watch a movie, or listen to a song that allows the tears to come.
Hugging
To be held, by another or even by oneself, allows the body to soften and rest. Touch reaches our largest organ, the skin, and is among our earliest experiences of safety. An embrace reminds us of our physical boundaries, our container, our body. Many of us also know the quiet, soft safety of hugging a pet and feeling their breath rise and fall against our own.
Prayer and Ritual
Choosing to offer our fears to something beyond ourselves is an act of faith. Whether that’s God or the elements, such as space, fire, water, or earth. Prayer and ritual create a container for release. Writing and releasing our fears to the elements can be one such practice. Mantras, too, can become prayers. One of my favorites (that I borrow from Dr. Peter A. Levine) is:
I give thanks to help unknown, already on its way.
All that said, letting go is not something we’re meant to do alone. At times, it can be a heart- and gut-wrenching process. What we often need isn’t more effort or insight, but a steady, attuned presence to help us listen to what our bodies and inner worlds are asking for.
If you find yourself longing for support as you navigate uncertainty, fear, or the embodied work of letting go, therapy can be a place to explore this gently and at your own pace.
If you’re considering therapy or looking for support, I invite you to reach out to learn more about working together and to see whether my services might be a good fit for you.
Mini Glossary
Locus of Control*
A psychological concept that refers to where we believe control over events in our lives resides. An internal locus of control reflects the belief that our actions influence outcomes, while an external locus of control reflects the belief that outcomes are shaped by forces outside of us, such as chance, systems, or other people. Understanding locus of control helps us discern what is truly ours to influence, and what we may need to practice letting go of.
Bilateral Stimulation*
A process that engages both sides of the body or brain in an alternating rhythm (such as left-right movement). Activities like walking, running, or tapping can create bilateral stimulation, which helps the brain process emotions and experiences more effectively. It is commonly used to reduce emotional intensity, calm the nervous system, and support integration, especially during stress or trauma.
Pendulation (Somatic Experiencing)*
A concept from somatic experiencing that describes the natural rhythm of moving between states of activation (tension, stress, discomfort) and deactivation (relaxation, ease, relief). Pendulation helps the nervous system release stored energy gradually, rather than becoming overwhelmed. By gently oscillating between these states, the body learns that it can experience activation and still return to safety, supporting the embodied act of letting go.
Pranayama*
A set of breathing practices rooted in yogic traditions that involve consciously regulating the breath through patterns of inhaling, holding, and exhaling. Pranayama is used to influence the nervous system, helping to calm, energize, or balance the body and mind. In an embodied context, pranayama supports awareness of internal states and offers a way to practice regulation and release through the breath.
Sufi Dance (Whirling / Sama)*
A devotional movement practice rooted in Sufism, the mystical branch of Islam. Sufi dance, often expressed through whirling, is traditionally used as a form of prayer and remembrance of the divine. The repetitive spinning and rhythmic movement are meant to quiet the ego, cultivate presence, and facilitate surrender to something greater than the self. In an embodied sense, Sufi dance can support emotional release, grounding, and a felt experience of connection and letting go.
Tandav Dance (Tāṇḍava)*
A vigorous and expressive dance form originating in Hindu tradition, associated with the cosmic dance of Shiva. Tandav is often described as a dance of intensity, power, and transformation, embodying emotions such as rage, grief, destruction, and renewal. Rather than suppressing strong emotions, Tandav provides a structured way to channel and release them through the body. Somatically, it can support the discharge of stored activation and allow powerful emotional energy to move through rather than remain held within.