Letting go when you’re tired: Why release needs softness

There’s a kind of tiredness that doesn’t come from doing too much, but from holding on for too long. If you’re someone who feels the world in high definition - if textures, moods, or even the energy in a room can send ripples through your body - then you likely know this kind of tired.

As an artist, a highly sensitive person, and someone who works with the healing language of texture and touch, I’ve come to understand something: release is not a forceful act. It is not a push or a purge. It is a softening. A yielding. A sigh.

But in a culture that glorifies control, perfection, and constant productivity, release is often framed as something dramatic or decisive. We’re told to “let it go” as if it’s as simple as snapping our fingers. But for those of us who process deeply, letting go often feels more like a slow unweaving. And that’s okay. In fact, it might be necessary.

The hidden weight we carry

By the time we reach the end of the year, many of us are quietly carrying more than we realize. Disappointments we haven’t spoken aloud. Goals we didn’t reach. Tensions that settled into our shoulders, day after day. And for highly sensitive people, these layers go even deeper - because we don’t just carry our own emotions. We feel the pulse of the world around us.

I often think of the body like a sponge - not in a fragile way, but in a porous way. We soak in experiences, energy, and emotion. But unlike sponges, we are rarely taught how to wring ourselves out gently.

That’s where softness comes in.

Why softness is the key to letting go

When we are tired - truly tired - our systems are less receptive to sharpness. We don’t need tough love. We need permission to melt.

This is why so many of the tools I use in my own art-based healing practice involve multisensory strategies that encourage presence rather than pressure. I don’t believe in forcing an emotional release. I believe in creating the conditions where release feels safe.

When I guide someone through a process of touching texture while repeating an affirmation, I’m not asking their mind to “fix” anything. I’m simply inviting their body into a dialogue with their inner rhythm. And so often, that’s enough. A tear falls. A shoulder drops. The breath deepens.

This is softness in action. And it is powerful.

The nervous system & the art of unraveling

I’ve spent years listening to what the nervous system tells us through sensation, resistance, and relief. What I’ve found is that the body does not respond well to being rushed. Especially not when it's tired.

Highly sensitive people are often in a state of heightened alertness without realizing it. Even joyful things can overwhelm the system. So by the time we try to “let go” of something - an old belief, a hard year, a relationship, a version of ourselves - we're already depleted. We don’t have energy for a big dramatic ritual. What we need is a small, gentle one.

Touch can become that ritual. Texture offers something tangible to meet us where we are - not where we think we should be. A soft fabric, a raised painting, the rough edge of handmade paper - these aren’t just materials. They’re bridges.

When we touch something that meets our fingers with care, it reminds our body that we’re allowed to soften too.

A practice for the weary heart

If you’re feeling the pull to let go but don’t know where to start, here’s a quiet multisensory practice I use for myself when I’m tired:

Find a textured object - something handmade if possible, or something from nature. Maybe a woven scarf, a piece of bark, or a painting with raised lines. Sit with it in silence. Place your hand on it, and breathe.

Then, when you're ready, speak softly - not from the head, but from the chest.

You might say:

“I don’t have to carry this anymore.”
“It’s okay to let go slowly.”
“Softness is strong enough.”

Repeat as needed. Let your body be your guide.

You may notice a sigh, a shiver, or a deep yawn. These are all signs of your nervous system releasing, without being pushed. This is letting go without force. This is real regulation.

For therapists, artists, and sensitive souls

Whether you’re guiding others or navigating your own emotional landscape, I want to remind you that release isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a whisper in the dark. Sometimes it’s a stroke across a canvas. Sometimes it’s letting yourself cry over something small, simply because your heart needs the space.

Texture - like emotion - lives in layers. It’s okay if not everything lifts at once. What matters is that you begin the invitation to soften. And in that softening, release becomes not something you do, but something you allow.

So if you’re tired, dear heart, let yourself slow down. Let yourself be held. Let yourself release - not by force, but by rhythm. The body knows how to let go when we create the conditions for it to feel safe.

You don’t have to finish strong. You can finish soft.

And that, too, is sacred.