The scent of burning paper mingled with the crisp evening air, carrying with it two decades of whispered confessions and frantic prayers. I stood in my backyard, watching twenty-five years of journals—thick notebooks brimming with anxieties, hopes, and self-recriminations—curl into ash. This wasn't a spontaneous act of drama; it was a deliberate release, a conscious unburdening. For too long, these pages had documented the hidden cost of trusting the universe more than my own inner compass, a pattern that had silently eroded my agency.
Every entry, from the fervent pleas of a fifteen-year-old devout Christian to the spiritual musings of a forty-year-old woman, echoed the same desperate energy: a constant yearning for something outside myself to provide direction, to fix what was broken, to save me. This relentless outsourcing of personal responsibility is the core of the hidden cost of trusting external forces without claiming your own power. It feels like surrender, like devotion, but it's often a subtle form of abdication, leaving you adrift in your own life (Psychological Review, 2021).
When Devotion Becomes Disempowerment
We often equate spirituality with humility, with letting go, with trusting a higher plan. And while these are valuable tenets, there’s a critical distinction between genuine surrender and outright disempowerment. I learned this firsthand during a shamanic training program. My mentor, with a keen ear, observed my spiritual practice—the daily prayers, the constant search for signs, the endless "checking in" with cosmic forces—and delivered a blunt truth: “You’re relating to the spiritual realm like you have no agency.”
My initial reaction was defensive. Wasn't that the point? To make requests to the divine? To wait for the Universe to unfold its perfect plan? But her words resonated deeper: “Prayer isn’t the same as powerlessness. You’re allowed to ask for what you want. You’re called to be a leader and director in your own life, even if you believe in something greater than yourself.” This was a profound revelation, a stark contrast to the ingrained belief that true faith meant diminishing my own will.
This perspective shift illuminated how many critical life decisions I had deferred. I recalled countless instances: waiting for a "sign" to leave a soul-sucking job instead of actively researching new opportunities; delaying a crucial health check-up because "the universe will heal me" (Health & Wellness Journal, 2023); or letting a creative passion languish with the thought that "if it's meant to be, it will just happen." Each delay, each moment of inaction, was a manifestation of the hidden cost of trusting the cosmos to steer a ship only I could captain.
The Silent Sabotage of Spiritual Bypassing
This subtle relinquishing of personal power often hides under the guise of spiritual bypassing. It feels righteous, humble, even holy. But it's an insidious pattern where we use spiritual beliefs to avoid confronting uncomfortable emotions, unresolved wounds, or the need for personal responsibility (Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 2022). Instead of engaging with our own struggles, we defer to an external entity, creating a narrative where we are mere passengers, not pilots.
Think about it this way: how many times have you said, "If it's meant to be, it will be," to justify inaction on a goal you deeply desire? Or "I'm just waiting for confirmation" when your intuition already screams for a change? This isn't divine timing; it's often plain old procrastination, masked by spiritual language. The Universe, in its infinite wisdom, isn't waiting to deliver your perfect life on a silver platter; it's waiting for you to show up and engage with the co-creation process.
Looking back at those journals, I saw how this core disempowerment had shaped everything. Relationships I stayed in too long because "maybe this is my lesson." Opportunities missed because I was "waiting for divine timing." Dreams deferred because I didn't receive an easy, clear path to begin. The true hidden cost of trusting outside forces was years spent stuck in patterns that didn't serve me, asking the same questions, making the same mistakes, all while waiting for permission to live differently. The truth, simpler and far scarier, was that I was waiting for permission from myself.
From Begging to Bold Action: Reclaiming Your Power
The shift wasn't a sudden awakening, but a gradual, often uncomfortable series of small acts of agency. Instead of consulting tarot cards about a new job opportunity, I asked myself what I genuinely wanted. Instead of praying for clarity on a difficult relationship, I got honest about what I already knew about my needs. Instead of waiting for a clear sign that it was time to change, I simply changed.
Initially, a chorus of old doubts arose: Who was I to decide? Who was I to want specific things? Who was I to act without cosmic approval? But slowly, the understanding solidified: spirituality doesn't demand I be small. Faith doesn't mean abandoning my own will. Believing in something greater than myself doesn't mean I am unimportant. I could honor the mystery while still making choices. I could trust in divine timing while still taking action. I could surrender control over outcomes while claiming full responsibility for my decisions (Harvard Review of Spirituality, 2024).
And so, I burned the journals. I didn't need to pore over every page, reliving every crisis or cringing at every desperate plea. I knew their collective message: Save me. Fix me. Tell me what to do. Bring me what I need. As the pages curled into embers, I focused on what I wanted to write in my real life during the year ahead. Not prayers to external forces. Not requests for rescue. Not evidence for a cosmic prosecution. Just truth. My truth. The messy, imperfect, often overwhelming but undeniably powerful truth of a woman who finally understands she's allowed to choose her own life.
I am still spiritual. I still believe in magic, in mystery, in forces beyond my comprehension. But I no longer relate to the sacred from a place of powerlessness. My prayers are different now—less like a beggar, more like a partner. I ask for support, not salvation. I look for signs, but I don't wait for them to grant me permission to live. Because here's the ultimate lesson: the Universe doesn't want my obedience. It wants my participation. And I am finally ready to show up.
