I came across a phrase that pierced straight through the fog of my grief: “The universe meets you at the depth of your surrender, not at the height of your struggle.”

I read it twice (just like it instructed). Something about it made me pause, as if it was meant for this very moment in my life. I’ve been struggling so much lately, clinging to the idea that I need to fight harder to keep moving forward in life, in law school specially, no matter how grief has left me feeling hollow. The weight of loss and the emptiness it brings has made every step feel heavier, every book harder to open, and every goal further out of reach.

Many who haven’t in these shoes may find it hard to understand but with people who has experienced loss know that there’s something about grief that no one really prepares you for, how it takes everything familiar and twists it into something unrecognizable. Law school has always been my dream, but right now, it feels impossible. The person I lost isn’t here to cheer me on, and without them, my path seems blurry. Now, in the midst of this loss, it feels like a chore, like an impossible dream that I’m no longer strong enough to fulfill. I’ve been forcing myself to carry on, hoping that pushing harder will make it easier, but the harder I push, the heavier everything feels.

I think about how grief has reshaped me in ways I never expected, turning my gaze inward, forcing me to wrestle with questions I never wanted to ask. Can I still become the person I once dreamed of being, or has that version of myself faded, buried beneath the weight of everything I’ve lost? Law school used to feel like a calling, a purpose so clear that I never doubted it. But now, every step forward feels heavier, every case brief, every lecture, every late-night reading session, things that once ignited my ambition, now feel like mountains I’m too weary to climb.

I watch my classmates, steady and driven, as if untouched by the weight I carry. I wonder how they do it, how they move forward while I struggle just to stay afloat. It’s not jealousy but a quiet, aching disconnection. They celebrate their victories, their future plans, while I sit here, feeling like a shadow, barely present, barely belonging.

I’ve been struggling to find the strength to keep going, thinking that I need to be unshakable, but this quote gently reminds me that it’s okay to bend. It’s okay to stop and say, “I need a moment.”

This quote made me question everything I’ve been doing. What if surrender doesn’t mean failure? What if it’s an act of courage instead? It tells me I don’t have to keep climbing the mountain right now. I don’t have to win this battle against myself to prove that I’m strong. To let go of my relentless struggle and admit that I’m not okay feels terrifying. But maybe it’s the first step toward healing. Maybe surrendering means allowing myself to feel the depth of this loss without judgment, without the pressure to “move on.” Maybe it’s not about fighting through the pain but about letting go and allowing myself to feel everything, fully and deeply. Maybe it’s okay to sit in this moment and trust that the universe hasn’t forgotten me. It’s actually waiting for me to stop pushing so hard against the current and instead allow myself to be carried for a while.

I’ve been so scared that surrendering to my grief would mean giving up entirely. But maybe it’s the opposite.

Grief has taught me to hold on so tightly to what I think I need, but perhaps it’s time to loosen my grip. To believe that letting go doesn’t mean losing everything, but instead opening myself up to the possibility of finding something new. What that “something” is, I don’t know yet.

Maybe I can meet the universe in this surrender. Maybe in this depth of pain, I’ll find a glimmer of peace, one small step toward healing. And maybe that’s where the hope will begin again

For now, I’ll try to be kinder to myself. I’ll stop pretending I have it all figured out and start accepting that maybe surrender is the only way forward. This journey isn’t over, even if it feels like it is. And as hard as it is to believe, I’ll trust that the universe will meet me here, in this quiet, raw place, and guide me toward a path I can’t yet see.

For now, I’ll sit with this. I’ll read it again if I need to. And I’ll trust that in this surrender, I’m not giving up; I’m finding my way.

Tomorrow, I’ll try again, just one small step at a time.

Love,

Ana 💋