There comes a time when you stop chasing and start surrendering. I’ve reached that point, where I’ve handed it all to God. I trust that whatever is meant for me will find me, in its time and in its way.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still wish.
I wish for those simple, beautiful things, wine nights on the porch with someone who feels like home. Dates that don’t feel like effort, but excitement. Someone who looks forward to seeing me, just as much as I look forward to seeing him. I don’t necessarily need marriage or a big fairytale ending, I just want that kind of love that feels easy and real.
Someone who makes me laugh until my stomach hurts. Who loves country music as much as I do, who wants to go to concerts, cheer for their favorite team, and spend weekends with family. Someone who’s just present. Who calls because they want to hear my voice, not because it’s a routine.
I want love that doesn’t feel forced, not for me, and not for him. The kind that just flows because both people want to be there.
So yes, I surrender to God. I let go of control and stop searching so hard. But surrender doesn’t mean I’ve stopped hoping. My heart still whispers for that connection, that genuine, wholehearted love.
If it’s meant for me, it will come. And when it does, I’ll be ready, ready to pour into it the same love I’ve been saving all along.
Last week was a rough one for me. If you read my last blog, you know I had a moment of deep despair. A moment where I finally decided to surrender, not give up, but surrender. There’s a big difference. In my prayer, I asked God the questions I’ve carried quietly for so long: Why me? Why am I still alone? Why haven’t I lived the life I envisioned, one filled with adventure, meaningful friendships, joy? It’s not for lack of being a good person. So why?
In that prayer, something shifted. I realized I was tired, tired of asking those questions, tired of trying to manipulate life into giving me what I thought I should have. I was exhausted from carrying it all. And in that surrender, I realized something that broke me wide open: I’ve never truly lived for myself.
My entire adult life has been centered around my children. I became a single mom when they were just two and three years old, and I made the choice to put my life on hold to be present in every possible way. Even on weekends they weren’t with me, I’d turn down plans and stay close to home, just in case they needed me. I felt guilty doing things without them, so I simply didn’t. I didn’t go out. I didn’t travel. I paused me. And over time, as I continued saying “no” to friends and family, the invitations stopped coming.
Then, the day after my surrender prayer, something happened. I got into a minor argument with my son. I was upset because he had plans to go out of town again, yet another weekend away. He’s in college now, and most weekends, he’s gone. I felt hurt. I told him so.
And his response stopped me cold: “Mom, you need to let me live my life. I’m entitled to live my youth.”
He didn’t say it to hurt me. But it did hurt, because I realized, he was right. I’ve given my whole life so that he and his brother could live theirs. I’ve sacrificed willingly. And yet, in that moment, I saw the truth: they never asked me to. I chose that. I did it out of love, but I also clung to it because it became my identity.
That day, I cried, hard. But for the first time, I didn’t cry because I felt empty. I cried because I was being shown something: It’s time to let go. It’s okay now. My boys are 20 and 21. It’s okay to live again. It’s okay to make plans, to go out, to travel, to enjoy life. That doesn’t make me less of a mother. In fact, it’s what I need to be the best version of myself, for them and for me. It’s time I model what it looks like to love others without losing yourself in the process.
And just when I thought that was my big lesson for the week… the universe handed me another one.
This past weekend, I had a moment of weakness, a familiar one. I caught myself almost falling back into an old habit: filling the silence, the loneliness, the space… with something that no longer fits.
I dated someone for two years, a good man, kind and thoughtful, but deep down, I knew from early on that we weren’t right for each other. My journals don’t lie. Entry after entry, I wrote about how I felt unsettled. I stayed because I felt bad. Because he had no family and mine became his. Because guilt can be a powerful prison. I broke up with him multiple times, and each time, he took me back with hope in his heart. To him, I was everything he’d prayed for. And maybe he was settling, too, because truthfully, I never prioritized him. I didn’t give him the love he deserved.
We’ve been out of contact for seven or eight months now. I hadn’t thought about him much at all, until he posted a picture with a new woman on social media. He looked happy. And just like that, I felt something. Not love. Not regret. Just… triggered.
Right before that, he’d left a box of my things with my mom. And the timing? Let’s just say it wasn’t accidental. He knew my family followed him online. He wanted a reaction. And sadly, I gave him one. I even found myself debating whether to reach out. I thought: Maybe I’ll just suggest coffee, just to see if he still wants me. Because I know he would. He told me countless times—no one would ever replace me. But then…
I caught myself.
