Dopamine and letting go of what no longer serves us

In recent years, yoga has become a quiet part of my everyday life. I’ve rolled out my mat in studios, in my living room, during pregnancies and post-partum days, through career transitions and now into this new, unpredictable chapter of building a company of my own.

Like any world, yoga has its own language - one that shifts from teacher to teacher. Some use metaphors that stretch toward the poetic (“root down like an old oak”), while others are matter-of-fact and grounded. But there’s one phrase you’ll hear again and again, no matter the style or teacher:

“Let go of what no longer serves you.”

It’s comforting. And usually, it makes me think of the obvious: things that are clearly not good for me. A draining acquaintance I keep in touch with out of habit or feeling of obligation. A pair of jeans that belonged to another version of me. Clutter that no longer holds meaning. Letting go of these things feels like pruning dead branches - necessary, sometimes overdue, and oddly satisfying.

But there’s another category of things we rarely question. The ones that do serve us - at least on the surface. They offer real pleasure, real benefits. They help us cope, perform, even shine. That’s what makes them harder to see for what they are.

For me, that was my corporate career. Every promotion, every bonus, every nod of recognition lit up my brain - and my ego. It felt good to be seen. To tick the next box. To move, always, forward.

But I’ve learned to pay attention to "the after". Because what looks like success from the outside often feels like a crash on the inside. There’s a well-known dopamine pattern that explains this: every high is followed by a dip - one that lands us slightly lower than where we started. We chase the next hit not to feel more pleasure, but to crawl back to baseline.

Source: medium.com

It might not be a corporate title for you. Maybe it’s the Sunday night online shopping ritual. Or the high from ticking off every task on your list. Or the evening run that started as self-care and turned into compulsion. These are the habits that look polished, even aspirational. They're the ones we get praised for.

But they have a cost.

For me, it was waking up with a headache after a glass of wine I truly enjoyed... until I didn’t. It was feeling misaligned with the values of a company I once loved. Letting go, in these cases, is much more subtle. It’s not about clearing clutter - it’s about rewriting stories.

It’s also about asking deeper questions.

Do I value excitement, or contentment?

Do I need another surge of energy rush, or am I ready to feel stillness - even boredom?

Am I making space for the kind of peace that doesn’t require a “fix”?

Truthfully, I’m still learning. Still unlearning. Still listening.

If you’d like to explore this topic further, I highly recommend this book on Dopamine.