N8tivegirl

The Weight of Surrender

There are moments in life when surrendering to God — and even surrendering to yourself — are the hardest things you will ever do.

Perhaps that’s why I never learned to swim.

Because swimming requires something that has always felt foreign to me:

trusting the water to hold you while you float.

That kind of surrender has never come naturally.

Letting go of control…

laying down the reins…

trusting something unseen to support you.

That is frightening.

For years I have sung Tasha Cobbs’ words:

“God, you can blow my mind.”

But sometimes I wonder —

if He actually did,

would I even recognize it?

Would I know the difference between God moving

and life simply changing?

To say “I surrender all” sounds beautiful when sung in a hymn.

But living those words is another story.

Perhaps surrender is especially difficult for women who have had to carry life alone.

Single mothers learn something quickly:

You rely on yourself.

You solve problems.

You make decisions.

You keep everything moving forward.

There is no luxury of collapse.

So independence becomes strength —

but it also becomes armor.

And armor is difficult to remove.

Even in relationships, the walls remain.

Half up.

Half down.

Because somewhere deep inside you know that eventually people will disappoint you.

Not maliciously.

Not intentionally.

But they will.

And after enough seasons of holding everything together yourself, surrender begins to feel like risk.

But there comes a moment in life when surrender becomes the only option left.

Not dramatic.

Not emotional.

Just quiet.

A moment when the soul finally exhales and whispers the words that once felt impossible:

I surrender all.

Not because you suddenly trust everything.

But because you realize you cannot carry everything.

And maybe — just maybe — the water was always capable of holding you.

You just hadn’t let go long enough to find out.