BTL Episode 4 - Can Letting Go Be the Real Promise?

Dear André, I promised myself I would help a colleague find his way in his new leadership responsibilities. But deep down, I know he is not yet, and maybe never will be, able to stand on his own. Without my constant support, he struggles or fails entirely. I keep helping, but I don’t know why… A Reluctant Helper

Dear Reluctant Helper,

Your promise is a quiet contract, binding, unquestioned, invisible to the person it was made for. You vowed to help, to support, to keep things from falling apart. And so you do. Not because he asked, but because you decided.

And yet, something in you resists. Not just the weight of the work, but the creeping doubt: Is this fair? Fair to him, who never gets the chance to truly stand on his own? Fair to the company, which unknowingly leans on you to keep something functioning that, in truth, isn’t working at all? Fair to yourself, who carries this unseen burden while resentment quietly builds?

But fairness is only part of it. There’s something harder to admit. You’ve convinced yourself that without you, he will fail. That he’s incapable. That your presence is the only thing keeping him afloat. But how do you know? Have you truly tested this belief? Or is it simply easier to assume his limitations than to watch him struggle?

Because struggle is what shapes us. Not being saved. Growth doesn’t happen in safety. It happens in the space between failure and resilience. Maybe he isn’t incapable, just untested. Maybe he’s never had to stand on his own long enough because you’ve always been there, stepping in before the fall. Or maybe the truth is even more uncomfortable: that he doesn’t want to rise to the challenge. That he’s content in the quiet refuge of your assistance. Just as you are caught in the quiet obligation of your promise. And what happens then? What happens when neither of you moves?

I wonder if the real weight you carry isn’t just the burden of helping, but the fear of what happens when you stop. Because if you step back, two things could happen: He could rise, or he could fall. And maybe, deep down, you’re afraid of the second possibility. Because if he fails, what does that say about all the effort you’ve given? Was it wasted? Was it foolish?

But what if failure is exactly what he needs? What if the discomfort, the unmet expectations, the realization of his own limits is the very thing that allows him to grow or finally recognize that this isn’t his path at all? And what if, by continuing to help, you aren’t doing him a kindness, but instead delaying the moment where he must decide for himself?

So I ask you: What would become possible if you let go? Not as an act of cruelty, but as an act of trust. Trust that if he is meant to succeed, he will find a way. Trust that if he cannot, then the truth was always waiting beneath your support. And trust, most of all, that breaking a promise to yourself - one built on assumption, not agreement - is sometimes the only way to set both of you free.

With quiet permission, André