Surrender 

A personal reflection on well-being and the power of letting go

Everything we’re taught tells us that to surrender is to lose.
And God forbid we lose, especially in front of people.

We’re conditioned to resist, to strive, to push, to prove. And surrender doesn’t fit neatly into that equation. It’s the wrong verb in a world looking to defend and dominate.

So I get it.
If you're anything like me, the moment you hear the word “surrender,” a whole chorus of inner voices pipes up in protest. Loud, defensive, maybe even panicked. They’ll tell you to hold on, push through, toughen up. That to surrender is unsafe. That to surrender is weakness.

But I want you to ignore them, just for a minute. Just long enough to listen to yourself instead. To the small, steady knowing beneath all that noise.

Because here’s what I have to say:

Surrender.

Not because you’re giving up, but because you’re finally getting started. 

Surrender isn’t about weakness, it’s about wisdom.
It’s about releasing the grip you’ve had on things that were never really yours to control in the first place. It’s about softening into truth. Accepting the moment as it is, and not as you wish it would be. 

Can I ask:
When was the last time you stopped resisting?
Would you tell me? Would you know?

For a long time, I didn’t.
I did what we’re taught to do, what we’re told will make us strong.
I fought. I resisted. I held it together. Through conflicts at home, through the pressure of school, through achievements I swore would finally make me feel different. Through relationships that promised to anchor me, even as they slowly drained me.

I kept going. I thought that was the way.

Until one day, my body told me otherwise.
Until the pushing and striving cracked something open in me.
And what poured out wasn’t failure.
It was truth.

The truth that I was tired. That I was trying to outrun pain, perfectionism, fear. That I was chasing some mythical version of peace I thought lived on the other side of success.

But peace doesn't live there. Peace lives here.
In this moment. In this body. In this breath.

And when I finally surrendered (not to defeat, but to reality), I didn’t fall apart.
I fell into something deeper. I found presence. I found compassion. I found myself.

And now, surrender is my reminder.
To come back, to soften, to allow.

It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped working, dreaming, or showing up.
It just means I’ve stopped believing that my worth is tied to the fight.

So if you’re holding on too tight, bracing against the weight of it all…I see you.
And I invite you to let go.
Just a little, just enough.

Surrender long enough to discover who you are when you aren’t fighting yourself.