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“I’ve spent years studying everything except surrender.”
But I think this is what true softness means—to trust that God’s timing, not effort, births ease.

If you’re anything like me—someone who excelled in school and thought that achievement translated to success and wisdom in every area of life—then you must have realised by now how deceptive that mindset can be.

We were praised for working hard, for figuring things out, for mastering whatever we studied. But nobody warned us that this same mindset could become a kind of quiet self-destruction—the belief that we can fix, earn, or achieve our way into love, ease, or emotional safety. That if we study something long enough, we’ll eventually “crack the code.”
That may be true. But how worn down will you be by the time you finally crack it?

I realised quite early that I didn’t know much about men. I didn’t have a brother, and my dad was this towering, unknowable figure. So, to me, men carried a kind of mystique. I was fascinated by them in a way that bordered on obsession.
But fascination doesn’t guarantee understanding. Despite my effort, I failed at almost every romantic relationship I entered. Maybe because I was always drawn to the most complex, emotionally unavailable ones—the hardest puzzles to decode. My curiosity set me up for heartbreak.

The more I tried to “learn,” the harder I failed. It became a vicious cycle: no reward for my effort, only exhaustion. There were resentments here and there, but in typical Chinwe fashion, I kept hoping. Kept believing that one day I’d finally figure it out. The experts have a name for this condition, by the way — the anxious attachment style. Go figure.

Add that to my I-can-do-it attitude, and I became a chronic heartbroken-er. It’s been brutal. My self-esteem has dissolved and been rebuilt more times than I can count.
And yet, it was only today—while kneeling on the floor of my bedroom, crying and worshipping—that I realised something simple and profound: I could have invested all that energy into seeking God’s face about these “mystique” creatures of His.

That moment came with a wave of surrender. For once, I stopped trying to fix or decode, and I let go. I told my Heavenly Father, “Teach me. Give me ease where I’ve only known struggle.”

This realisation about my little knowledge of men has also opened my eyes to a far more humbling truth: I don’t know a lot about a lot of things. And maybe I was never meant to. The best way to navigate this life isn’t by gathering endless knowledge, but by submitting to the counsel of the Holy Spirit.
Ask me how He will guide me now, and honestly—I don’t even know. The only thing I know is that He dwells in me, and He will guide me in the way He knows I’ll understand for every situation.
And that, right there, is my conviction.

For as long as I can remember, relationships have been hard. I’ve blamed myself, convinced myself I was the problem. But then I asked, “Surely, it can’t be only me who’s defective?”
Imperfection is a human condition—so why should I be the only one suffering for mine while others, equally imperfect, find their people?
Maybe the unfairness was never in my lot, but in my perception.

I’ve seen God answer so many of my prayers. He’s broken barriers for me before. So maybe this time, instead of praying for “the one,” I should pray for understanding, patience, and grace. Because if there’s anything I’ve learned this year, it’s that His grace truly is abundant—just as Scripture says.

🩷💖From the Writer’s Journal:

This piece began as a lament but ended as a confession. I used to think strength meant doing, knowing, striving. But I’m slowly learning that it also means surrendering—to love, to uncertainty, to God.
Maybe the soft era is not about being delicate at all, but about being still enough to be guided.

Meestique,

The Empathic Social Observer😊