This was a test.
A test of my surrender. A test of whether I was really ready to stop repeating patterns that don’t serve me. A test of how I handle the waiting.
And that’s where my couch theory comes in.
I look at surrender like this:
It’s like having an old couch you’ve finally gotten rid of because you know it no longer fits. Maybe it didn’t match your decor. Maybe the energy was off. Maybe it was never the right couch in the first place. So you let it go. You sell it. It’s gone.
Then you go out and buy a brand-new couch, the perfect one. The one that suits your mood, your style, your room, your life. But it’s custom. You meet the person who’s going to build it, and you tell them you trust them. You give them a plan, show them exactly where the couch will sit, explain how it should feel in the space. “I trust you to build the perfect couch for this room,” you say. They nod with confidence and tell you it will take four to twelve weeks to build, before delivery.
So now what?
You have no couch.
Your choices:
Sit on the floor and wait patiently.
Go back and drag the old couch back in, the one you already decided didn’t work.
Hop on OfferUp and buy a temporary couch. Something cheap. Something fast. Something that doesn’t match your vision but fills the space, for now.
But we all know what happens: that quick fix ends up costing more in the long run. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t fit. And when your real couch arrives, now you’ve got to do the work of getting rid of that temporary one, again.
So here I am, waiting. Sitting on the floor, metaphorically speaking. Not recycling old couches. Not buying stand-ins out of loneliness. I’m holding out for what’s meant for me. For what fits.
Yes, it’s hard. Waiting always is. But this time, I know what I’m doing. I know what I deserve. I know that filling space just to feel full isn’t the answer. I’m not here for quick comforts anymore. I’m here for peace, alignment, and truth.
So no more recycled couches. No more temporary stand-ins. No more mistaking loneliness for love.
I start to panic about things and then this quote plays in my head reminding me that my only job is to do the best that I can in all that I do and if it’s meant for me, nothing will sabotage it. It reminds me that if things go awry it’s temporary and eventually the water will level out and I will no longer be drowning in whatever is happening. I will eventually float on my back and coast back to where I’m supposed to be or where I’m supposed to be headed. If you really think about those words “You can’t mess something up that is meant for you” it takes the pressure off of trying to manipulate your outcomes. It should take the edge off of worrying about the unknown. If I think of the jobs I didn’t get or the relationships that didn’t work out I realize how much better off I am that it didn’t. I find comfort now in these words because I realize that no matter what, I’m going to be ok. So why worry about outcomes that aren’t up to me? Just do the best that you can and leave the rest up to fate.
I had worked my way out of Customer Service and into a Payroll Generalist position at a leading University. I was so excited for the opportunity. More so on the idea that my manager would soon retire and the goal was that I would be the Payroll Manager. I worked so hard. I learned quickly and made strong relationships with the staff. About a month before she retired I heard lots of hearsay that they were starting to interview for her position. I inquired about it many times but no one really gave me a straight answer. One day, I arrived at the office and was introduced to my new Payroll Manager. A person with absolutely no payroll experience. Someone whom they assumed I would train and get up to par with what she would need to do her role. Imagine my dismay at this news. I remember being so upset. How unfair could they be? Why was I passed up for this position that I wanted so bad that I could taste?
I continued working at the University but to say I was bitter was an understatement. I needed that job. I had already visualized that job being mine. How could I not get it? My visions had come to fruition in the past. So why not now? Months past and suddenly one day I received a phone call from a recruiter. She had kept my resume from years before and wanted to know if I might be interested in a role at her company. During this time I was still in the process of trying to save my home. Though I was able to purchase a car, I was still struggling to make ends meet. I figured, why not? I dusted off my business suit and met the recruiter for an interview. I remember feeling such an amazing vibe when I walked through the doors of this business. Everyone was so excited and full of light. However, having just dealt with disappointment I set my hopes high but expectations low. Four interviews later, the recruiter called me to offer me the position. The salary they offered me was leaps and bounds higher than I was making. It was also even more money than my new Payroll Manager at the University was making. The work even sounded a lot less stressful than what I was experiencing at the university. It was in that instant that I understood the why I didn’t get the “job of my dreams”. This increase was just the amount of earnings I needed to save my home. Just like that, I ticked the biggest vision on my board.
