Embracing Fate: My Journey of Surrender and Renewal

“From a pre-stroke blood pressure cuff reading to a thriving private practice, the thread through it all has been surrender. Every time I’ve fought reality, I’ve suffered. Every time I’ve loosened my grip, peace has followed—even when the circumstances looked unbearable.”

A Glimpse Backward

Every so often, my phone reminds me of where I’ve been. The app TimeHop pulled up a memory today: a photo of a blood pressure cuff reading 153/104. That was my resting heart rate 6 years ago today. It jolted me into reflection—not just on my health, but on the path that brought me to where I am now.

That image reminded me of a season in my life when my heart and mind were both under siege. And it also reminded me of one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned: Amor Fati—the Stoic practice of embracing one’s fate.

The Philosophy That Changed Me

“Amor Fati” means to love your fate. Not just accept it, but embrace it. It’s about recognizing that whatever comes—good, bad, or incomprehensible—is exactly what was meant for us in that moment.

This isn’t easy when you’re swallowed by betrayal, grief, or shock. But what I’ve discovered is that practicing Amor Fati doesn’t erase pain; it prevents pain from metastasizing into suffering.

In many ways, it echoes the 12-Step model I once leaned on at the beginning of my journey. Step Two requires belief in a higher power; Step Three asks us to surrender our own will and trust something greater. Whether you call that God, Providence, Grace, or the Universe, the essence is the same: stop fighting reality and let go.

The Shattering of an Identity

A decade ago, my entire identity was wrapped in a badge. I was a police officer—a hard worker, a team player, a “yes” person. I poured my heart into that job, climbing from officer to detective to sergeant.

But behind the curtain of my accolades, a storm was brewing. I became entangled—not by choice but by proximity—in a messy web of workplace misconduct. Though I tried to keep my distance, years later I was pulled into an internal affairs investigation and lawsuit.

At the same time, I was just two months sober after a 15-year battle with alcohol. The new chief, who didn’t know care about my record or my sacrifices, saw me only as bad press. I was demoted, humiliated, and told in no uncertain terms that I was a cancer to her agency.

I’ll never forget the night I sat in my hot tub, blood pressure spiking, stomach churning, tearfully whispering to a God I wasn’t even sure I believed in: If You have a plan, I surrender.

The next day, I was given two options: resign or be fired.

Surrendering Everything

I resigned. Packed up my uniforms, badge, and gear, and turned it all in. And here’s the paradox: instead of panic, I felt peace. For the first time in my life, the crippling anxiety that had haunted me was gone.

I didn’t have a Plan B. I didn’t have skills beyond law enforcement. But I did have something new—a willingness to stop fighting.

That decision began a humbling stretch of applying for every kind of work I could find—washing windows, scraping barnacles, restaurants, anything. I prayed not for specific jobs, but for patience until the right doors opened.

A New Chapter Emerges

Eventually, I landed at the Department of Children and Families, transitioning my investigative skills into a different kind of service. Instead of hunting offenders, I began seeing people as human beings—broken, hurting, not unlike me.

That shift cracked something open. I went to graduate school, even though I once told myself I wasn’t smart enough. The more I surrendered, the more doors opened.

I interned at an addiction treatment center where my trainer had once been my counselor. Later, I worked with some of the most severely ill clients in my county. That “deep end” of mental health became a proving ground for empathy and resilience.

Lessons From Exploitation

At one point, I worked for a private practice that promised mentorship but turned out to be pure exploitation. Instead of being consumed with resentment, I practiced Amor Fati: this was exactly what I needed to learn how not to run a practice.

That hard lesson became the seed of my own business—from scratch, building every piece myself. Today, I run a thriving private practice with a waiting list and more clients than I can reasonably take on.

I don’t advertise. I don’t hustle for attention. The right people keep finding their way to me.

Full Circle

From a pre-stroke blood pressure cuff reading on TimeHop to a thriving private practice, the thread through it all has been surrender. Every time I’ve fought reality, I’ve suffered. Every time I’ve loosened my grip, peace has followed—even when the circumstances looked unbearable.

Amor Fati isn’t a one-time decision. It’s a daily battle with my own human nature. But when I look back, I see clearly: what felt like endings were actually beginnings. What looked like chaos was often the doorway to clarity.

Today I write this as a reminder to myself and maybe to you:

• Life will break your heart.

• You will lose things you thought you couldn’t live without.

• You will be asked to start over when you least expect it.

But if you can surrender—even just a little—you may find peace waiting where you least expected.

Closing Reflection

The Stoics taught, the 12 Steps affirmed, and life itself has shown me: what happens is what’s meant to happen. My job is not to fight fate but to embrace it.

That night in the hot tub, I thought surrender meant giving up. Now I know—it meant finally beginning to live.