Leveling Up: Trust, Surrender, and the Cycles of Growth
🌙 Leveling Up: Trust, Surrender, and the Cycles of Growth
“Trusting the unseen isn’t a one-time act — it’s a practice.”
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Every sunrise is an invitation to trust the unseen all over again.
A Familiar Knowing, Just Deeper
As I sit here, I realize that everything I thought I knew is still what I know — just on a different level.
I thought I knew what trust was, what courage was, what faith and surrender were.
It’s interesting how, when we allow ourselves to grow and flow with life’s cycles, patterns start to emerge.
Every time I think I’ve got a handle on who I am and how I show up, it’s as if the universe, God, my higher self, my unseen team all whisper:
“Okay, she’s ready for the next level of the game.”
Lately I’ve been thinking about how trusting the unseen isn’t a one-time act — it’s a practice.
And every time I think I’ve learned how to do it, life hands me a new lesson.
I don’t always see every synchronicity or trust it, either. Sometimes I catch myself second-guessing what I know.
As I’m deciding to replace the urge to zone out and avoid reality with writing this, I’m reminded that even that decision — to stay present with myself — is a form of surrender.
You know that feeling when the universe seems to say, “Okay, let’s see what you’ve learned?”
Yeah — those moments.
The unseen threads are always weaving; we’re just learning to move with their rhythm.
And the more I pay attention, the more I see that this thing we call life really is a dance — a collaboration between our free will and the quiet choreography of something higher.
My higher self, my guides, whatever name we give it, always seem to offer up the exact lessons I agreed to learn.
Whether I accept the invitation or sit the dance out is my choice, but the music never stops.
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Every path we take teaches us something about who we are becoming.
From “Why Me?” to “What’s This Teaching Me?”
There was a time I used to ask, “Why does the rug always get pulled out from under me?”
I saw life as happening to me, not for me.
Even though it was my choice to leave, sometimes it feels like it wasn’t actually a choice at all — more like a natural conclusion to that book of my life.
Like when I had a decent-paying job that aligned with my purpose of being of service to people, but it wasn’t creatively activating enough to sustain my soul.
Have you ever had one of those moments where you knew an ending was inevitable, but it still felt like the rug was being pulled from under you?
Those moments aren’t failures — they’re invitations.
Invitations to trust. To release the illusion of control. To choose empowerment, even when it feels like life is choosing for us.
Now, I see how poetic it really is — how much love it takes from my unseen team to send the challenges that stretch me.
These moments aren’t punishments; they’re invitations to evolve.
When I can meet them with curiosity instead of fear, the same situations that once broke me open now expand me.
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Still waters reveal what rushing streams can’t — the truth reflected back to us.
Choices as Mirrors
Every choice I make is a reflection of where I am in my journey.
I’ve come to believe there’s no truly wrong choice — just choices that show us where we are right now.
The point I’m at isn’t good or bad; it just is.
Recognizing that has freed me from the constant pressure to “get it right” and reminded me that every step, even a misstep, is still movement.
If every choice is feedback, what might your current choices be trying to show you?
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Transformation begins the moment we release what no longer needs to be carried.
Mourning the Old Identity
Part of growth meant mourning the identity of the victim.
For me, mourning looked like a lot of crying, talking through feelings with my therapist, listening to music that echoed what I was processing, and even screaming into pillows.
It was messy, human, and necessary.
It wasn’t about punishment — it was about release.
It meant saying: yes, things happened to me, but now it’s my responsibility to decide what happens through me.
What version of yourself might be ready to rest so a new one can rise?
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And once I began to let go of who I thought I had to be, another layer revealed itself — the quiet pull of comparison.
Comparison as Control
I noticed how easily comparison crept in.
Scrolling and seeing people I grew up with reaching all the “normal” milestones — marriage, houses, kids — while I’ve been hyper focused on healing, recovery, and inner work sometimes made me question my path.
It’s sneaky, right? You don’t even notice it until you’re halfway through someone’s feed wondering why their kitchen looks like that.
By measuring myself against others, I was trying to control my reality without taking accountability for it.
Control can be insidious — it often hides in small thoughts like:
“Why do they have that life and I don’t?”
“What if I never catch up?”
“What if I end up like them?”
And comparison doesn’t always sound like self-judgment. Sometimes it sounds like:
“At least I’m doing better than they are… so I must be fine staying here.”
That version of comparison is really just another way to avoid change — to stay safe, comfortable, untouched by risk, untouched by failure..
But that’s not peace — that’s control disguised as comfort.
