When to Just Let it Go

[Before we start this blog, I have to tell you my daughter’s favorite joke at 4 years old: “Why can’t you give Elsa a balloon? Because she’ll ‘let it go!’” Ok, we can carry on with the blog now.]

It was 8:07 a.m. and we were already on round three.

“Shoes time,” I said lightly in my sing-song voice, like I hadn’t said it twice already. My kid stared at the ceiling fan and rolled away from me on the couch. I tried being helpful—set the socks next to his foot, opened the shoe tongue, narrated the steps like a children’s show host who really needed coffee. My kid slid to the floor and started rifling the stuffed animal bin for the one that was absolutely necessary right now.

I felt a familiar burn in my cheeks: We’re late. I’m the adult. He can do this. He should do this.

My inner voice began to lecture me: “If he can do it himself, he needs to do it himself. You can’t keep babying him. Be consistent. Follow through. He needs to learn.”

So I did what I’d been taught to do. I repeated the instruction. I set a timer. (I thought about counting to three, but I absolutely *knew* that didn’t lead to anything but attempts to scratch out my eye balls and I am not stupid.) Then, I went nuclear and threatened to take away iPad time on the drive. 

He went still—and I knew I was in for it. His eyes were unfocused and his breathing heavy. The timer beeped while we both pretended not to hear it. My jaw hurt from clenching (how can I get this bent out of shape about my 5 year old putting his SHOES on for godssake? my brain screamed at me). My three-year-old started to climb into my lap, sensing bad things to come.

And then I had the most ordinary, and also most revolutionary thought: this is not working.

Not the timer. Not the lecture. Not the “consequences.” Not the part of me that thought a five-year-old who can put on socks must put on socks to prove…what? That I’m a good parent? That he’s a “big kid?” 

So I grabbed the shoes, knelt down, and slid them on his feet.

It was all over in 30 seconds – and it was way simpler on my body and my nervous system. My kid sagged with relief and bounded to the car. The next morning, I did it again. And again. We were out the door earlier than we’d been in months. After a few days, my son touched my arm as he climbed in the car and said, “Thanks for helping me.”

That’s when I got it, when I really got it: I wasn’t “giving in.” I wasn’t being weak. I was choosing connection rather than participating in a fight that neither of us could possibly win. And predictably—because nervous systems are beautifully predictable—once his body stopped bracing against me, his shoe-putting-on capacity came, all on its own.

Most families have a version of this scene.

It’s necessarily with socks and shoes. Sometimes it’s the missing tablet charger, the afterschool homework session your kid hates, the text they can’t bear to send, the room they are incapable of cleaning. Different details, but same knot in your stomach. 

Your brain might even give you a similar speech to mine: good parents follow through; we can’t let this slip; I’ve gotta teach him; today has to be different.

So we do the things we were told to do. But ten minutes later, the room is so tense, our kid is angry and sad, and we are shouldering a constant heavy weight no one can see. It’s exhausting, never giving in.

Most parenting advice says: Push through. Be the stronger one. Be clear. Stay calm. Add structure. Add consequences.

Low demand asks a different (simpler) question: Where can we stop? Could we let it go?

Stopping is not surrender. It is a wise, mindful, trauma-informed strategy. It is what protects the relationship when the current plan is breaking us. 

Letting go is how we invest in the only thing that truly grows capacity tomorrow: safety and trust today.

How we know it’s time to let go

Realistically, I think we can feel it.

Maybe it’s a tightness in your chest. Maybe it’s when your voice gets a bit too-bright and your smile too forced. When you’re repeating yourself as if one more reminder will magically make this thing happen. Maybe it’s when your child’s eyes get glassy, when they bolt, shout, or go stony silent. 

That’s the cue.

What “letting go” can look like

Good news: “Letting go” does not necessarily mean we abandon the whole plan or give up on our entire day. We simply change a few small pieces to match the capacity of the nervous system in front of us.

Some small ways to “let go”:

1. Just do it for them. - Walk over and do the doable piece—hand the water to them already open, put on the socks and then hand them their shoes, plug in the Chromebook without making a big deal about it. 
2. Try it silently! Sometimes all we have to let go of is the talking/instructing/reminding part, and our kids are much more capable. Maybe they can’t do it while everyone is talking. Maybe they can’t do it when you are constantly prompting them. 
3. Let go of time pressure. Yes, my kid can clean her room, but it’s not often when I want her to do it. It’s not the morning that company is coming over, or when I wrote on the calendar. It’s when it starts to bother her. Sometimes they can do the thing, but what we need to let go of is our timeline and agenda.
4. Shrink the plan (make the next step super bite-sized). - Cover up everything on the page except the next math problem (really helps with overwhelm!) Instead of a big walk, just see if it’s doable to sit on the porch and play I-Spy. Listen to the Audiobook while drawing or swinging, instead of eye-reading. Take one key part of the plan and focus on that, while letting go of the 6 other things that would be nice (but aren’t essential).
5. Trade tasks (you take one bit, they take another). Let go of total independence and break the task into two smaller bits; you take one piece and they take another. This can slowly build trust and capacity, while not being overwhelming.
1. “I’ll zip the coat, you hold the sides steady.” 
2. “I’ll text the coach today; then we can talk to her together at practice.”
3. “I’ll cook the bacon, can you get the bread from the cabinet?”
4. “If I go get your water bottle from your room, can you fill it up?”
5. “You add up the numbers and I’ll write the answer on the line.”
6. Do it together. - A demand shared is a demand-halved. There’s something lovely about body-doubling for helping a challenge feel doable. Try brushing your teeth side by side. Turn on bouncy music and clean up the toys together. Invite them to cook alongside you, or carry a few things in from the car together. 

“If I do more now…won’t they do less later?”

I hear that fear (both from friends/clients and inside my own head!!). The answer we practice together is simple: Today’s relief builds tomorrow’s capacity.

When a child’s body trusts that we will not push them past their edge, they stop bracing against us. That emotional bracing eats up energy and depletes trust. 

When we listen deeply, honor their capacity, and trust them to do their best, our children and teen’s first emotion is often relief. You might even see them sigh, or see their shoulders sink. Finally. Someone is listening. Someone cares. 

We invest our trust in our child’s capacity for learning, flexibility, and follow-through. We see a capable kid, and we believe that they will get there, as they are ready. The goal is not a child who “toughs it out.” The goal is a kid that feels safe enough to learn and try again.

The practice

When you feel the urge to insist, cajole, pressure, or punish, I invite you to pause and ask if you could, instead, let it go. 

Here’s my favorite phrase: “This looks too hard right now. I’ll help.”

Followed by: “You’re not in trouble. I trust you.” 

Relief lowers threat. Lower threat deepens trust. More trust builds capacity. Capacity brings skills back online.

That is how we build into better tomorrows by letting things go today.