I lie on my back on the bare floor and begin my surrender, slowly, deliberately.

I roll my head from side to side, imagining water sloshing from side to side. Slowly slosh left; slowly slosh right. Repeat.

I ask my eyes to sink toward the back of my head. I imagine the four eye muscles holding each eyeball – two vertical, two horizontal—slackening into a hammock. Swaying gently. Rock-a-bye eyeball…

Surrendering opens space, and opening space invites surrender.

The decision came quickly once I gained just enough space: I’m surrendering my battle with intrusive thoughts.

I’ve battled since I was 28. I’ve thrown everything I had at them, and now I’m just done. I won’t fight anymore. In an odd way, I’ve lost interest in my tormentors.

This feels different than acceptance, which speaks of an accommodation. Instead, I’m calling my energy dogs home. “C’mon, pups. Good job! Let’s go home.”