I want to share something about how I have experienced the process of letting go of things I was deeply attached to. A job. A relationship. And of course, alcohol. Each time has been a profound and life-changing experience.
In Buddhist philosophy there is a word for this: clinging. When we are clinging to anything external, whether that is a relationship, a substance, a job, or a way of being, we suffer. And when we cling to internal states too, desperately wanting to feel peace or happiness all the time, we suffer in the same way.
Clinging puts us in a constant state of dependency. The underlying mindset is: I am only okay if I have this thing. When we have it we worry about losing it. When we lose it we obsess about getting it back. This consumes enormous amounts of energy and leaves us never truly at peace.
What Clinging to Alcohol Actually Looks Like
For many people the clinging to alcohol is not obvious at first. It does not look like desperation. It looks like planning your week around when you can drink. It looks like feeling quietly irritable or flat on the days you are not drinking. It looks like the relief that washes over you when you decide tonight is a drinking night. It looks like the particular discomfort that comes with being at a social event without a drink in your hand.
These are all forms of clinging. The mind has attached to alcohol as the solution to a problem, whether that problem is stress, boredom, social discomfort, or the simple desire to feel something different from how you feel right now.
And the deeper the attachment, the more terrifying the idea of letting go feels.
This is why so many people stay stuck. Not because they are weak or lack willpower, but because clinging is a deeply human response to anything that has been providing relief or comfort. The mind genuinely believes it cannot be okay without the thing it has learned to depend on.
The Letting Go Process
The more things I have let go of in my life, the less inner turmoil I experience. When I am not pouring energy into holding onto something, that energy starts to move again. Gradually I become less stuck. Clearer. More present to what is actually happening in each moment rather than what I fear losing or what I desperately want back.
Letting go releases the pressure and tension of clinging. And with less of that tension, something quieter becomes accessible. A kind of inner knowing that was always there but impossible to hear through the noise.
I have been practising this for a number of years now. First with alcohol, then with sugar, then with a brief and very familiar return of nicotine, then with diet sodas, and most recently with a job I loved but that was causing me real inner conflict. Each time the process has followed a similar pattern.
The first stage is awareness. Recognising that you are clinging. Seeing the attachment for what it is rather than just living inside it. This is harder than it sounds, because clinging feels like safety and truth from the inside. It takes real honesty to step back and see it as a pattern rather than a need.
The second stage is sitting with the discomfort of not having the thing. This is where most people turn back. The discomfort is real and it does not immediately go away. But it does pass. And every time you sit with it rather than reaching for the thing you are clinging to, you prove something to yourself. You can survive without it. More than survive, you can be okay.
The third stage is discovering what was underneath the clinging. This is where real growth happens. When the substance or the thing is no longer filling the space, you start to see what was there all along. The emotions, the unmet needs, the parts of yourself that were being quieted rather than heard. And that is where the real work, and the real reward, begins.
Why Letting Go of Alcohol Is Different
Alcohol is a particularly powerful thing to cling to because it works so efficiently in the short term. It delivers immediate relief, almost without effort. Unlike most things we attach to, it does not require any building, any risk, or any vulnerability. You just drink and the edges soften.
This is precisely what makes it so hard to release. The brain has learned a very simple equation: discomfort arrives, alcohol removes it. The more times that equation is repeated, the more automatic it becomes. Letting go means interrupting that equation long enough for the brain to learn a different one.
It also means grieving something real. Alcohol was not nothing. For many people it was a companion, a comfort, and a ritual. Letting go without acknowledging the loss makes the process harder, not easier. Allowing yourself to feel the grief of giving something up, even something that was hurting you, is part of how you actually move through it rather than around it.
If you have found yourself wondering whether you might be holding on more tightly than you realised, the four types of drinkers can help you see where you currently sit and what that pattern tends to lead to over time.
What Comes After Letting Go
This is what I want you to know above everything else. What is waiting on the other side of letting go is not emptiness. It is not boredom or flatness or a lesser version of your life.
It is clarity. It is presence. It is the experience of being genuinely okay without needing anything external to make you so.
Once you have experienced the benefits of letting go, even once, something shifts. You start to trust the process a little more. The next letting go becomes slightly less terrifying. And over time you build a relationship with yourself that is not dependent on any substance, any person, or any external circumstance to feel whole.
That is the freedom that is waiting for you. Not a life of deprivation but a life of genuine presence.
If you are ready to explore what this process looks like with proper support alongside you, find out more about working with Sarah Connelly.
Warmest regards, Sarah
