Some of the things we carry with us from childhood have a way of finding their way back to us, even after life has taken us in a hundred different directions.

For me, one of those things is reading. I grew up reading a lot, a habit I picked up from my dad. There was a time when books were a familiar part of my days, when I could spend hours turning pages and getting lost in someone else’s words. But life has a way of filling our days with other things, and somewhere along the way, I found myself reading less and less.

Lately, I’ve been finding my way back.

I recently started reading Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed, and one of the letters caught my attention. It was from a struggling writer, and in her response, Cheryl talked about humility and surrender.

I found myself agreeing with her. But as I sat with those words, my thoughts wandered beyond writing and into something much closer to everyday life: our relationships, the people we love, and the things we sometimes struggle to understand about one another.

I began wondering what our relationships might look like if we learned to practice humility and surrender a little more often.

We often think of humility as the willingness to admit that we are wrong. And while there is certainly humility in being able to recognize our mistakes, I think there is something more to it.

Sometimes, humility is knowing that we might be right and choosing not to make being right the most important thing in the room.

It is understanding that there is a bigger picture beyond the point we are trying to prove, a bigger love beyond the need to defend ourselves, and a bigger understanding that we may not arrive at if we insist on seeing things only from where we stand.

Not every disagreement needs a winner. Not every misunderstanding needs to end with someone admitting defeat. And not every moment that hurts our pride is a moment that calls for us to stand our ground.

Sometimes, we can see where another person is coming from without having to agree with everything they say. Sometimes, we can recognize their pain even when we believe our own pain deserves to be acknowledged, too. And sometimes, we can choose a gentler response, not because our feelings do not matter, but because we understand that the way we handle a difficult moment matters just as much as the moment itself.

That, to me, is humility.

It is not thinking less of ourselves. It is remembering that there is more to a relationship than ourselves.

And perhaps this is where love asks something of us that does not always come naturally. We want to be understood. We want our intentions to be recognized and our feelings to be considered. We want the people we love to see things from our perspective, especially when we believe we have been misunderstood.

There is nothing wrong with wanting these things. We all want to feel seen and heard.

But while we are hoping someone will make room for our perspective, are we making room for theirs?

While we are waiting for someone to understand our feelings, are we willing to listen to what they might be feeling, too?

It is easy to speak about understanding when we are the ones hoping to receive it. It is a different thing altogether when we are asked to extend that same understanding to someone whose words, choices, or ways of seeing things are difficult for us to accept.

And this is where humility becomes more than an idea. It becomes a choice we make in the ordinary, sometimes uncomfortable moments of our relationships. It becomes the willingness to listen a little longer, to pause before responding, to consider what we might be missing, and to remember that the person standing across from us is also carrying a perspective shaped by their own experiences.

We do not have to abandon what we believe to make room for what someone else believes. We simply have to recognize that our understanding of a situation may not be the whole story.

Then there is surrender.

I think the word can be misunderstood, especially when we talk about relationships. To surrender can sound like giving up, giving in, or simply accepting things as they are. But I think there is a gentler, more meaningful kind of surrender that allows love to grow without asking us to become less of who we are.

Sometimes, surrender is laying down our pride long enough to hear what another person is trying to say. It is releasing the need to have the last word, the need to be seen as the one who understands better, or the need to make sure the other person knows exactly where they went wrong.

It is allowing ourselves to be teachable, even when we feel certain of our position. It is making room for the possibility that there is something we have yet to understand, something we could have handled differently, or something worth reconsidering.

And perhaps one of the hardest things to surrender is our own idea of how things should be.

We may love someone and still struggle to accept that they think differently from us. We may have good intentions and still discover that our words have hurt someone. We may believe we have done our best and still need to learn a better way of communicating, listening, or loving.

There is room for growth in these realizations, if only we are willing to make room for them.

Surrender, in this sense, is not about surrendering our worth or silencing what matters to us. It is about loosening our grip on the things that keep us from meeting one another with understanding. We can hold on to our values and still be willing to change our approach. We can speak honestly and still choose kindness. We can stand firm when something matters deeply while remaining humble enough to listen.

Because sometimes, what a relationship needs is not another explanation of why we are right. Sometimes, it needs the kind of love that allows us to look beyond ourselves and ask what matters more in that particular moment: protecting our pride or protecting the connection we share.

Of course, this does not mean that keeping a relationship should always come before our own well-being. There are things we must be honest about, boundaries we must maintain, and situations in which standing firm is the right thing to do. Love does not ask us to disappear so that someone else can be comfortable. Nor does it ask us to carry the responsibility for making a relationship work all by ourselves.

Love should never require one person to keep bending while the other refuses to move.

For a relationship to thrive, humility and surrender must be something both people are willing to practice. Both must be willing to listen, to acknowledge their shortcomings, to reconsider their responses, and to make changes when necessary. Both must understand that love is not a competition in which one person’s victory comes at the expense of the other.

There is a difference between one person always giving in and two people learning when to give a little of themselves for the sake of something they both value.

One leaves a person diminished. The other allows a relationship to grow.

And I think this applies to every kind of relationship we hold dear. Marriage, friendship, family, and even the connections we build with people whose differences challenge us. We cannot expect every relationship to flourish simply because love, history, or familiarity exists between us. Sometimes, we have to learn how to handle that love with greater care.

We have to learn that being close does not mean we will always agree, that loving someone does not automatically make us understand them, and that good intentions do not exempt us from the responsibility of learning how our actions affect others.

Perhaps maturity is not simply knowing what we believe or being confident in what we know. Perhaps it is also knowing when to soften, when to listen, when to reconsider, and when to let something go because the bigger picture has become more important than the point we were trying to make.

I find something beautiful in that kind of humility. It allows us to remain secure in who we are without needing to prove ourselves at every turn. It gives us the freedom to acknowledge another person’s perspective without feeling that our own has become less valuable. And it reminds us that we can stand firm in our convictions while still approaching others with gentleness.

We can be right without being unkind. We can disagree without diminishing each other. We can hold on to what matters to us without holding so tightly to our pride that there is no room left for love to do its work.

I suppose this is what I am taking away from those words about humility and surrender. Not that we should always be the ones to yield, or that peace should be maintained at any cost, but that there are times when loving well requires us to look beyond the immediate need to defend ourselves.

Sometimes, we need to see the bigger picture. Sometimes, we need to remember the bigger love. And sometimes, we need a bigger understanding of what it means to share our lives with people who will never see everything exactly as we do.

Because in the end, relationships are not sustained by how often we prove our point. They are sustained by the care we show one another, the willingness to keep learning, and the grace we extend when being human makes loving each other a little difficult.

Perhaps the question is not always whether we are right or wrong.

Perhaps the question is whether, in our desire to be right, we have forgotten what we are trying to protect.

And maybe, just maybe, some of the most meaningful growth in our relationships begins when we realize that humility does not make our love smaller, and surrender does not make us less.

Sometimes, they make room for something bigger than either of us could have built alone.

Until next time,