What you need to let go of to grow into your full potential

There was a time in my life when I clung so tightly to who I thought I was that it almost crushed me.

I was the “driven one,” the achiever. The guy who didn’t need help, who read all the self-development books and applied every technique with disciplined intensity.

On paper, I was growing.

But inside, something wasn’t right. I felt stuck—disconnected from my deeper sense of purpose and strangely exhausted by all the effort I was putting into becoming the best version of myself.

It wasn’t until I stumbled—unintentionally—into the concept of non-self in Buddhist philosophy that things began to shift.

Not in a thunderclap, but slowly, over time, through moments of disillusionment, clarity, and eventually, transformation.

This is the story of what I had to let go of—not goals or ambitions, but my attachment to who I believed I had to be—to truly grow.

The identity trap no one warns you about

In Western psychology, we often talk about self-actualization. The idea is to become more you—to express your uniqueness, to develop your strengths, to realize your potential. It sounds empowering.

But here’s the trap: what if the “you” you’re trying so hard to actualize is based on outdated stories, childhood wounds, or societal expectations?

For years, I believed that becoming successful meant being hyper-productive, emotionally invincible, and intellectually sharp. That was my blueprint. But that identity didn’t leave space for vulnerability, for stillness, or for the kind of curiosity that leads to real insight.

Buddhist philosophy challenged this for me. The concept of anatta, or non-self, suggests that there is no fixed, permanent identity within us. Clinging to rigid self-concepts is, in fact, the root of suffering.

This wasn’t just theory—it hit me deeply. I realized I wasn’t just building a life. I was defending an identity. And that defense was making me rigid, anxious, and—ironically—less alive.

Before the unraveling: The pursuit that felt like progress

Back then, my days were structured like a performance. Morning journaling, afternoon productivity hacks, late-night readings on Stoicism and neuroscience. I had routines, systems, and a powerful sense of who I was supposed to be.

But something small kept gnawing at me. I would meditate and feel like I was doing it wrong. I would rest and feel guilty. I would succeed at work but feel hollow afterward, unsure of who I was when I wasn’t achieving.

Psychologically, this is what Carl Rogers referred to as “incongruence”—the tension between your self-image and your lived experience. I wasn’t living in alignment with my actual values. I was living in alignment with my identity—an identity built to be admired, not to be free.

The deeper problem? I didn’t know how to let go. Who would I be without the drive, the goals, the identity?

A slow collapse—and the awakening it created

Change didn’t come with a grand decision. It came with a series of small moments: a conversation with a friend where I admitted I felt lost. A failed project that made me question why I even cared. A meditation retreat where, for the first time, I sat without trying to “optimize” the experience.

That’s when I started encountering the Buddhist concept of anatta not as a spiritual abstraction but as a psychological reality.

My clinging to identity was not strength. It was fear—fear of irrelevance, of vulnerability, of not being in control.

In psychology, there’s a growing field around “self-concept clarity”—how clearly and confidently we define who we are. But Buddhist teachings invite us to a different clarity: not in who we are, but in the fact that we are ever-changing.

This wasn’t nihilistic. It was liberating.

Letting go of the fixed “me” allowed space for something more honest, more fluid.

The space that freedom creates

After that shift, my routines changed. Not dramatically—but subtly. I stopped tracking everything. I allowed rest to be part of growth. I made room for confusion, for doubt, for new interests that didn’t “fit” the old version of me.

Psychologically, this aligns with what Dr. Lisa Feldman Barrett calls “predictive processing.” Our brain constantly builds models of who we are and what to expect. But when we allow those models to shift—when we stop trying to control our self-concept—we allow ourselves to be surprised, to adapt, and to evolve more naturally.

One Buddhist phrase that stuck with me was: You are not what you think you are. And you are not what you think you are not. It sounds like a riddle. But when I sat with it, I saw how many parts of myself I’d rejected simply because they didn’t fit the story.

Letting go isn’t losing—it’s rediscovering

This is the core of what I’ve come to believe: growth doesn’t come from adding more to who you are. It comes from subtracting the lies you’ve told yourself—consciously or not—about who you have to be.

Letting go of identity doesn’t mean losing your personality or passions. It means loosening the grip. It means allowing yourself to be more than just the achiever, the caregiver, the rebel, or the wise one. It means letting life move through you, not just around the scaffolding of who you think you should be.

This echoes a key insight in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT): the more you try to rigidly define yourself, the more you limit your flexibility and well-being.

Instead, ACT encourages living in alignment with your values—regardless of the roles or labels. In Buddhist terms: stop clinging to self. Start flowing with presence.

A mindfulness practice to explore this shift

If you want to explore this for yourself, here’s a reflection that helped me:

Sit in stillness. Ask yourself not, “Who am I?” but “What parts of myself am I afraid to let go of?”

Notice what comes up—titles, traits, expectations.

Then ask: “What might open up if I no longer needed to prove this part of me?”

You don’t need to abandon everything. Just loosen your grip. Let the edges blur. You might find there’s something truer underneath.

The full potential we don’t recognize

We often think potential means fulfilling a version of ourselves we’ve imagined or inherited.

But what if your full potential isn’t something you reach—it’s something you return to, once the noise of identity fades?

The Buddhist idea of non-self isn’t about erasing who you are. It’s about realizing you are more than any one version of yourself. When you stop trying so hard to be someone, you become available to experience life more fully. That’s where presence lives. That’s where real growth begins.

For me, the shift wasn’t dramatic. But it was lasting. I didn’t stop setting goals—but I stopped using them to justify my existence. I didn’t stop caring—but I stopped tying my worth to outcomes.

That’s the paradox: the more I let go of trying to become someone, the more fully I became myself.

Look inward—not for a label, but for space

So if you’re feeling stuck, tired, or disconnected, ask yourself what you’re holding onto that no longer serves you.

Is it an image? A reputation? A role? A version of yourself that once protected you, but now confines you?

Growth, in my experience, isn’t about building a taller structure. It’s about noticing what’s already beneath you once the scaffolding falls away.

The invitation is simple, but powerful:
Let go of who you think you have to be.
And watch who you really are begin to rise.