The Hidden Cost of Hustle. The Lie of Surrender.
It’s Not About Slowing Down or Speeding Up. It’s About Anchoring In.
I used to be the kind of person who wore hustle like a badge of honor.
I built my entire identity around it—the girl who gets it done, who outworks everyone, who never stops moving. I was the one who delivered in my career, got the external validation, made the money. And it worked. I built a beautiful life for myself financially through hustling.
But behind the scenes, my nervous system was quietly falling apart. I could see how this path leads to burnout, resentment, even sickness. How you slowly abandon yourself in the name of success. I was living in a constant state of fight-or-flight. My internal world was in full-blown chaos. I couldn’t regulate my emotions. Everything felt like it was on fire, literally and figuratively.
Every time there was conflict at work or I fell behind on my numbers, my body went into full-blown panic—like I was underwater, grasping at straws, desperately trying to prove my worth and force the outcome I thought I deserved.
I didn’t know how to use my voice in a way that created change without causing conflict. I was trying to be heard, but I didn’t yet understand how to communicate from clarity instead of chaos. I didn’t fully see myself. I let the unhealed parts of me run the show. I didn’t know who I was at my core, so the internal chaos always took over. My emotions controlled my body, and I wasn’t responding—I was reacting.
I would let other people tell me who I was. I’d beat myself up after speaking up, questioning whether I was too much. I’d put an insane amount of pressure on myself to say it perfectly, prove myself, or make everyone else comfortable.
And because I was hustling and succeeding on paper, I convinced myself that this part of me didn’t need to be addressed. I told myself the results meant I was fine. But I wasn’t. And eventually, I was forced to see it.
No one tells you that hustle in this way has a cost. That it can build your bank account while breaking your body. That even when you “make it,” the voids and the holes still exist.
And for a while, I ignored it because the world rewards the hustle. The output. The results. So I kept going, not realizing I was reinforcing the very identity that was keeping me stuck.
That’s what made me start questioning the word hustle because it’s not really about the word itself. It’s about the energy and identity that lives underneath it.
The Webster definition explains it really well:
verb
To crowd or push roughly; jostle; shove
To convey forcibly or hurriedly
To urge forward or hasten
To obtain by energetic activity or by forceful action
To sell or promote energetically and aggressively
To make strenuous efforts to achieve something or obtain an object
I would simplify it by using one word hustle = force.
Forcing something through overly taking action from an internal state of pressure.
It is the act of relentlessly striving, doing, and achieving which is often fueled by urgency, pressure, and the need to prove your worth. A high-output, high-performance state that prioritizes external results over internal alignment. A deep fear that rest means weakness. That receiving means laziness. That you have to earn your place in the world, every single day.
The Hustle Identity:
“I am the doer.”
“I am valuable because I perform.”
“If I don’t show results, I lose significance.”
“My worth is tied to my output.”
The Shadow Side of Hustle:
Fueled by lack (“I’m not enough yet”)
Seeking validation through doing
Constant urgency and control
Nervous system always “on”
Leads to burnout, resentment, disconnection
The Light Side of Hustle:
Action-oriented
Builds resilience
Creates momentum
Pushes through obstacles
If I’m really honest, the hustle identity I carried was a coping mechanism. I didn’t have the kind of life I wanted modeled to me so I believed that if I wanted something different, I had to build it with my own two hands. No one was coming to save me. I couldn’t rely on anyone else. I had to lean on me. Hustle became my armor, my proof, my survival strategy.
The control, the validation I got from doing it all alone, from being the one who had it all figured out, that became my identity. The persona “she always gets it done, she doesn’t need help” and it may have felt powerful on the outside but was rooted in survival on the inside.
It created a behavior of hustling. Of needing it to happen now, so I forced it. Because forcing gave me a sense of control. And control made me feel safe even when my body was in total chaos.
The truth is, the hustle worked. It was my coping mechanism. And it got me here. It helped me create a different life. That’s the light side of it.
But our coping mechanisms are formed in childhood. They’re ways we learn to feel safe. They’re often how we learned to receive love.
And at some point, we have to realize we don’t have to act from that place anymore. We’re not that child anymore. We get to create a new sense of safety. We get to rewire our nervous system. We get to feel safe in stillness. Safe in receiving. Safe in taking action from alignment, not urgency.
