Surrender

Knowing when to fight and knowing when to release control

Like light, dying exists on a spectrum. As comforting and convenient as binaries and hard edges can be, very few exist in nature. It is a most subtle and sacred moment in time when a being’s trajectory falls out of line and curves towards the orbit of their worldly departure. A slow, silent circling, at first, like that of the Red Kites who wheel the sky in unflinching observation. Metaphor permits us a few inches closer to that which language falls short of, and the dying will often speak of journeys, of trips on the horizon for which they must prepare. Beneath confusion and altered states lies a knowing, an awareness that a process has begun, and as the river’s current strengthens a choice must be made: to battle, negotiate, or surrender. Typically, we defer to whichever muscle we’ve most strengthened in life.

Chloe Hope

- A Welcome and Most Beautiful Thing, Death and Birds
(emphasis mine)

I’m coming out of one of the worst weeks of depression I’ve experienced in years. It’s been irregular but pervasive, lurking around every corner, striking at the slightest sign of stress or conflict.

I haven’t struggled with my mental health like this in a long while, which is, in some ways, a good sign. A few years ago, I had a brutal winter that triggered deep self-growth. Coming out of that season, I began to separate what was depression, what was part of my natural cycle, and what was the weight of capitalism pressing down on my soul. Of course, all of these are interwoven, but depression has a unique brand of self-loathing that makes it especially hard to meet with an open heart.

I read the Chloe Hope quote above about a week ago. While the entire piece is beautiful and reflective, that opening paragraph stayed with me. The idea of choosing—to battle, negotiate, or surrender—has surfaced repeatedly during this recent stretch of mental struggle.

Battling feels like my default state when I’m not managing well. Not outward aggression, exactly—though I’m embarrassed to admit that’s surfaced too—but an inward, fierce kind of battle. My negative self-voice fights hard, repeating mantras of worthlessness and ignorance. It dredges up historical evidence to validate its claims, and it’s often relentless.

So, I turn to negotiation, trying to hold on to myself by offering counterpoints—my competence, my small successes, the people who love me, the good I strive to do. Negotiation doesn’t always feel effective, but maybe that’s only because wins in this arena are quieter than losses. I should give myself more credit for the times I manage to stay afloat, when I don’t sink completely beneath the weight of that voice.

But then, what does it mean to surrender?

Reading Chloe’s words, I felt a pull—a desire to strengthen my capacity for surrender, so that when death comes, I might meet it with some practiced grace. But in this broader context, how do we know when to surrender? What does that even look like?

I think of the Buddhist teaching of Upādāna—clinging or attachment—as a root cause of suffering, born of attachment to identity, views, rituals, or pleasures. When we release our need to shape life in a particular way, we free ourselves from that suffering. Is that surrender?

Is it simply letting go of resistance—of the illusion of control? Not passivity, but a conscious, active choice to release the grip, even when the path ahead is unclear or painful. This kind of surrender feels counterintuitive to intentional living, even though I know, deep down, that it’s not. There’s a nuance there I can’t quite name.

And then, how do we surrender in the face of evil? When does surrender become appropriate—not waving the white flag, but acknowledging when efforts to control or shape are simply beyond our reach?

Clearly, this question extends beyond personal mental health.

adrienne maree brown describes surrender as “controlled falling away,” a way of opening to the present moment and releasing the need to control outcomes, instead embracing the process of change.

“and my latest lesson in humility has moved me to tears. i tried one again to control my own changes (sigh). change set me back into my place and reminded me i can dance with her, be free alongside her, grow with and through her, but never control her…tears of surrender and grief and laughter – it’s ridiculous to be a human trying to do so much with so little time or knowledge.”

adrienne marie brown, moved to tears

It’s easier to think about surrender in theory than it is to live it. Just as it’s easier to say “let go” than to actually loosen our grip. I’m struggling to make space in my life for both surrender and intentionality—for shaping my life actively through the work, while also accepting that many forces lie beyond my control, forces that shape the world in ways I must move with rather than against.

When to hold, when to release. When to flex, when to soften. When to battle, when to negotiate, when to surrender.

There’s a deep human desire for clarity—for rules, steps, a clear process that promises a favorable outcome. Maybe that’s more a legacy of colonial culture than of human nature—it’s hard to tell sometimes. Either way, I feel that pull for certainty, and I see it reflected all around me. “Follow these steps, stick to the program, and success will follow.”

But rarely is life so neat.

The natural world, by contrast, seems to operate on chaos and adaptation. You need a dash of this, a pinch of that. There's no formula to protect us from depression, stress, or conflict. No universal guide for navigating collapsing economies or unraveling social fabric. Everything—EVERYTHING—requires nuance.

So maybe my original intent—to strengthen my surrender muscle—is not so much about knowing what surrender looks like, but about learning to recognize when to use it. Or maybe it’s about knowing how to flex all three muscles—battle, negotiate, and surrender—as needed, even simultaneously, if the metaphor allows.

In my own mental health journey, knowing when to fight back against my negative self-voice is important. But so is knowing when to accept my limitations—not as failure, but as part of the human experience. I need to embrace not only my strengths, but also my fragility; to accept what I can’t control, while showing up for what I can with intention and care.

In this context, surrender is not defeat, but a recognition that life is complex, shifting, and full of mystery—and that maybe that's where some of its beauty lies.