Someone has probably told you to let it go. They meant well. But “let it go” is not an instruction — it is a description of a destination, handed to you without a map. Nobody tells you how. This is the how. It is not complicated, it is not fast, and it does not happen in your head. It happens on paper.
Why Thinking About It Has Not Worked
You cannot release something you have only ever rehearsed. Reviewing a memory is not the same as surrendering it, and the difference is why so many sincere people stay stuck for decades.
When something painful surfaces, most of us do one of two things. We push it down, or we replay it. Pushing it down buries it alive; it resurfaces at the worst moments, in the strangest places, often years later. Replaying it feels productive — like we are processing — but rehearsal deepens the groove. Each pass makes the memory more available, not less.
I learned this the hard way. There was a period in my career when a senior executive humiliated me in front of my wife, then told me flatly I would never be promoted as long as he was over me. I could not sleep. Someone had told me that when you carry emotional garbage you should write it out, so I did — page after page, night after night, every injustice and every insult.
And I noticed something. The more I wrote, the more agitated I became. I was not releasing it. I was building a case.
Step One: Write the Inventory
Before you can release anything, you have to name it. So the first step is a list, and it is more specific than people expect.
Sit down with paper and write every item that still has a charge on it. The test is simple and physical:
- If it still stings — write it.
- If it still brings emotion — write it.
- If it still shapes how you react — write it.
Do not curate. Do not rank them by seriousness. A comment your mother made in 1974 belongs on the same list as the thing you have never told anyone. Significance is not measured by how bad it looks from outside; it is measured by whether it is still wound around you.
Some people write four items. Some write forty. I once had a young woman set a spiral notebook on my desk containing one hundred and thirty-six, numbered, beginning when she was eight years old. Length is not the point. Honesty is.
Step Two: Work One Item at a Time
This is where most people go wrong. They try to release the whole ball at once, feel nothing, and conclude the process does not work.
Take a single item. Write four things about it, in this order:
- What happened. Plainly. Facts, not interpretation.
- How it happened. The circumstances, the people, the sequence.
- How you felt. Then, and now.
- What you believed about yourself afterward. This is the one that matters most, and the one people skip.
That fourth question is where the rubber band actually is. The event happened once. The belief you formed about yourself has been running ever since. “I should have known better.” “I cannot tell anyone.” “I will just deal with this myself.” Those sentences are the binding.
Step Three: The Five Surrenders
Then comes the part that is not symbolic. Five statements, said and written literally:
- I give this to the Savior.
- I forgive myself.
- I forgive the person or organization.
- I let this go.
- I will not pick this up again.
And then you do something physical. Take a red pen and write those five declarations across the page — over the top of what you wrote, again and again, until the words underneath are covered.
The ink smears. Tears fall. The paper wrinkles. It is never neat. That is the point. Surrender that costs nothing tends to hold nothing. The Five Surrenders page walks through what each one is doing and why the order matters.
What About the Ones You Cannot Do Yet
You will hit one you cannot release. Nearly everyone does.
The young woman with one hundred and thirty-six items worked through one hundred and thirty-five of them. Then she reached the last one — a former boyfriend — and froze. “I hate him,” she said. “When you say his name I feel sick. I cannot forgive him.” There was no exaggeration in her voice. Only exhaustion.
I did not push. I told her to go home for the holidays and write him a letter she would never send. Tell him everything. Then come back in January.
When she walked in that January I did not recognize her. She had written the letter — every memory, every wound. And then she had written about the Savior, and about how He had already carried the other one hundred and thirty-five. She chose to forgive. Not because it was fair. Because she refused to carry him any longer.
If you hit a wall, do not force it and do not quit. Write the unsendable letter. Come back to it. Some items take one sitting; some take a season.
When It Comes Back
Weeks or months later, a memory you surrendered will surface again. A location. A name. A familiar feeling. Most people panic and conclude it did not work.
Memory is not ownership. The return of a thought is not the return of the burden.
The scriptures call the adversary “the accuser.” Here is a usable test: the Spirit corrects, and correction moves you toward God. Accusation condemns, and condemnation moves you away from Him. If a thought produces shame and distance, it is not revelation.
When a surrendered memory comes back, do not relive it, do not renegotiate it, do not re-feel it. Say it plainly: that has already been given to Christ. You are not arguing with it. You are declining the invitation to pick it back up.
The Savior does not return burdens. Only we do. And you do not have to.
Frequently Asked Questions
How do I let go of past mistakes I cannot stop thinking about?
Thinking is the wrong tool — rehearsing a memory deepens it rather than releasing it. The process is written: list every item that still stings, take one at a time, write what happened and what you believed about yourself afterward, then make five explicit declarations of surrender in writing. The written, physical nature of the step is what distinguishes it from rumination.
What are the Five Surrenders?
They are five literal statements made over each item: I give this to the Savior; I forgive myself; I forgive the person or organization; I let this go; I will not pick this up again. They are written in red pen across the page until the original words are covered — a physical act of transfer rather than a symbolic one.
What if I cannot forgive one particular person?
This is common and it is not failure. Do not force it and do not abandon the process. Write that person a letter you will never send, saying everything. Then set it down and return to it later. Many people find the item that felt impossible becomes possible after the surrounding burdens have been released.
Why does the memory come back after I have surrendered it?
Memory is not ownership. A returning thought does not mean the surrender failed. The useful test is direction: the Spirit corrects and moves you toward God, while accusation condemns and moves you away. When a released memory resurfaces, name it plainly as already given to Christ rather than reliving or renegotiating it.
How long does this process take?
It varies enormously. Some items resolve in a single sitting; others take weeks or several visits. The number of items matters less than the honesty. People have worked through lists of four and lists of one hundred and thirty-six. Rushing tends to produce a surface release that does not hold.
Do I need a bishop or counselor to do this?
Many people work through it alone with the written process, and free worksheets are available on the resources page. A trusted leader or counselor helps considerably with the heaviest items, particularly where abuse or trauma is involved. The Rubber Band Ball walks through the full process in detail.