Because when hustle is your identity, the only way to feel okay is to keep going. And even when you “win,” it never feels like enough because you’ve built a life where your value is tied to your output.
And if I had stayed in that energy, you could see how the rest of my life would have slowly fallen apart. How relationships get neglected. How joy gets postponed. How the emotion trapped in the body starts to calcify—how anxiety becomes inflammation, how resentment becomes fatigue, how the need to control turns into chronic stress. The emotional chaos starts showing up physically. The body keeps the score. And eventually, it collects.
I knew that hustling wasn’t the way anymore… but that realization led me to the complete opposite swing: surrender.
After my burnout came my awakening.
Suddenly, I could see the systems I’d been operating in—how deeply programmed I was to equate doing with worth, money with value, success with identity.
So naturally, I swung hard in the other direction: surrender.
I slowed down. I went inward. I let go. I healed. I grieved. I unraveled the pressure-filled persona I had built.
And for a while, it felt like freedom. I started to feel whole without needing to prove anything. I found value in my being, not just my doing.
But here’s what no one tells you about surrender: If you stay in it too long, it stops being healing and starts becoming avoidance.
Even look at the Webster definition:
verb
To yield to the power, control, or possession of another upon compulsion or demand
To give up completely or agree to forgo especially in favor of another
To give oneself up into the power of another especially as a prisoner
To give oneself over to something (such as an influence)
To give up one’s rights or claim to something
If you know me… HELL NO.
And yet, that’s where I landed. Because when your entire identity has been built on pushing, performing, and controlling, the only way to undo that at first… is to stop. To drop it all. To let it burn.
And then you start hearing the voices in the spiritual world:
“What’s meant for you won’t miss you.”
“If it didn’t happen, it was divine protection.”
“Just trust and receive.”
At first, it feels soothing. It just sounded better than hustle. But soon, I realized it was just a new kind of escapism. A softer way to lose yourself. A new thing for your ego to grasp onto to keep you stuck.
To be clear, surrender taught me a lot. It taught me how to let go. It taught me how to sit in discomfort without fixing. It taught me how to detach from outcomes. It helped me unhook my worth from my work.
But eventually… I didn’t feel like I was creating anymore. I wasn’t stretching into my full potential. And as grounded as I was… I didn’t feel lit up.
That is because underneath the surface, surrender can become a coping mechanism. It’s what we do when action feels overwhelming. When pressure has broken us down and stillness becomes the only safe place. When we fear disappointment, failure, or rejection—so we stop reaching altogether. It’s not just trust, it’s sometimes retreat.
It sounds enlightened but sometimes, it’s just avoidance in a prettier outfit. Because when surrender becomes your identity, you risk convincing yourself you don’t want the thing you’re afraid to go after. You confuse calm with complacency. You stop dreaming big because it feels safer to detach.
The Identity:
“I’m the grounded one.”
“I’m at peace no matter what.”
“I don’t chase, I attract.”
“If it doesn’t happen, it wasn’t meant for me.”
“I’ve transcended the chaos of doing.”
Shadow side:
Avoidance dressed up as spirituality
Letting go to the point of passivity
Detaching from desire out of fear it won’t happen
Hiding behind divine timing to avoid risk or responsibility
“Trust” becomes the reason you don’t take action
Light side:
Reconnection to self
Releasing urgency and control
Healing the need to constantly prove
Creating space for clarity and inner alignment
Letting go of attachment to outcomes
But when surrender is driven by fear of failure or a desire to avoid discomfort, it becomes just another way to hide.
It’s funny—when I lived in New York, I was deep in the hustle, like so many people are there. And when I moved to L.A., I swung into surrender… which, ironically, is just as common. One city sells the dream through success. The other sells it through peace. But what I’ve come to realize is they’re both forms of escapism when they become identities instead of tools. You can get just as stuck in the grind as you can in the “let it flow” mindset. One tells you to prove yourself by doing more. The other tells you to detach from everything. Both can become a trap when they disconnect you from yourself.
So I found myself in a weird middle ground. Too awake to go back to hustle. Too ambitious to sit back and “let it all come to me.”
I didn’t want to force. I didn’t want to float. I wanted to build but without losing myself this time.
This is where one of my core philosophies—success without sacrifice—was born. Because neither extreme works long term. The two options out there are hustle harder or surrender completely and are both rooted in bypass. They’re opposite ends of the same survival spectrum. What we need is something integrated. A third way. One that takes the light side of both: the structure and momentum of hustle, and the trust and presence of surrender and weaves them together into something new.
