The Art of Letting Go and Trusting the Fall

There is a dream that has stayed with me, lingering in my mind long after I awoke. In it, I was falling. Each time, I would scramble, desperate to find something to hold onto, clawing at anything within reach.

And in my attempts to save myself, I only hurt myself more. Again and again, I was given another chance—another fall, another attempt to catch myself. And each time, I made the same mistake. I would awaken, unsettled, only to slip back into sleep and into the same dream cycle.

Finally, I heard God's voice, clear as day: "Let go. If you fall, I will catch you."

It was then that I woke up for the last time, startled yet filled with an undeniable sense of peace. The scripture came to mind—the moment when Satan tempts Jesus, saying (paraphrasing), Doesn’t the Word say that if you fall, God will summon angels to catch you, and He won’t let any part of you get hurt? (Matthew 4:6).

This dream has captivated my thoughts ever since, forcing me to reflect on the ways we exhaust ourselves in the name of self-preservation. How often do we struggle to keep things together, scrambling to prevent what we believe to be an imminent disaster? We grip so tightly onto control, fearing the pain we think will come with falling, not realizing that in our struggle, we inflict wounds upon ourselves.

In our desperation to avoid failure, heartbreak, or uncertainty, we cling to anything within reach—old habits, toxic relationships, unrealistic expectations, or sheer willpower—just to keep from slipping. We convince ourselves that if we hold on a little tighter, fight a little harder, or push through the exhaustion, we can prevent the fall. But in reality, we are often only prolonging the inevitable, bruising ourselves in the process.

Sometimes, the act of holding on causes more damage than the fall ever could. The fear of losing control tricks us into believing that our safety depends solely on our own strength, that if we don’t hold everything together, it will all come crashing down. But what if letting go is exactly what we need? What if falling—trusting that there is something greater than ourselves to catch us—leads to our greatest transformation?

Real trust begins when we stop gripping onto the illusion of control and allow ourselves to be held by faith, by love, by the unseen hands that have always been there, waiting.

What if the fall isn’t the problem? What if some falls are not only inevitable but necessary? We often equate falling with failure, with loss, with the end of something we hold dear. But what if falling is, at times, the very thing we need? What if it is in the letting go that we discover the arms that have always been ready to catch us? What if the ground we so fear never comes, or if it does, it is softer than we expected—because grace cushions the landing?

I keep thinking about the damage we do to ourselves in the attempt to avoid the fall. The exhaustion of being our own hero. The exhaustion of trying to be the hero for everyone else. We wear our resilience like armor, believing we must always be strong, always be in control, always be the savior of our own story. But there is a deep, sacred truth in realizing that we don’t always have to be the ones holding it all together. Sometimes, the most courageous thing we can do is surrender—to stop, to breathe, to trust.

As a self-professed control freak, the concept of surrender has always been a challenge for me. I've grown up mistrusting others to do what’s in my best interest. This isn’t just paranoia—I have the receipts to prove that some people have, in fact, had ill intentions. My psyche has data that says people don’t always have me in mind. Realistically, I also know this is not true of everyone, but when memories of hurt and neglect flood my mind, it becomes hard to remember to trust, which certainly makes it even harder to surrender.

Surrender is not weakness; it is the ultimate act of strength. It is choosing to believe that we don’t have to carry the weight of everything alone. It is stepping out of the exhausting role of being our own savior and allowing grace to step in. Surrender doesn’t mean giving up; it means giving over—handing over our fears, our worries, and our relentless need for control to something far greater than ourselves. When we surrender, we make space for healing, for clarity, for divine intervention. We allow ourselves to breathe, to be held, to trust that even in freefall, we are never truly falling—we are being carried.

Giving God and others permission to step in doesn’t mean we are weak. It means we are human. It means we understand that strength isn’t in the constant fight, but in the willingness to believe that we are not alone. So today, I choose to trust the fall. To believe that even when I lose my grip, even when my footing is uncertain, even when the air rushes past me and I am unsure of where I will land—I am not abandoned. I will be caught. And perhaps, in being caught, I will finally understand what it means to rest in faith.

As you read this, I invite you to reflect on your own life. Where are the places where you're holding on too tightly, afraid to let go, or clinging to control? What would it look like for you to surrender, to trust that even in the most uncertain moments, you are not alone? Remember, surrender is an invitation to trust that, no matter how things turn out, they will work out for your good.

So, take a deep breath, release the fear, and let go. Trust the fall, knowing that the hands that have always been there to hold you will catch you.

Peace & love.

Dawn