Let Me Begin
Ever since I turned 34, which was yesterday, I have been itching to “just get on with it already.” Towards the end of last year, my first full year as a mom, I listened to Mel Robbins promoting her book, “The Let Them Theory,” on her podcast.
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I have always loved new years. The completely arbitrary turning of a page, a beginning, a wiping clean of slates. In the last twenty years of my life, I have never lived in one place longer than five years at the most, and part of it is because of this wish for starting anew. Change furniture, start new notebooks. Take stock of last year, make plans and goals. Never stick to resolutions but I love the hope behind it. Maybe this year will be the year.
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So when I heard about the Let Them theory, about allowing people to have their thoughts and feelings and opinions about me without allowing it to get to me, I knew it had to go on my resolutions for the year.
I wrote the above paragraphs on January 29th 2025, the day after my birthday. Paired with my resolution to “Let Them” in all areas of my life was a resolution to share my writing more widely, “letting them” — aka you, dear reader — judge/opine/think about my words, my work, me in any way you like. But it is no longer January, or even February, 2025. It’s the end of March. Which means I did, in fact, “let them” — you — get to me.
For the over two months since writing the first official words of this newsletter, I have let the perceived opinions of potential (and imaginary) readers stop me from writing a single word. Past graduate school classmates. This isn’t smart or creative or literary; they’ll all be telling each other how I was always the worst writer in the cohort. Friends that I haven’t spoken to in maybe a decade. She posted on her Instagram about how she hates personal experience essays; she’ll probably think this is so trite. Random writers whom I look up to. They write so beautifully; what makes me think I can do something on the same platform and even come close to their quality? And anonymous teenagers snickering in the self-help aisle. A newsletter based on a self-help book; pathetic. As you may be beginning to notice, I allow my intrusive, self-sabotaging thoughts far too much power over me.
As the Let Them Theory author Mel Robbins says, the theory is only successful if it’s followed by Let Me: Let Me take back control over my own life and thoughts. Thankfully it appears that for some reason, unlike the last five years of my life, this year, I am able to look at all those intrusive thoughts and go: “okay. All of these things can happen. I can let them happen. But what am I going to let me do about it?”
And so here it is: A newsletter dedicated to sharing my attempt to heal my chronic people pleasing, hyper-achieving personality by trying to “let go, let them, and let me.” Let Them think this sucks. Let Them think I’m incapable. Let Them think I’m a bad writer. Let Go of the idea that I should be loved by all, and Let Me like myself for trying. Let Me write and share and put myself out there. (Just a few of the posts I’m thinking of writing; if you are a fellow recovering people pleaser and have suggestions of things I should explore letting go of, please drop them in comments!)
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I should probably add the disclaimer here that I have not actually read the book. In fact, I have probably seen more (valid and very good) criticisms of the theory than the theory itself, which I found on Robbins’ social media and promotional podcast appearances (I like to go in blind, what can I say). And while I agree with a lot of the critique, the way I see it, the Let Them Theory is a way to set yourself free from individual expectations, judgements, actions, opinions, basically all the things you can’t control, and refocus that energy on your self.
Is it an aggressively simple idea that you, my childhood best friend, my husband, have all tried to drill in me my whole life: “You can’t control other people, you can only control yourself”? Sure. But you didn’t say it in a catchy way, so that’s on you.
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I thought I would end this edition — perhaps all of them? You tell me — with a list of things I’ve tried to Let Go and Let Them this week:
My leadership coach (a benefit at my current job) said, when I was talking about wanting to make space for more creative work, “The last time we talked about it, it was just like complaining and whining but now it seems like you’re taking action, that’s very cool.” I, being me, honed in on the “complaining and whining” language and went into a rabbit hole of wow does she think I’m just a whiny little brat? AM I just a whiny little brat? But I caught myself and am now trying to let go of the inner monologue, let her think that (if that is indeed what she thinks) and focus instead on what I can get from her guidance.
I’ve been dealing with some increased anxiety and fear lately. Generally, I am hesitant to share these thoughts with people lest I come across as completely unhinged or tone deaf, given I do live with a great deal of privilege. But I’ve also been made aware recently that I may not be showing up the most authentically in my friendships (a topic for another newsletter, perhaps). So I’m trying to Let Go of the fear that my friends will abandon me for being a doomsday prepper and Let Me surround myself with community in a time that I need it.
This. This whole newsletter thing. I am desperately trying to Let Go of anything you all might think about this attempt and Let Me put something messy and imperfect out there.
That’s it! I hope you like this disconnected, poorly edited, mostly stream of consciousness debut edition. But if not, that’s okay because I will be (trying to) Let Them!!! x