What “Let Go of the Vine” Really Means

Learning to Surrender When Control Isn’t Helping

The other day, I had another one of those moments. Anxiety creeping in out of nowhere. No warning. One second I was just moving through my day, checking off things on the to-do list, and the next I felt the wave hit — tight chest, short breath, racing thoughts. If you’ve experienced it, you know what I’m talking about. It’s not logical. It’s not dramatic. It’s just there. And for me, it’s been showing up more than I’d like lately.

What’s been especially hard is this question I keep asking myself almost every day: What’s wrong with me? I’m doing everything I can. I’m trying to stay grounded, trying to move forward, trying to “do the work” — and still, my body feels like it’s unraveling. And I hate that I even ask that question, because deep down I know it’s not about something being wrong. But it’s where my mind goes when I feel like I’m failing at keeping it all together.

That day, instead of pushing through it or pretending I could keep going, I stopped. I sat still and tuned in to all my senses. Feeling the breeze on my skin, hearing the wind chimes and the birds chirping. Seeing the branches swaying gently, the wind rustling the leaves like it was rustling my hair. I closed my eyes and breathed. Then I asked myself, “What do I need right now?” And the answer that came back was clear: “Let go of the vine.”

I knew exactly what it meant. I’ve been holding on so tightly to so many things — outcomes, expectations, obligations, pressure. Trying to manage everything, trying to hold it all up. And at some point, it’s too much. The more I try to control, the more disconnected I feel. That sentence — let go of the vine — hit me like a reset button. A reminder that I don’t have to grip everything so tightly to be okay.

It also reminded me of the Serenity Prayer:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

That last line, wisdom to know the difference, is where I’ve been stuck. It’s not that I can’t take action. I’ve been doing that non-stop. It’s that I haven’t always known where my responsibility ends and surrender begins.

This has come up in our lives more than once. When Tamaz and I lost his mom, it was the day before our wedding. The day before. Nothing prepares you for something like that. We were already deep in a season of stress, trying to plan a future, trying to stay strong. Then, a sudden loss that shifted everything. Fourteen years later, in 2022, we lost his dad. Two different seasons of life. Two massive waves of grief. And in both moments, we had to let go. Not of the love, but of the need to understand or manage it.

And then there was 2008. The year I lost the home I inherited from my parents. I had done everything I could to try and save it. The house was in really bad condition, and I couldn’t afford the repairs. One of my attempts included trying to transfer the mortgage into my name and take out a new loan, since it was still under my mom’s name. But the bank would only loan me more than I needed. Crazy, right? Then the 2008 mortgage crisis hit — and while it was devastating to lose the house, I was also deeply thankful that the loan wasn’t under my name. The foreclosure didn’t touch my credit. And as painful as it was at the time, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. That house had been a heavy weight for years. Letting it go made space for something else to begin.

Surrender isn’t about giving up. It’s about accepting reality without blaming yourself for it. It’s saying: I can’t control everything, but I can choose how I show up in this moment. And I can choose not to carry what isn’t mine.

If you’ve been asking yourself “What’s wrong with me?” lately, I want to tell you: that question doesn’t serve you. Nothing is wrong with you. You’re just tired. You’re carrying too much. You’re holding too tightly to things you were never meant to grip alone.

So maybe the better question is: What do I need to let go of right now?

That’s what I’m asking myself more often now. And that’s what I’m inviting you to ask too.

Let go of the vine. Not because you’re weak. But because strength sometimes looks like loosening your grip, and trusting that what’s meant to hold will hold.

Do you have a “let go of the vine” moment? Share your story with The Starlead Tribe.