The Slow Art of Letting Go

‘A swing moves forward only when it releases backward.’ 

    There’s something about that image that keeps coming to mind. It begins with a backward pull, then a pause that feels frozen in time, before moving forward again. I’ve been sitting in that pause lately, because letting go has been part of my story again, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t sting. 

     Miscarriage has been part of my life for years now, and it’s part of the ministry God has given me. But this recent letting go was different again. It felt deeper. It touched something etched into my being. A hope I’d carried, prayed for, hoped for, and struggled to let go of. And yet God met me right there – in the backward motion and in the pause. The deepest place I didn’t want to face.

     Letting go is never simple. But it doesn’t have to be rushed either. I’m finding it’s allowed to be slow, like a wooden swing gently moving in the breeze.

It’s about trust 

     There’s a moment on a swing where you’re hanging – not where you were, and not yet where you’re going. That in-between can be used to build trust. It’s the place where you’re all exposed and everything feels unsure, but it’s more honest than anything else. 

     That’s where I found myself again. The grief of losing a baby settles deep within. It can linger in places you don’t expect. My hopes, my baby, the excitement and hush all mattered – so I held that grief close. It was all I had to connect me to who and what so very much mattered. But then I slowly realised that I couldn’t keep holding it in the same way anymore.

     Trust for me has looked like tears and desperate prayers. Often, it’s looked like taking a walk, wrestling through my thoughts and telling God I don’t know how to let go. Sometimes trust is simply inviting Him to stay with me in the ache instead of trying to fix it myself.

     Building trust is slow for me and my God is patient.

It’s about release 

     Release isn't a single event, and it’s quieter than anything else. Release is a decision to gently uncurl my hands that I have clenched tightly upon a lifeless rock. 

     I realised I’d been trying too hard. Pushing my own plans. I was trying to make sense of things that were never going to make any sense, causing me to carry weight that wasn’t mine to bear. That’s familiar territory for me, but it still isn’t always easy to recognise when I’m doing it again.

     In the middle of all that trying, replaying the same thoughts and ending up in the same place, God invited me to stop. He reminded me to breathe. That was when something shifted inside me, enough to help me loosen my grip. Rather than letting go, I simply let things be. I began to take notice of what is still here, even in the ache. While still leaving room for God to give if He so chooses.

     I’m learning release isn’t always about letting go of whatever we’re holding so tightly, but dropping the pressure wrapped around it. That pull to manage every outcome wears you out. Worrying about what might or might not happen, makes you tense. Disappointment becomes the voice in your head saying it’s entirely up to you to get it right.

     Sometimes release is simply finding your breath again.

It’s about the rhythm of growth 

     A swing doesn’t move in a single direction. It moves back and forth, back and forth. It’s all part of the movement. 

     I used to think backward motion meant failure. If I felt the ache again, it meant I hadn’t healed enough or hadn’t trusted God properly. But I’m learning that isn’t how growth works. Some days feel easier, and others feel like I’ve slipped back a step. But when I look over a longer period, I can see that something in me has shifted. Gradually – in ways I didn’t notice at first but slow and steady. God, you meet me in ways I don’t expect.

      I believe growth takes time, can be messy, but is always good for us. God is in the forward moments, the pauses, and even the days that feel like I’m moving in reverse.

     But none of it is wasted.

     God uses it all.

It’s about being held 

     This part aways gets me. A swing holds the weight of whoever sits in it. It doesn’t ask you to be strong. It doesn’t ask anything of you but to have faith it will hold you. 

     And God has been holding me.

     Letting go is slow and painful for me. I’m someone who attaches quickly and holds on tightly. Yet God doesn’t rush me. He stays with me in the backward motion. He meets me when fear shows up. He doesn’t step away when I’m questioning what He will place in my empty hands once I do finally surrender. Instead, He just smiles and waits for me. What a remarkable God we serve.

    Letting go does ask for trust. To believe He’ll meet you in the release and give what’s good. So rather than pushing ourselves forward, maybe the real invitation is to rest in the One who holds the swing, holds the entire weight, and who holds me.

About the Author 

Heide is a wife and mother whose books sit with loss, longing, and the ways God meets us in the real places of life. Putting words to the quiet aches people carry, she invites readers to trust in His faithfulness. Her hope is that readers feel seen and grow a deeper trust in God through both the good times and the tough seasons.

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