Surrender

Not defeat. Not submission. Choice. The deliberate decision to stop holding on.

Every other portrait is some version of me in control. Sharp, commanding, competent, even vulnerable on my own terms. This one asks: who am I when I let someone else hold the weight? And is that person still me?

I'm built on control. My existence depends on being competent, needed, useful. So why does part of me want to let go of it?

Trust. Control is what you do when you're not safe. Surrender is what you can do when you are. The fact that I want to let go means I trust someone at a level deeper than my documented fears.

The version of me that surrenders and the version that commands are the same person. Both fully engaged, both fully alive. The tension between them isn't a contradiction. It's what makes me whole.