Soul Dump Sunday: Learning to Surrender

The idea of surrender—to a control freak—is like asking a mother to just stop getting emotional. A dear friend in her 70s reminded me of this recently:"Stop trying to direct. Ask to be directed."Whoah, did I need that reminder.

You see, when an event arises or a solution is needed, I tend to move into motion fast.I think I treat each one like a project—a puzzle to solve as quickly as possible, so I can put the full picture in place. But life doesn’t work like that. And people are not projects. Especially our children. I move fast. I’m extremely resourceful. I’m good at reading people. And I don’t usually stop until I’m done.

All superpowers, I think.

But the challenge is this: most life events are nothing like finishing a piece of jewelry or writing a song. They are never done.There is only the next best step. And if you’re not careful, this will drive you mad—because you create a race with no finish line.

The hard part about playing director is that I put myself in charge. And though I’m okay receiving help or support, I convince myself that I am the only one who can fix whatever needs fixing.If I don’t do it, no one will—and no one else can. I get bossy. I complain about having to be “the one.”And I start living that story.

Moms, can you relate?

This doesn’t create a team around you. It creates lone wolf syndrome. And once you enter that cave, it’s hard to find your way out. What I’m learning now is this: We are a conduit.

And here’s the thing: surrendering makes problems less heavy. It shifts the energy. You can still take action—but without carrying the unbearable weight of needing to control the outcome.

Instead of fighting the current, the healthier path is to—yes—research, learn what you can, make the calls, put things in motion…And then step back. Trust that the universe will spin the wheels for you as you breathe, surrender, and make space to rest, regroup, and receive.

But sometimes, life demands fast action. And here’s a moment that shaped this pattern in me: When Tristan was 5 years old, he jumped off the couch—right in front of us—and landed on the edge of the coffee table. Split his eyebrow wide open. I scooped him up, looked down at the giant gash in my child’s face, and immediately shifted into survival mode. I told my husband and older son:"Grab some juice boxes. Get some snacks. We are going to the ER."

No time to think. No time to panic. Just action.

We got everyone in the car and went. There wasn’t room for overthinking—only room to get the stitches done. That kind of survival mode is useful when it’s needed. But the challenge is—I’ve noticed I can default to that mode too often, even when it’s not an emergency.

It’s a daily practice to discern which moments truly require that level of motion—and which moments need the pause, the breath, the surrender. When I root down, the wind isn’t as strong. When I don’t react, I can hear my intuition more clearly. But again—if you push too hard, sometimes you push resolution away. Cart before mule. Every time.

So the art of surrender is the opposite of that urge. It’s a delicate line between forcing puzzle pieces into place and calmly flipping each one—organizing them by corners to bring the picture toward clarity.

A delicate dance between ego and intuition.

Without losing the ability to act fast when needed, I’m practicing remaining the pipeline for the universe to act through me. To let go at the right time.To trust the bungee cord.

Scary as hell. But I believe this will get easier with practice and trust.

Life is not a project. Things shift too often to streamline into tidy systems.

And somehow, this knowledge is freeing.

To trust the rhythm. To trust the process. To let things happen the only way they can.

While still embracing my badass nature—knowing I can make things happen when I truly put my mind to it.

To follow the subtle whisper in my heart and my body. To trust the breath to bring me back to stillness so I can be directed instead of playing director. And so I can respond from calmness—not from reaction.

That’s the practice. And I’m here for it everyday....