Finding Strength in Surrender: A Journey Beyond Control

I found myself sitting in front of a mirror, bruised from the night before, the fresh blood from a fight that had just ended barely covering the older marks. I was in fifth grade, living in what felt like a hell with no escape, surrounded by abuse, and no one was coming to help me. That night, staring blankly into the mirror, a decision took root. That fifth-grade version of me went to war, a one-man mission, me against the world.

In a world like that, control became my shield, my one weapon against everything that tried to break me. There’s a universal pull many of us feel to stay in control, and for some of us, control becomes a trauma response. We think that if we just work hard enough, plan meticulously enough, and manage every detail, we’ll achieve the outcomes we envision. But what if the truth is the opposite? What if real transformation comes not from control but from the willingness to release it, to surrender?

Over time, and especially through recent experiences, I’ve come to see that real change, real growth, often happens when we least expect it, when we’re willing to let go of the illusion of control. This was a lesson that hit me powerfully during my time in Costa Rica, where surrender became more than an idea; it became a necessity.

What I want to share today isn’t just a story about that experience but a reminder: sometimes, to move forward, we don’t need more control. We need trust.

Trust? The word alone lands with a thud – heavy, tangled up with control. I used to think I trusted, but only if things were unfolding exactly as I’d planned, exactly as I’d worked to make them. It was trust laced with conditions, a carefully controlled surrender. The kind of trust that says, “I trust, but only if…” or the old favorite, “Trust, but verify.”

But real trust isn’t laced with conditions or backed by an escape plan. Real trust is surrendering to the unknown, stepping forward without knowing exactly where the ground will meet your feet. It’s a trust that can’t be measured or verified, only felt – and it’s the hardest thing for someone who’s been trained to survive by controlling every outcome.

In Costa Rica, I found myself facing that kind of trust. The experience didn’t care for my plans, my expectations, or my need to keep my hands on the wheel. I was asked to let go, to loosen my grip and trust something far bigger than myself.

Sitting there, in the depths of the jungle, stripped of my armor, I finally understood. This was surrender – not the passive, defeated kind, but a fierce, courageous release of control. Trusting that I would be shown exactly what I needed, without needing to dictate what that was. My original intention had been a negotiation, a list of terms I thought would keep me safe. But in that waterfall, as the sounds of nature filled the silence, I allowed myself to let go of those terms and embrace the unknown.

“Show me what I need to see. Teach me what I need to learn. Heal the places that need to be healed. Solidify lasting change that supports me stepping fully into my new beginning.” The words were simple, but their weight was immense. They weren’t a plea or a demand. They were an invitation for something beyond my own vision, beyond my own control. It was a call to trust without condition, to walk forward without knowing what lay on the path ahead.

That night, I went into the ceremony without armor, without a map. The journey didn’t care about my expectations or my plans. It wasn’t interested in my conditions or my carefully crafted goals. It simply met me where I was, filling the spaces I’d left open with lessons I didn’t even know I needed. And in that vulnerability, I felt the kind of strength that only comes from trust. A strength rooted not in knowing but in being willing to not know.

This was trust, raw and unfiltered. Trust that’s just trust, with nothing to catch you if it all goes sideways. It’s the kind of trust that feels impossible until you’re in it, until you realize that maybe the ground doesn’t need to be steady for you to stand on it. Maybe it’s enough to just keep walking.

As I came back from the jungle, I knew that this lesson would be one of the hardest to carry into everyday life. Trust is not a single decision but a daily practice, a choice to let go and allow things to unfold. And while the world often teaches us that control is strength, I’m beginning to understand that real strength is something deeper, something that requires a level of faith and surrender that can’t be controlled, only embraced.

So, here’s what I want to share with you: sometimes, moving forward isn’t about holding on tighter. It’s about loosening your grip, letting go of the need to shape every outcome, and stepping into the unknown with a willingness to receive what’s there, even if it’s not what you expected.

Loosening your grip on the experiences that have shaped you – the good, the bad, the battles fought and the identities forged in the heat of survival. Letting go of the story crafted so carefully to shield you, to protect you from everything that might break you. It begins with dropping the sword, then the shield, then the helmet, each piece of the armor that once served its purpose as your great protector.

All of it worked. Each layer carried you here, to this moment, to these very words. But that same armor that protected you so well also kept you from fully stepping into the future meant for you. At some point, the very thing that kept you safe also kept you contained, keeping the unknown at bay but also closing off possibility.

In the end, maybe trust is the courage to step forward without armor, to face the unknown not as an enemy but as a guide. Maybe surrender isn’t about losing control, but about opening yourself to something greater. And when you can do that, you realize that moving forward isn’t about strength in the way you once knew it. It’s about a willingness to meet what lies ahead with open hands and an open heart, without the need to control, shape, or protect against it.

Sometimes, it’s not about making things happen. It’s about allowing them to happen, trusting that even in the unsteady ground, even without the armor, you have everything you need to keep walking.

Fully provisioned exactly as you are, just as you were the day you took your very first breath in this world. You didn’t plan a thing, and yet the world was right there to catch you. Eyes wide with wonder, you began, living through the unfiltered awe of a child.

Perhaps the journey has always been about returning to that place. A place where trust isn’t something earned or conditional but is inherent, woven into the very fabric of who we are. Stepping forward not because we’ve calculated every risk or controlled every outcome, but because deep down, we know we’re already enough.

So here we are, back at the beginning, only this time we bring with us the wisdom of all that we’ve been through, the strength to let go, and the courage to surrender.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what it’s all been for, to finally arrive at this moment, fully alive, fully trusting, and fully open to what’s next.