This is the foundation of my coaching method. It’s not about choosing one or the other. It’s about mastering yourself so you can lead from alignment, not reaction.
So you can build without burning out, receive without shrinking, and grow without abandoning who you are.
That word, for me, is Anchor.
Why Anchor?
Because when I’m anchored:
I’m grounded in who I am—not grasping for who I think I need to be.
I’m connected to my vision—but unattached to how it has to happen.
I’m taking action—but not from fear or scarcity.
I’m building momentum—but my nervous system stays intact.
I can hold duality—uncertainty and trust, ambition and ease, clarity and mystery.
I can lead with both heart and logic. Strategy and stillness. Direction and surrender.
Hustle is force. Surrender is float. Anchor is alignment.
Most people are stuck in a cycle between those two extremes. They hustle until they burn out and then swing into surrender, mistaking detachment for healing. They push and prove, then retreat and bypass. One moment they’re gripping so tightly that they can’t breathe, the next they’re numbing out under the guise of “trusting the process.”
They flip-flop from productivity obsession to spiritual avoidance never realizing that neither state is sustainable or sovereign.
Hustle says, “Make it happen at any cost.”
Surrender says, “Don’t do anything just wait and receive.”
Anchor is the middle path, the integration of both worlds. It’s the place where strategy meets self-trust, where performance meets presence, where clarity leads and the body follows in safety.
Anchor is a new way of being. It’s not about trying to control every outcome. And it’s not about letting go of everything and hoping it works out. Because hope, on its own, is the weakest energetic state you can live in. It’s passive. Powerless. It keeps you waiting instead of creating. And that’s often the shadow side of surrender, where people disconnect under the illusion of trust.
Anchoring is different. It’s about staying engaged without gripping. Trusting without checking out. Moving forward without forcing. Holding the vision and holding yourself.
It’s a commitment to meet life as a co-creator, not a passenger. To lead your reality, not escape it. To let your internal state set the pace, not external circumstances.
Anchor is where certainty comes from within, not from outcomes. It’s grounded, not grasping. Active, not avoidant. Empowered, not performative.
It’s about anchoring into you—your truth, your values, your why—and letting life mirror back to you exactly what needs to be seen, shifted, or healed.
Anchoring means you stop reacting to life like it’s against you. You stop riding the rollercoaster of highs and lows and calling it normal. You stop saying, “This is just how life is,” or “I’ll be happy when…” You stop chasing peace as if it’s something outside of you and realize it’s a byproduct of being anchored in who you are.
Because when you’re anchored:
You use life as feedback, not evidence of failure.
You meet challenges with curiosity, not collapse.
You take full ownership without losing compassion.
You don’t bypass discomfort, you integrate it.
You don’t wait for clarity, you become it.
This isn’t just a mindset shift. It’s a full-body recalibration. It’s a leadership strategy, a nervous system practice, and a way of living that creates sustainable success from the inside out.
We don’t need more people burning out in pursuit of a dream. We don’t need more people floating through life waiting for signs. We need more people anchored in who they are and leading from wholeness.
People who know how to:
Move without grasping
Rest without guilt
Create without collapsing
Receive without shrinking
That’s the new paradigm of success. Rooted. Regulated. Real. That’s Anchor.
This is how I live. It’s how I teach. It’s how I help clients navigate business, healing, relationships, identity, and big goals without abandoning themselves in the process.
Because when you’re anchored in your belief, your identity, and your vision, you stop reaching for external proof… and start creating from internal stability.
It doesn’t mean you don’t experience highs and lows. It means the highs and lows don’t take you out.
You build. You create. You lead.
Not from pressure. Not from passivity. But from power. That’s what it means to be anchored.
With love & gratitude,
Stephanie
Own it × Shift it × Become it.
So What Does Anchored Creation Look Like?
Let’s say I want to make $30k this month.
The hustle version of me would white-knuckle it—posting non-stop, forcing launches, obsessing over the numbers, micromanaging every outcome. I’d tie my worth to the result and call it discipline, when really it was just fear wearing productivity as a mask.
The surrender version of me would lean back—"trusting the universe" to bring it in while quietly avoiding the uncomfortable edges of action. I’d tell myself it’s coming, but I wouldn’t be energetically available to actually receive it.
But the anchored version of me would…