SURRENDER IS A DEATH—AND I JUST DIED AGAIN
There’s a spiritual whistle note people love to hit: Just surrender to the universe.
Except, I think most people, including me, might have been a bit deluded about hitting that note cleanly. We may have … unknowingly been one of those people pretending to pull a Mariah Carey while everyone else in the karaoke room is cringing and closing their inner ears.
Here’s what I mean by that.
It’s like our attempts at “surrendering to Life” (and by “our,” I really mean my own), are more like thinking we’re surrendering … but it turns out we’ve been gripping the wheel the entire time, white-knuckled.
That was me this week.
I had another big kizuki—one of those awareness bombs that explodes so utterly it leaves a holy silence in its wake.
What I realized was this:
I’m not struggling to surrender because I don’t know how.
I’m struggling because, deep down, I didn’t want to admit I was powerless.
That word still makes me twitch.
The ego flinches.
My inner achiever glares.
But the truth?
Powerlessness is the gateway to grace.
Not the disempowered kind—the sacred kind.
The kind where you’ve done everything you can, and know, finally, that none of it is up to you anymore.
Or—still my favorite analogy:
The kind where you’ve carried the child in your womb for nine months and now you’re on the birthing chair and all you can do is get the f*ck out of the way and allow life to happen.
That’s where I am now.
Mid-book project. Proposal done. Everything sent. And now I wait.
And I hate it.
I hate not being able to do more. Not being able to control the next move or how it lands.
I’ve poured my soul's expression into this work.
And now?
I’m not the one piloting this plane.
I’m strapped in economy with a rosary and an eye twitch, praying to … er, I don’t know, To Whomever It May Concern?
The truth is:
Many of my attempts at surrender were half-surrenders at best.
Polished surrenders.
Surrenders with a hint of performance.
A “me” still trying to “do” the surrendering.
What I hadn’t surrendered… was the “I” itself.
The one who got me here.
The do-er. Mostly dogged and occasionally a graceful cruiser, the one who thinks she’s the one who’s making life happen.
She served me well.
She got me this far.
And now, she has to step aside.
Because there is no next step for me to figure out.
There is only this humbling truth:
I am not the life-maker-happener.
And it’s really, very scary to admit.
Letting the divine captain my ship feels like sitting in a canoe with no oars, in open water. The water whispers, “Trust the current.” The mind says, “Are you sure?”
And yet—here I am.
That egoic part of me still chimes in sometimes: But if you don’t do something, nothing will get done!
And in that moment, I wring up all of my courage and all of my wisdom to retort:
“Cute, Mae. That’s cute. My, isn’t that a familiar tone. Dang, and die-hard persistent too! Oh, and … utterly wrong.”
Because I’ve lived long enough and raised children long enough now to know:
The things that matter most in my life didn’t arrive through control.
They arrived through alignment.
Through opening.
Through staying soft.
Through receiving.
That’s what I’m learning now.
Softness isn’t weakness.
It’s proof that I’m no longer fighting the flow.
In reality though, it’s more of a push-pull, a back and forth—at least in the initial phases while your surrender is not yet complete. It’s a lot less pretty than it sounds.
For me, it goes something like this:
First, fear or doubt shows up. I get pulled in. I spiral. I overthink.
Eventually, I reach for perspective—not because I’m enlightened, but because I’m exhausted.
And then I see it: I’ve been swept away again.
So I come back.
To stillness.
To presence.
To truth—even if just for a shaky moment.
And I'm good for a while. Until the loop begins again.
That’s the real surrender spiral.
Not a one-time enlightenment event.
But, I think I’m starting to see—scared as I am—that this may be a sacred, repetitive loop. Kinda like those darn contractions that keep coming back atcha, wave after wave.
Will my baby ever be born??
Hang tight and enjoy the drama with me.
I think it’s called ... Human Life.