I’ve struggled with letting go of people, even when sometimes there isn’t a choice, which is when it’s hardest. It started when my first best friend Kim moved away in second grade, to Michigan. I’d forever go on to have trauma, superstition, and even refer to a “curse” around best friendships even now, half a century later.
Since then, I’ve worked hard on relationship issues through years of therapy, a psychology degree, years of work to become a reiki master, and more, but still have work left. I struggle with how to let people go who’ve disappointed or betrayed me. I have a toxic loyalty at times; stemming from a turbulent, dysfunctional upbringing. It’s a sad when your comfort zone is neglect or emotional abuse.
I was diagnosed years ago with Borderline Personality Disorder. Fear of abandonment is a primary symptom, a form of depression in which emotion regulation is a challenge. When people hurt us, it’s not just the act itself that stings, but the shattering of the belief that this person would never hurt you. The friendship or relationship you thought was built on solid ground suddenly feels like an illusion. You replay conversations in your head, looking for signs you missed. You wonder if the person you cared about ever saw you the same way you saw them. Sometimes closure doesn’t come with an apology or explanation, but in quiet moments when you decide you no longer want to keep carrying the weight of someone else’s damage.
There’s a line from The Great Gatsby that fits this: “Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.” It captures that blend of heartbreak and dignity—when you care, but still decide to walk away with grace. Finding peace is freedom.
When betrayal hits, the instinct is to seek understanding. We want to know why. But people’s reasons rarely satisfy us because betrayal’s rarely logical. Maybe the friend or loved one was scared, selfish, confused, or simply careless with your heart. You can’t control that, and trying to make sense of it often traps you in the same loop of pain you’re trying to escape. People show you who they are through their words, actions, or choices, and your peace comes from simple radical acceptance.
Healing begins when you stop replaying the story of what happened and start rewriting your part in it. You get to choose who you are after this. Maybe it makes you softer, wiser, more protective of your energy. But it can also make you more real. Disappointment has a way of stripping life down to its core essentials. You learn to value people who keep their word, small acts of kindness, and the steadiness of your own company.
It helps to let yourself grieve without shame. Crying helps because like every emotion, even anger when expressed reasonably, it’s better out than in, always. People who swallow anger and pain end up more angry, more hurt. It's like the old quote that makes its way around the 12-step circles: “Resentment is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die."
Don’t rush to “get over it.” Healing doesn’t move in straight lines; it circles back, then moves forward again. The goal isn’t to erase the hurt but to live so fully that the hurt becomes just one chapter, not the whole story. Even painful relationships can hold something beautiful. Maybe you can’t keep the person, but you can keep the lesson, the memory, the growth. Once in a while, someone from the past even returns for a new chapter in your life when they’ve done some healing, and you find new chapters together.
Letting go peacefully means choosing your future over your pain. Peace is more powerful than negativity, and protecting your heart doesn’t mean closing it. People who betray or disappoint you don’t get to write your ending. You do. And the next time you open yourself to trust, you’ll know it’s not because you’re naïve—it’s because you’re brave enough to believe that love, in its truest form, is still worth the risk.