The truth is, this experience taught me that I can put my hopes, goals and visions out there and if I believe enough they will come to fruition. However, I can’t sell myself short with small dreams because the big ones, the ones that I deserve, will eventually make their way into my life.
I was sitting at the kitchen island with my mom. “What is wrong with you Mercy? Ever since your divorce you aren’t even a quarter of the person that you were. You used to be so happy, full of life, positive and energetic. Where did that vivacious daughter of mine go?” Truth is, I didn’t even know. I felt lost beyond measure. “I don’t know Mom,” I responded. “I feel like I am in this dark tunnel and can’t get out. I am so unhappy. I feel like a failure because I couldn’t save my marriage. I feel like I am a terrible mother because all I want to do is cry and sleep. I am about to get my car repossessed because I can’t afford it. I can’t afford my home. I can’t even concentrate at work because I know that I am working and not making nearly enough to survive. I hate myself”
It was the darkest point of my life. I remember driving to work one day and planning out who would take care of my kids if I should decide I didn’t want to be in this world anymore. I didn’t feel like I was good enough for them. I was sobbing the whole drive in. I pulled into the parking lot, started to get out of the car when my baby, my two year old, whom I had forgotten to drop off at day care said “Hi MOMMY”. I started crying uncontrollably. I was so depressed and so out of it that I almost left my child in the car on a hot summer day. What a terrible mother! I remember sitting back down in the car and saying a prayer. I thanked God and every angel that guided me that my son spoke up. I promised myself in that very instant that I was going to take control back in my life. I called out sick that day. I drove my baby to day care and I signed up for college. I had 2 years left for my bachelors degree and I knew the only way I would be able to make anything of myself for my 2 boys was if I earned my degree. I had to get out of customer service and make enough money to support us. That evening I was ordering school supplies online and I stumbled on a blog about vision boards. A woman had created one so she could visualize her goals. The next day after work I set out to create mine. I knew that the only way I could survive this life was by restoring hope in my heart. I didn’t just add tangible things to my board, I focused on emotional aspects. A picture of a woman laughing. I pasted a heart over her chest because I envisioned restoring laughter in my heart. I added a car because mine had been repossessed and I was driving an old beat up Chevrolet Cavalier that barely went over 40 mph. My goal wasn’t to get anything expensive but something safe for my children and I. I added a picture of my home. I needed to know that my home, the home I worked so hard for would somehow be saved. Just like that I went adding the tidbits that would make me feel whole again. Oddly enough, as I went gluing it together, piece by piece I felt the hope restore in my heart. I hung this poster up right by my bed. Everyday I got up, glanced over it for a few minutes, told God thank you in advance for everything he was doing to fulfill these visions behind the scene, and then I would get dressed and head on for my day.
Within 4-5 years I achieved every single piece of that vision board. I was able to get my degree, I was able to purchase a car AND pay it off. I was able to land a secure job that would give us enough to do whatever our heart desired (within reason of course) but, above all, I was able to restore the laughter in my heart.
Here I am 11 years since my separation/divorce and I feel like I can achieve anything. Negative things happen but I almost don’t even let it sway me anymore because I know things get better. You just have to ride some waves at times. Sometimes things happen to force you to better yourself. I look back and had I not gone through so much adversity I wouldn’t be this strong. I would not be this successful. Most of all, I would not be able to tell my story and help restore laughter in people’s hearts. I know I was able to overcome the worst time in my life so far. A time when I thought I was “in a dark tunnel I can’t get out of.” Because I know this and feel this so strongly, I know that everyone else can too.
I start to panic about things and then this quote plays in my head reminding me that my only job is to do the best that I can in all that I do and if it’s meant for me, nothing will sabotage it. It reminds me that if things go awry it’s temporary and eventually the water will level out and I will no longer be drowning in whatever is happening. I will eventually float on my back and coast back to where I’m supposed to be or where I’m supposed to be headed. If you really think about those words “You can’t mess something up that is meant for you” it takes the pressure off of trying to manipulate your outcomes. It should take the edge off of worrying about the unknown. If I think of the jobs I didn’t get or the relationships that didn’t work out I realize how much better off I am that it didn’t. I find comfort now in these words because I realize that no matter what, I’m going to be ok. So why worry about outcomes that aren’t up to me? Just do the best that you can and leave the rest up to fate.
Affirmation Of Visions 