It starts like this: They didn’t invite you. They didn’t text back. They made a decision without consulting you. And instead of spiraling, overthinking or sending a passive-aggressive “no worries!” text — you say two simple words: Let them.
That’s the core of Mel Robbins’ viral “Let Them” theory, which has taken over TikTok and Instagram in recent months. Robbins, a motivational speaker and podcast host, suggests that instead of trying to control how others behave or show up in your life, you should just … let them. If someone doesn’t support you, let them. If someone misunderstands you, let them. If someone doesn’t want to be in your life, let them.
It’s boundary-setting repackaged as emotional freedom. And for a generation that is chronically burnt out, therapy-literate and exhausted from people-pleasing, it feels like a breath of fresh air. Let them walk away. Let them talk. Let them show you who they are.
But as a Christian, I can’t help but feel … itchy.
Not because boundaries aren’t biblical. They are. Jesus took time away from the crowds. He walked away. He rested. He didn’t beg Judas to stay. But the Let Them philosophy, in its most distilled form, seems to subtly replace grace with indifference, wisdom with detachment and love with ego-preservation. And that’s where we’ve got to pause the reel and ask: What are we actually letting go of?
Here’s what worries me: The Let Them approach sounds good, but it can easily become a permission slip to disengage. You stop inviting people into hard conversations. You stop making the uncomfortable phone call. You stop caring — because it’s easier, cleaner, more in control that way.
But Jesus wasn’t about clean exits and curated emotional spaces. He waded into the mess. He touched the leper. He sat at the table with Judas. He forgave the people who nailed him to a cross. And then he told us: “Go and do likewise.”
So when a trend tells me to let them walk away without asking questions, without doing the work, without showing up one more time, I have to ask: Is this peace, or is it just avoidance with better branding?
The Bible isn’t unfamiliar with letting people walk. In Luke 15, Jesus tells the story of the prodigal son. Yes, the father “let him” go. But that’s not the end of the story — it’s the middle. The father doesn’t slam the door shut. He waits. He watches. And when he sees his son coming back, he runs — runs — to meet him. There’s longing. There’s pain. There’s a heart that stayed soft, even when the relationship was fractured.
That’s not what Let Them teaches. Not on Instagram. Not on TikTok. There’s no waiting by the window. There’s no hope for reconciliation. It’s all about release, but not about repair.
And look, I get it. Repair is exhausting. Relationships are exhausting. We are so tired. Tired of carrying other people’s emotions, tired of walking on eggshells, tired of being the one who always shows up. So when a philosophy comes along that says, “You can just stop trying,” it’s tempting to call that peace and move on.
But the Christian life isn’t curated to your comfort. It’s not about only keeping people around who never disappoint you. It’s about becoming more like Christ. And Christ didn’t walk away the moment things got hard — he leaned in. He stayed. He asked questions. He forgave. He wept. He stretched out his arms and died for people who were never going to text back.
Love — real, biblical love — is long-suffering. It doesn’t keep score. It keeps showing up. That doesn’t mean you let people abuse you or cross every boundary. But it does mean that when you create distance, it should be guided by discernment, not detachment. It should come from prayer, not pride.
That’s the thing about trends like this. They’re easy to digest and even easier to weaponize. One day you’re protecting your peace, and the next you’re ghosting someone who hurt your feelings instead of calling them to talk it through. You start calling it boundaries, but really, it’s just fear in a cuter outfit.
Scripture tells us to seek wisdom. And wisdom doesn’t always mean walking away. Sometimes it means staying at the table, even when the conversation gets awkward. Sometimes it means risking rejection by going first. Sometimes it means loving from a distance, but still praying, still hoping, still leaving room for God to work.
The truth is, discernment doesn’t go viral. It’s not sexy. It doesn’t fit into a 30-second TikTok. It takes prayer, time, self-awareness and usually a few mistakes along the way. But it’s what we’re called to. We’re not called to be emotionally untouchable. We’re called to be peacemakers. Not peacekeepers — peacemakers. And that takes guts.
Sometimes, yes, the Spirit will say: Let them go. And you should. Sometimes people are harmful. Sometimes the chapter is over. Sometimes walking away is the holy thing to do.
But other times, the Spirit will nudge you toward something harder: Go after them. Forgive them. Try again. Open the door a crack. That’s not weakness. That’s faith.
The gospel doesn’t ask us to curate the perfect circle of friends. It asks us to love our enemies. It asks us to carry one another’s burdens. It asks us to be quick to forgive, slow to anger and generous with grace.
And if that sounds unfair or unrealistic or exhausting — yeah. That’s why we need Jesus. Because left to our own devices, we’d all walk away and never look back.
But Jesus didn’t walk away from us.
So maybe we don’t need a theory that tells us to let people go so easily.
Maybe we need a Savior who shows us how to stay tender, stay honest, stay open. One who teaches us how to walk away when we must, but to never stop loving, even from far away.
