This article was published in the Winter 2016 issue of “The Forum” published by Northwest Alliance for Psychoanalytic Study.

Hiroo Onoda refused to surrender. He was a WWII lieutenant in the Japanese army, stationed on a small island in the Philippines. When Japan surrendered, Onoda refused to capitulate. He doggedly held to his belief that the war was ongoing despite the irrefutable evidence to the contrary. Japanese pamphlets and newspapers, declaring his country’s military loss, were dropped onto the island in hopes of persuading him to come out from hiding. Even his family made a number of journeys to the small archipelago to entice him to put down his weapons and return home. Amazingly, tragically, he persisted in this delusional stance, refusing to surrender – for 29 more years!  His unwillingness to accept reality cost him the bulk of his life including precious time with his loved ones.

I find myself fascinated by this story. Even though an extreme example, I feel it nevertheless embodies a lesson for us all, for it dramatically illustrates how entrenched our position, our beliefs, our demand to be “right” can similarly become.

A colleague once described this human phenomena as like an iron-fisted grip in which one’s fingers have to be pried open – only to discover that what lay inside, what was steadfastly being “protected”, was a…steaming turd.

Why is it that the act of surrendering is so difficult? Why is it that the reflex to grip and hold on is often so much stronger than the movement to open and allow?

A common answer is based on fear. It feels too vulnerable to surrender. It feels unsafe. This rationale can be sealed up as the perfect excuse. However, underpinning this convenient framing lies a strong insistence on maintaining control. Control over our self-image, our egos, our desire to be right.  

When we insist on staying in control, we are refusing to surrender. This prevents us from mutually engaging in relationships with others, it stunts emotional growth, it can serve to shut out the the truth about ourselves.

In contrast, surrendering is all about letting go, not demanding to be charge. Surrender is often misperceived and associated with passivity, a weakness, but in actuality, it is a courageous, intentional action which must be continually chosen.

Personally, I know that I like to be in control, to be right, to drive my agenda; therefore, I also have to be vigilant with myself in order to curb this tendency. I have to consciously choose to let go in those difficult times when I hear unflattering feedback, where what I want is in direct conflict with the desires of others, or when I am called to relinquish my conclusions, my story.

Surrender, in this way, is an intentional act. An action that inherently requires opening to the unknown. True surrender includes having no idea about how it all will turn out, how the other person will respond, what the overall outcome will be. It demands complete acceptance of not getting what you want or managing how you will be seen by others.

The entire success of Alcoholic Anonymous revolves around a similarly singular premise – that the process of surrendering to a higher power, a force greater than oneself, however personally defined, is vitally intrinsic to one’s sobriety. The choice to surrender is absolutely key. It is the lynchpin of growth, health, and well-being. Personally and professionally, I find that surrender is an antidote across the board, whether referring to combating addictions or checking our own egos.

Onoda, the Japanese soldier, lived out the remainder of his life with the constant reminder that his unwillingness to surrender to the truth cost him dearly. He went on to depict his experience of this delusional time in his autobiography No Surrender. Can we, in our everyday interactions, actively choose to drop our resistance? Rather than take it to a destructive brink, tenaciously clutching to our position, image, ego…can we let go? Or do we continue instead to hold fast to the steaming turd?