Releasing burdens, befriending Gremlins, and letting in joy

I’d been carrying something around with me for weeks, and it was heavy. I was tired.

It wasn’t a physical thing, though, that I’d been carrying around—it was a feeling. And I had no idea how heavy it had become until I finally let it go.?

Someone close to me had let me down, again, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them. I was having (very) minor surgery—not a big deal at all, but it was scary, and I’d hoped for their support. At least a phone call to say good luck, I’m thinking of you.

When it didn’t come, I went through a range of emotions, from surprise to disappointment to anger. Did they really not call? They knew when this was happening. I can’t believe they didn’t even text!

I tried to figure out what might have happened. Maybe they were dealing with something of their own. Maybe they just forgot.

Days later, they asked if we could talk. I called, and sort of expected some kind of apology. I didn’t get one. No explanation, either. I got… nothing.

I thought about saying something—how scared I’d been, how much a quick call or text would’ve meant. Or asking what had happened. But I didn’t do either. I know this person so well. I knew what would happen in either case; we’d been down this road before. I knew that they’d feel hurt and get defensive, which would just make me feel guilty for bringing it up and sad about the inevitable reaction. A vicious cycle of pain.

So I tried something I’ve never been very good at: I let it go.

I acknowledged that I’d probably never get the kind of support I’d been hoping for from this person, and it wasn’t in either of our best interests for me to keep carrying the hope around. I cried a little; there was some long-held grief from similar past situations. And then I released it.

The next day, a Saturday, was one of the best days I’ve had in months. It was sunny and beautiful out. I’d slept well the night before and I felt good. And the universe met me where I was. In each shop I went into on my errands, the owners started up a friendly chat. That doesn’t often happen. Then I went to my local coffee shop, where the owner surprised me and bought my latte—she’s never done that before. I took my coffee to the pier for a walk, and was greeted by a huge flock of pelicans, an otter, and two whales who hung around playing for quite a while. Whale sightings aren’t unusual in my beach town, but I’ve lived here for 2.5 years, walking the pier several times a week, and I’d never seen them here before.

The rest of the day was equally lovely and peaceful.

There’s no question in my mind about the direct connection between letting go of the emotional weight I’d been lugging around for weeks (or maybe a lot longer) and the day full of joy, beauty and ease. I felt it strongly.

For those of us who are more highly sensitive than others, it can be really, really hard to let anything go. We feel deeply; we process a lot. We tend to ruminate. Perseverate. Wring out the thought or feeling until it has no life left in it.

Feeling deeply can serve us well—we see and feel beauty and joy and other positive things that others sometimes miss completely. And processing a lot helps in many ways, including connecting dots and being tenacious in solving thorny problems.

The ruminating and perseverating doesn’t help us, and we usually know this. But we’re often so used to it that it feels like part of who we are.

It doesn’t have to be. But we need to be a little more intentional about what burdens we’re willing to carry around, and creative in finding ways to release them.

One technique that’s worked for many of my clients is making friends with the Gremlin. (Note: If you’re familiar with the 1984 movie, instead of starting with something that looks cuddly and turns nasty, this process will do the opposite.)

The Gremlin is whatever it is that’s holding us back. In my case, for example, the feeling of hope that something would be different this time.

I ask clients to give the Gremlin a form. How big is it? Does it have a definite shape? Color(s)? Texture(s)? Facial features? Fur? Limbs? Does it have a voice? What does it sound like? Smell like? Does it have a name? Somehow, describing and naming the Gremlin makes it a little more manageable, even if it’s huge.?

Then I ask the client to ask the Gremlin why it’s here. What its mission is.

Often, surprisingly (or not), the response is that it’s here to protect them, even if the protection is misguided or mishandled. (Sometimes the Gremlins that start out as giants shrink a bit at this point, and become a lot less intimidating.)

Then the client has a conversation with the Gremlin. I chime in if they’re not sure what to ask. Usually, by the end of this conversation, one of two things happens: either the Gremlin shrinks away to nothingness, or it becomes a friend.

When I’d just finished my coaching training and received my certification, I was working with my own coach and a big, bad Gremlin came up. When she asked me a question, this guy just dropped into my head, fully baked, larger than life. All purple and furry and huge. Enormous.

By the end of the coaching session, he’d become a beloved bestie. I drew him. And then decided I needed a reminder. So I had him made real (for logistical reasons, he had to be maroon and not purple IRL), and now he sits on the loveseat in my office, ready for a hug at any time.?

Go ahead, you can laugh. I honestly can’t even remember what the big issue was that he symbolized then—and it was much bigger than the one I started this article with. And I gave him a long, complicated name that morphed into an acronym that I’ve now forgotten. But he’s still a terrific reminder of how we can befriend our own Gremlins, whatever they are.

Once we’ve shrunk or befriended the Gremlin, we can release the issue it embodied. And when our load’s lighter, and we have more energy to focus on the good things, the universe meets us where we are, and more of the good things can flow into our lives.

How do you let go of things you don’t want to carry anymore??

Have you ever befriended a Gremlin, or would you in the future?

If you could use a thought partner or some support in dealing with your Gremlins, let’s chat .?

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