The Art of Letting Go: Transforming Pain into Personal Growth

grab the kleenex bestie.

Letters I Wish I Could Send to People I Don’t Talk to Anymore

And it’s okay to violently cry at this if you relate.

Here we go.

These are the letters from an empathetic girl to the ones I don’t talk to anymore.

I’ve never really been good with endings.

Friendships, relationships, connections—whatever kind of ending we want to call it, whatever ship we want to name it—I’ve never been good at them. Movie endings, TV show endings, the ending of a really good day you wish you could freeze in time, the way a song eventually fades out even though you can replay it over and over again. But no matter how many times you replay it, it never quite hits the same as the first time you heard it.

I’ve never been good with endings.

And I’ve never been good when someone decided they didn’t want me in their life anymore. When they said they didn’t want to talk to me, be with me, be my friend—whatever. Because for the longest time, I thought that meant there was something wrong with me.

I’ve never been good with endings.

I grew up believing in fairytales. That people stay, that love wins, that if you give people the best parts of yourself, they will always give the same back. But Cinderella never had a scene where she looked in the mirror and whispered, Damn, I’m actually good on my own. Because she never needed someone. She wanted someone. And there’s a difference.

But anyway—back to endings.

I wish I could say I know how to let things go, but the truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten over anything in my life. And it’s not that I’m stuck. It’s not that I’m still sitting in the corner of a restaurant I haunt (real ones know that reference). It’s just that when you’re someone like me—when you love deeply, when you feel everything all at once, when you wear your heart on your sleeve like it’s the only piece of clothing you own—how do you just forget the people who changed you?

You don’t.

I don’t.

And maybe that’s the thing about people like me. We don’t just let go. Not in the way the world tells us we should. It doesn’t mean we’re still hurting, still waiting, still hoping. It just means we remember.

It means that if I loved you, even for a moment, I probably always will.

Four months, five months, three years, two years, two days, three days—it doesn’t matter. If I love someone, I love them. That’s just who I am.

And maybe that’s why it still stings when I think about you. When I think about the people who walked into my life and then just… left.

Maybe it’s the friend I said I love you to every day, the one I promised to be my bridesmaid in a wedding we had no business planning at the age we were. The one I swore was forever under the playground slide because that’s what friendship meant when we were eight.

Or maybe it’s the friend who followed me from elementary school into middle school—a friendship so toxic we didn’t realize it was poisoning us. We were growing, but not in the same direction. And instead of growing with me, they tried to hold me back, making me feel like I wasn’t worthy of the things I was reaching for.

Or maybe it’s the person I met at 12, who saw me in ways I didn’t even see myself. The one who made middle school less lonely, who made me feel like I mattered. Who became a part of my story, even though they aren’t in the same chapter anymore.

Or maybe it’s the friend I wasn’t looking for but somehow found me when I needed them most. The one who made me feel like family, who made me feel safe. And then, one day, they just stopped replying.

Or maybe it’s the godparents I met at 13, who promised to be family. They promised to stand by me, to love me, and to be there, always. But after they left, I remember being that little girl, writing letter after letter, begging them to come back. Hoping they would, but they never did. The silence they left behind still echoes in my heart.

And then there’s the one who came into my life at 17. The one who showed me how powerful it can feel to love the wrong person. The one who taught me that some people, no matter how much you care about them, just aren’t the right fit. Some people don’t deserve your love, and sometimes, even when your heart wants to hold on, you have to know when to walk away.

These are the people I can’t forget.

And if you’re reading this, maybe you have people like that too. The ones who left. The ones who stopped showing up. The ones who drifted, or ghosted, or changed, or never really gave you a reason why.

Maybe you still type their name into your phone just to remind yourself not to hit send. Maybe you still hear their voice in certain songs, still see them in certain places, still catch yourself thinking, God, I wish I could tell you about this.

Maybe you’re still grieving someone who is very much alive.

And if you are, I need you to know something:

It’s okay.

It’s okay to miss people you shouldn’t miss. It’s okay to cry over people who wouldn’t cry over you. It’s okay to wish you could un-meet someone just to spare yourself the ache of their absence.

And it’s okay to realize—they were never meant to stay.

Because some people are just a season. Some people are just a lesson. Some people are just a chapter in the story, not the whole damn book.

And even though they’re gone, their purpose remains. The way they changed you remains.

And that? That’s something no ending can take away.

And the beautiful thing about life?

There are always new beginnings waiting.

Ry’s Wellness Tip:

Let yourself feel it. The loss, the ache, the nostalgia—don’t shame yourself for still remembering, for still carrying pieces of people who are no longer in your life. Healing isn’t about erasing the past; it’s about learning how to live with it.

But here’s the thing—your heart isn’t a graveyard. It’s a garden. And even though some people were just passing seasons, their presence helped shape the way you grow. So water the parts of you that they left behind, but don’t let them keep you from blooming into who you’re meant to be.

Grieve, reflect, honor the love—but then choose yourself again. And again. And again.

More Ry:

Podcast Episode: That fits this post

You can listen to the episode of take care of your body by ry titled “Finding Eternal Sunshine- Ghosting, Glowing, and Growing” on all platfroms.

I heart radio

Finding Eternal Sunshine- Ghosting, Glowing, and Growing

Spotify

Finding Eternal Sunshine- Ghosting, Glowing, and Growing

Apple-Finding Eternal Sunshine- Ghosting, Glowing, and Growin

About Rylin Rossano (Ry):

Rylin Rossano, known as Ry, is a health and wellness podcaster, yoga instructor, and content creator. She is passionate about making wellness feel real and accessible for everyone. Ry hosts the podcast “Take Care of Your Body by Ry,” where she discusses health, wellness, nutrition, and everything in between. She is also a Registered Dietitian-to-be (RD2be), chef, and chronic illness advocate.

Instagram Accounts:

• Personal Account: Follow Ry’s personal journey and insights on wellness at @rylinrosee.

For nutritious recipe, podcast updates and health tips, check out @takecarebyry

🌸 once upon a time, i survived myself 🦋

coming july 1st

This isn’t just a book.

It’s a love letter to the girl who spiraled, the girl who stayed soft, the girl who thought she had to be perfect to be loved.

It’s part memoir, part healing journal, part fairy tale gone rogue.

once upon a time, i survived myself is for anyone who’s ever felt like too much—or not enough.

It’s about trauma, chronic illness, grief, body image, identity, softness, survival… and coming home to yourself through it all.

✨ 📖 available july 1 on amazon + barnes & noble

💌 www.rylinrossano.com

because the girl who thought she wouldn’t make it… wrote a book about how she did.