Be more tree: The season of letting go

As the trees begin their slow surrender to winter, you may find yourself watching the leaves more closely. There’s something quietly profound about watching a leaf fall. It doesn’t resist. It doesn’t rush. It simply lets go when it’s ready.

Leaves loosen not in panic, but in rhythm; a gentle surrender to the season’s shift. There’s no resistance, no regret. Just the graceful truth: it’s time.

In coaching, people are often on the edge of letting go. Not always of something dramatic – sometimes it’s a role that’s no longer for them, a belief that’s quietly worn thin, or a version of themselves that no longer fits. And often, they’re not sure if it’s okay to release it. They wonder if it’s wasteful, or weak, or the right thing to do.

There’s something deeply human in that way of thinking.

But nature doesn’t ask those questions. It trusts the rhythm. It knows that letting go isn’t the end – it’s part of the cycle.

We live in a culture that celebrates accumulation. More goals. More growth. More productivity. Even in coaching, the language of “breakthroughs” and “transformation” can feel relentless. But what if growth begins not with striving, but with shedding?

What if the most powerful question isn’t “What do you want to achieve?” but “What are you ready to release?”

What are you still carrying?

Letting go can feel like a loss. But the trees remind us that it’s also about making space for something new.

When a leaf falls, it doesn’t leave a void. It reveals the branch. The structure. The truth beneath the flourish. In the same way, releasing what no longer serves us can uncover something deeper – a value, a longing, a clarity we hadn’t seen or been prepared to acknowledge before.

I once had a client who felt stuck. They felt like they were “carrying a rucksack of rocks.” Bogged down, unable to move forward. That image stayed with me. We explored what it might mean to put the bag down – not because the rocks weren’t important, but because they were no longer needed. Because their future path possibly required something different.

That’s the kind of letting go I’m talking about. Not abandonment. Not avoidance. But a conscious, compassionate decision to loosen the grip.

Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means honouring what was, while making space for what could be.

This time of year invites that kind of reflection. As the light fades and the pace slows, we’re offered a quieter kind of clarity. Not the clarity of answers, but of questions that matter.

What am I holding onto out of habit?

What am I holding onto to meet others' expectations?

What have I outgrown, even if I’m grateful for how it has served me in the past?

What might I become if I accepted and let go?

Loss that makes room

Letting go often brings grief. Even when it’s right. Even when it’s necessary.

This can be seen in leaders stepping away from roles that once defined them. In young people choosing a different path than the one expected. In men who’ve spent years holding in pain, finally allowing it to move.

There’s a particular kind of courage in choosing loss; not because you’ve failed, but because you’re growing. Because you’re listening to something deeper than fear. Because you know that strength isn’t always about holding on. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to loosen your grip and letting go.

Loss, when chosen with care, can be clarifying. It can reveal what matters most. It can redirect energy toward something more aligned, more alive. 

More you.

But of course, letting go isn’t easy, and it certainly isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes we resist. We rationalise, rehearse, reframe – anything to avoid the discomfort of release.

But nature doesn’t resist the seasons. It adapts. It trusts the process.

When experiencing coaching, you can tune into your own inner seasons. Not to force change, but to notice what’s already shifting. To honour the quiet signals – fatigue, restlessness, yearning – that point to something ready to fall away.

This isn’t about passivity. It’s about presence. About listening deeply to what the moment is asking. About choosing to respond, not react.

The space that follows

After the release, there’s often a pause. A space. A not-knowing.

This can feel uncomfortable. We’re used to filling gaps, solving problems, and moving forward. Try to honour that space. To let it breathe. To trust that something is forming, even if it’s not visible yet.

Growth doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it arrives quietly, in the form of rest, reflection, or a question that won’t go away.

And contrary to popular belief, growth doesn’t always come when you are “doing the work”. It can also happen in pauses, in silences, in the spaces between decisions. That’s when you get the lightbulb moments. That’s when the penny drops.

Pick whichever cliché works for you.

That’s when you might realise that the promotion you were told to go for by everyone actually isn’t right for you at all.

It might be the moment you realise that the travelling you’ve been putting off is what energises you the most.

That could be when you realise the career you’ve dedicated the last 15 years of your life to isn’t what you want to do anymore.

That’s when you might realise you have to let go, and create space for something beautiful and spectacular to grow.

"Be more tree"

So, my invitation to you is to "be more tree". Let something go. Let it fall.

Not because you have to. Not because it’s broken. Not because you’re giving up.

But because you can. Because it’s time. Because you’ve changed. Because there’s something waiting to grow in the space it leaves behind.

Let go of the story that no longer fits. The expectation that exhausts you. The version of yourself that was never yours to begin with.

Let it fall like a leaf; not discarded, but returned. Not wasted, but woven back into the soil of your becoming. 

And then pause. Breathe. Wait.

You don’t need to know what comes next. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes the most important step is simply making space for what’s ready to arrive.