Thursday, January 15, 2026

Reflecting

 Thursday reflection 


Reflection


I see it now.

I really surrendered.


Not the kind of surrender people talk about.

Not the kind written in books or spoken from stages.

The kind that strips everything away and leaves no noise to hide behind.


I didn’t surrender because I was brave.

I surrendered because there was nothing left to hold on to.

And somehow, that became freedom.


Surrender asked me to block out the voices.

The timelines.

The expectations.

The questions about what I should have by now,

who I should be by now,

what my life is supposed to look like.


It wasn’t easy.

It was quiet.

And uncomfortable.

And lonely at times.


But in that quiet, something real happened.

I stopped performing survival.

I stopped explaining myself.

I stopped begging reality to make sense.


I noticed how strange the world sounds when you’re no longer afraid.

Questions like “Have you gotten your life together?”

or “What are you doing with your life?”

used to pierce me.


Now they make me smile.


Not because I’m above them —

but because I see the fear underneath them.

The need for order.

The need for proof.

The need for sameness.


I don’t live there anymore.


I understand now that surrender isn’t giving up.

It’s standing without armor.

It’s letting life move through me without resistance.

It’s trusting that I don’t need to rush to become anything.


I didn’t lose my way.

I lost my attachment to fear.


I see how far I’ve come —

from reacting to observing,

from defending to listening,

from needing approval to simply being present.


Things that once shattered me no longer reach my center.

Emotions still move through me,

but they don’t own me.


That is the discipline I didn’t know I was learning.

The discipline of staying.


I don’t need to convince anyone.

I don’t need to be understood.

I don’t need to fit back into a story that was never mine.


I am here.

I am awake.

I am intact.


And for the first time,

I trust this quiet ground beneath my feet.


I surrender —

not because I’m done,

but because I’m finally free to begin.

Yoruba Yogi

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