Letting Go of the Hot Coal

By Yaacov Weiss, LCSW

He sat down across from me, his eyes softer than usual, shoulders not as weighed down. But I could tell he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I tried that letting-go thing we discussed in last session,” he said, almost sheepishly. “And… it kind of worked...but I'm very confused.”

In previous sessions, we had spoken about how anxious thoughts are like holding onto a hot coal. The longer you grip it, the worse the burn. Relief only comes when you release it.

This week, he came back with stories.

During seder, he told me, he offered a pshat to his chavrusa without double- and triple-checking that it made perfect sense. A few times, it didn’t. His chavrusa corrected him, and for the first time in years… it didn't bother him... he just didn’t care.

In the past, being wrong in learning would send him spiraling. He would berate himself and push harder to get it right next time. But this time, he shrugged it off, let it go, and moved on.

At home, he noticed the same shift. Normally he obsessed over appearances — the right shirt, the right words, the right impression on his wife. This week, he felt himself letting go.

“I didn’t worry about what she was thinking. I didn’t stress about how I dressed. I winged a few things I usually prepare for hours. And I didn’t care.”

He paused. Then came the fear.

“I’m nervous. I don’t care like I used to. What if I’m losing control?”

Instead of addressing his concerns, I congratulated him. “Sounds to me like you are making real progress.”

He looked at me, confused. For years, anxiety had been his fuel. Shame, self-criticism and perfectionism were the only tools he trusted to push himself forward. If he stopped using them, wouldn’t everything fall apart?

“How do you feel overall?” I asked.

“Much calmer,” he admitted, "not just are my thoughts calmer but so are my actions. Like, I always walk quickly and when going up stairs, skip two at a time, but the past few days, I'm walking slower and taking one step at a time. I guess I'm just walking like everyone else.", he laughed. Then, almost in a whisper: “But what if I never get back on track? What if I stop pushing myself altogether?”. He was seriously concerned about this.

This is the paradox I see so often. When someone has lived their whole life using anxiety as a motivator, calm feels very strange. The old system was painful but familiar. The new system feels good — but is terrifying.

I told him: “This is where people can fall into a trap. They taste calm, but because it feels unfamiliar, they have this urge to run back to anxiety. Not because the old way worked — it didn’t — but because it feels safer than the unknown.”

He nodded, deep in thought.

“So what’s my job right now?” he asked.

“It’s to let yourself enjoy the calm without running back to the whip. Keep letting go. Later we’ll build new motivators — rooted in values, purpose, connection. But for now, just stay here. Trust that life can be lived without anxiety at the wheel.”

He leaned back, processing. “So… I don’t have to figure it all out?”

“No. Not yet,” I said. “For now, notice the calm. Notice the quiet. And allow yourself to be okay with it.”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that,” he said finally. “I always thought if I wasn’t pushing myself, I was failing. Maybe… maybe this is what it feels like to just be okay.”

That’s the delicate space therapy often brings someone to: the in-between. The old patterns no longer work. The new ones feel better but also unfamiliar. The urge to retreat is strong. The question is: will they trust the calm long enough to let it become home?

I told him, “It takes courage to let go of the only system you’ve ever known, even if it was painful, and step into something new. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

He smiled faintly, a mix of relief and uncertainty.

He walked in saying, “I don’t care like I used to.”

He walked out realizing maybe that wasn’t a problem. Maybe it was the beginning of something beautiful.