While I was sitting at my kitchen counter on a Tuesday afternoon in March completing my essay on the Progressive Era for U.S. History, my mom was slouched in her usual corner of the couch, reading a book that I didn’t recognize.
Big black letters spelled out “The Let Them Theory” across the vibrant green cover, while “Mel Robbins” appeared in smaller text underneath, still large enough to make sure the reader knew to whom credit was due.
Intrigued by the simple name and bold cover, I opened Google and looked up this theory, which the author deemed important enough to merit its own book.
In the book “The Let Them Theory,” Mel Robbins describes a mindset used to “set the ultimate boundary between you and the rest of the world.”
The main idea is the simple phrase “Let Them.” When someone makes you feel frustrated, annoyed, or stressed, saying those two words can shift your mindset and help you release the need to control what another person thinks, says, believes, or feels about you.
The key message from the book is that people need to stop wasting their time on trying to control others and instead focus on themselves, in order to, as Mel Robbins writes, “reclaim their power.”
I started to think about this idea and how it could apply to the life of a high school junior girl who juggles multiple tests a week, eight-hour sports tournaments twice a month, and hanging out with friends every weekend.
As a self-proclaimed control freak, I began to calculate the hours of useless time I spend daily caring about how I’m perceived in a world full of people who, at the same time, are also preoccupied by their own self-image.
In my high-level classes, I find myself sitting in silence, waiting for someone I view as a million times smarter than I am to answer the teacher’s questions so I won’t look dumb by saying the wrong thing. Or hiding a 6 on my biology test because the rest of the class were flaunting their 10s.
On my volleyball team, I can’t stop myself from apologizing when I don’t get an ace on every serve or make the perfect pass on defense. Even when the ball is still in play, and the rally hasn’t ended, my first instinct is to yell “sorry” instead of focusing on resetting for the next touch.
Then—on top of my mountain of expectations for my academic and athletic performance—comes the pressure of always having plans. Making sure I find someone to go to Blue Sushi with, spending $30+ on a sushi roll, and stopping by Forever Yogurt after. Or showing up at a boys basketball or lacrosse game that I have no interest in watching, just because everyone will be there, and then asking people meaningless questions I already know the answer to, just to seem outgoing. The trick is to be bubbly and approachable, but not too nice, because then, suddenly, you’re “annoying.”
As I was going through my long list of overthinking, I realized that my anxieties were less about grades, volleyball, or weekend plans and more about how others perceived me. So I asked myself: Do I really care if someone else in my class answers a question wrong? Do I really care if my teammate loses a point? Do I notice when another person doesn’t have plans with their friends every weekend, or doesn’t go out of their way to make people like them? And if someone really would judge me for being human, do I want them to be a part of my life at all?
My answer was simple: no.
Why do we spend so much time worrying about others’ perceptions that we don’t stop and ask whether their expectations are worth fitting?
The unfortunate reality of our modern world is that everyone is going to have an opinion of you, and unless you possess the magical ability to control minds, there’s nothing that you can do about it. So instead of wasting time you will never get back, wondering what others think, simply let them.
Let them judge me for my 83% on my Honors Precalculus test.
Let them criticize me for my shanked pass on the volleyball court.
And let them wait for me to make a joke that nobody else finds funny, so I sit there awkwardly smiling until my teeth hurt, trying to earn back some sort of dignity.
To some extent, the Let Them theory seems painfully obvious—if we could turn off our ability to let others affect us, we instantly would. However, the idea is to stop allowing every opinion, awkward moment, or mistake to define us.
So yes, I will probably still overthink the joke that didn’t land, rant to my best friends about an embarrassing moment while drinking an overpriced iced vanilla latte from La Colombe, and sweat my worries away at an intense Yoga Sculpt class at Core Power. I’ll still replay bad volleyball passes in my head and wonder if I sounded stupid after answering a question in class. But maybe growth is realizing those moments don’t deserve as much power over my life as I give them.
Because the truth is, people are going to judge you no matter what. Someone will always think you talk too much or not enough, try too hard or not hard enough. So instead of exhausting myself trying to meet everyone else’s expectations, I’m learning to let them think what they want—and spend more time becoming the person I actually want to be.
