The Sacrifice of Surrender

Integrity is the only freedom.

I’ve always played with the element of non-attachment. I knew I’d carve a path for myself very early on. I never fit the mainstream and have lived by the “surrendered path”—it is the only way for the deeply creative heart, I think. And not just as a nice-sounding affirmation, but like as a way of being that gets under your skin, into your bones, and makes you let go of anything that’s not aligned, no matter how much it hurts. No matter how few people might be doing it. Because if you’re really committed to an authentic life—your integrity—then you don’t get to keep what doesn’t serve you. It’s really that simple—and that brutal.

Surrender is not necessarily soft or gentle, or like some dreamy release in a yoga class—I mean, at least not at the beginning of your practice. The way we talk about “letting go” or “trusting the process,” as if it’s as easy as an exhale, makes it sound effortless, mundane, and therefore unproductive, pointless. Whimsical. But anyone who’s really been through it knows it’s more like an intense tearing away—like a raw, primal unhooking of everything that keeps you comfortable, secure, or understood. It’s messy. It’s gritty. It’s gut-wrenching far before it’s that soft, gentleness we speak of. But most people don’t want any part of it and will never experience the peace of truly letting go. Most would rather stay comfortably uncomfortable.

I’ve had to let go of friends, family ties, and dreams I thought were part of my DNA. And each time—how I know it’s time to let go—my body has felt it. The tightening, the familiar aches and pains. The parts of me that want to stay locked in creature comforts speak loudly in these sensations.

The key to surrender lives in the body. It’s not some intellectual exercise or as simple as an exhale. It’s an embodied experience that strips you bare, forcing you to let go of every illusion about who you need to be; who you need to keep around to feel that sense of belonging, contentment, and love you’ve longed for.

The cold hard truth is that what keeps you cycling with your 💩 is “nice girl” conditioning. When you surrender to what’s true for you, not someone else, you become the “bad guy”, the anti-hero, in their story. What keeps you cycling is that you let guilt, shame, and fear keep moving you.

Choosing what’s right for you often means courageously stepping out of the roles others have put you in, and people don’t like that. I’ve had to be the one who walks away, says no, and chooses herself over someone else’s comfort. Because there were too many times when I didn’t. I no longer self-sacrifice. It’s not easy, and it’s definitely not “nice girl” behavior, but that’s the reality of honoring a path true to your heart over another’s. Surrender is a choice you make again and again. And again. Reverence and humility take you far; it’s a practice, a lifestyle.

Every time you’re called to sacrifice another layer, comfort, and piece of yourself that isn’t aligned with where you’re meant to go, the body knows. It resists. It rebels. Or so you say. But in reality—it calls you deeper into yourself…People talk about wanting alignment, integrity, and purpose. But they don’t realize that those things come at a cost. They require you to let go of things you thought you’d hold onto forever. They force you to surrender relationships you once thought would last a lifetime. And each goodbye, each boundary set, isn’t clean or easy. It’s a gritty, somatic experience—a truth that digs into your skin.

So, yes—surrender is the way. But don’t ever mistake that for weakness and it most certainly is not passive. (And if it is, you’re doing it wrong.) It’s the kind of strength that comes from choosing what’s true over what’s comfortable, from being willing to sacrifice anything that doesn’t align with the path you’re called to walk. It’s not about pleasing anyone, not even yourself in the moment. It’s about living a life so fiercely aligned with God’s will—the forces beyond you—that you’re willing to be misunderstood, to be the “villain,” to be whatever it takes, because you know that real freedom comes from that kind of life lived in integrity.

It’s really the only freedom there is.