Choose peace, not performance.
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Inspiration vs. Comparison — Same Doorway, Different Frequency
Then there’s the other kind of comparison — the one that whispers:
“I’ll never be like them. I don’t have what they have. So why try?”
But that’s a lie. A tempting one — but still a lie.
Comparison and inspiration can look similar from the outside, but they come from completely different places.
Inspiration says: Comparison says:
“Look what’s possible.” “Look what you lack.”
“If they can, maybe you can too.” “You’ll never get there.”
“Let this lift you.” “Let this shrink you.”
The truth is, no two people are truly comparable.
We don’t have the same nervous systems, childhoods, traumas, blessings, timelines, astrology charts, past lives, or soul contracts.
A fair comparison isn’t just unhelpful — it’s impossible.
Because trying to become someone else is a fool’s errand — not because we’re incapable, but because we were never meant to be them. We’re here to become more of ourselves, not a replica of someone else’s becoming—but the unfolding of our own soul.
So why use someone else’s chapter twenty to shame yourself for being in chapter four?
Why tie one hand behind your back by measuring your becoming against someone else’s becoming?
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Inspiration was never meant to prove your inadequacy — it was meant to remind you of what’s possible.
And once I softened my grip on comparison — both the kind that made me feel behind and the kind that kept me safe — I found myself facing another lesson: timing, and how little control I actually have over it.
Trusting Timing, Releasing Packaging
Letting go of timing and packaging has been one of the hardest lessons.
When I was younger, I thought I’d be a forensic psychologist.
I wanted to understand why people make the choices they do — though looking back, that was another quiet attempt at control, LMAO.
I didn’t go to college. Over a decade later, I became a peer recovery support specialist instead.
It wasn’t what I planned, but it was exactly what I needed.
The work I did as a peer was still rooted in service — just in a different shape than I expected. A quieter, less rigid one.
That dream I was chasing? It was never really about passion — it was about perception. About how I thought I’d be seen.
It’s funny — my mind loves a five-step plan.
But my soul keeps reminding me that magic doesn’t follow spreadsheets.
Surrender isn’t about waiting for something to happen — it’s about living while it does.
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Action vs. Rest
Part of surrender is also knowing when to take inspired action — and when to allow space to rest and be restored.
I’ve struggled with attaching my worth to my work.
Believing that being productive meant being valuable.
Rest, to me, used to feel like falling behind.
And here I am, facing that same lesson on a new level:
When is it okay to rest — and when is it avoidance?
If you resonate with that — I see you. It’s not an easy balance to find.
Maybe because balance isn’t something we find once and keep forever.
Maybe it’s something we practice again and again — like trust, like surrender, like breathing through the unknown.
And maybe rest isn’t the opposite of progress.
Maybe rest is what allows progress to last.
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When we let go of the need to control, life starts moving with us — not against us.
And the more I let myself rest, act, pause, begin again — the more I understood that trust wasn’t a finish line I would reach. It was a rhythm I would return to, over and over.
The Ongoing Practice of Trust
Each level of life asks me to surrender again — to trust that what’s leaving is making room for what’s arriving.
Every new level comes with its own boss battle — the kind that tests patience, not joysticks — but the difference now is that I trust I already have the tools to face it.
Trust isn’t a milestone; it’s a way of walking.
We practice it again and again — with open hands, steady hearts, and faith that every cycle, no matter how messy, is still carrying us forward.
Maybe that’s the grace of it — we were never meant to do this alone.
We’re just remembering how to move in rhythm with the guidance that’s been there all along.
Every step, stumble, pause, leap, and spin is part of a larger choreography — a dance between our will and the wisdom that lovingly leads us home.
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Love is the map — the higher self is the compass.
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Author’s Note — A Gentle Invitation
Writing this piece was an act of trust in itself. I didn’t start with a plan — just a quiet nudge from somewhere deep that said, “Write anyway.” And somewhere between the pauses, edits and paragraphs, I realized that showing up — even imperfectly — is its own kind of surrender.
If something in these words met you where you are, take it as a reminder that the same guidance that led you here is also walking beside you. Life really is a dance of co-creation — one step, one breath, one choice at a time. The rhythm might be changing, but the song is still yours.
And maybe, if you feel called, you can gently ask yourself:
Is there anywhere in my life I can show up imperfectly and still say yes?
Where have I been comparing instead of creating?
Where can I trust my timing a little more — even if I don’t understand it yet?
You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You’re not behind.
You’re right on time.
With love,
—Hadija (HigherHeartWarriorChannel)
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