The Peace That Comes With Letting Go

 In the quiet of surrender, I found a strength I never knew I had.

It’s been a while since I’ve shared here. I’ve always believed in writing only when I feel led, when the words come from a place of truth and peace. Lately, I’ve been in a season of solitude, a quiet season that has brought rest to both my mind and heart. The more I lean into it, the more I realize that what I truly desire is a simple, peaceful life. I’ve never cared for the constant rush, the “go, go, go” pace that leaves no room to breathe. In this quiet season, one truth keeps echoing in my heart: peace in the letting go, peace in the stillness, peace in His presence.

This past spring, something happened that shifted me in a deep way. I lost a relationship that I thought would always be part of my life. It wasn’t easy, and I still carry love for this person, but the truth is it wasn’t healthy for me or my family. When the relationship ended, something unexpected happened: I felt peace. Normally, I would have been heartbroken and scrambling to fix things, even at the cost of my own well-being. But this time was different. God met me there.

I can’t explain the calm I felt. Yes, there was sadness, but underneath it was this steady assurance that God was fighting for me. In the past, I would have defended myself, tried to make everyone understand my side, tried to hold on to what was slipping away. Instead, I was silent. I let go. And in that stillness, God reminded me that He goes before me, that He fights my battles.

Words spread quickly, but silence met me. No one stopped to ask how my family or I were really doing. For a while, that was hard to accept. But then I realized peace doesn’t depend on who believes me or who doesn’t. Peace comes from knowing that the One who truly knows me has never left my side.

The old version of me, the people-pleaser who bent over backwards to keep everyone happy had to die. That Anita is gone. And in her place, God is building something new. This season of pausing has opened the door for healing. It’s allowed me to sit quietly with my Father and let Him lead me back to places in my story where He wants to bring restoration.

Here’s what I’ve learned: not every battle is mine to fight. Not every word against me needs an answer. My calling is to be still and trust Him. Scripture reminds us that our battles are not against flesh and blood, but against spiritual forces. My role is not to wrestle with every storm but to rest in the One who can silence them.

Jesus showed us this so clearly when He was asleep in the boat while the storm raged. The disciples panicked, but Jesus was at peace because He knew who was in control. That’s the peace I want to live in, not the absence of struggle, but the presence of God in the middle of it.

If we would only learn to quiet our spirits and allow God to move, life would be so much lighter. Issues will come, storms will rise, but even there we can remain in peace. When we surrender, when we pause and let Him be God, peace takes root.

If you find yourself in a similar season, I invite you to pause and pray these words with me:

Lord, teach us to be still before You. When storms rise and our hearts are tempted to fight in our own strength, remind us that You go before us. Help us release control and rest in Your presence, trusting that You are our defender and our peace. May Your stillness quiet the noise within us, and may Your love root us in unshakable calm. In Jesus’ name, amen.