When Life Feels Completely Out of Your Hands

You know that gut-wrenching, heart-sinking feeling when you realize that all the hoping and praying and wishing in the world can't change what's happening right in front of you? When you're face to face with a situation that's completely out of your control, and there's literally nothing you can do to make it better? Yeah, that's where I've been living lately.

It's this weird thing where you wake up and for about two seconds everything feels normal. You check for the time, maybe think about what you're going to have for a meal, and then reality crashes into you like a freight train. Oh right. This is still happening. This nightmare is still my actual life. And suddenly even brushing your teeth feels like climbing a mountain.

I keep trying to act normal around other people because what else are you supposed to do? Tell and explain to everyone that you feel like you're drowning? Explain to your coworkers why you zone out in the middle of Zoom meetings? So, I put on the mask. I smile when people ask how I'm doing. I nod at the right times during conversations. But inside, it's like there's this tornado spinning through my chest, tearing up everything in its path.

You know what the worst part is? Those random moments when it hits you all over again. You'll be doing something completely mundane like arranging the stuff on your desk or getting ready for the day, and suddenly your throat closes up and your eyes start burning and you have to concentrate on not falling apart right there in public. It's like grief, but for a life that's still happening. Grief for the way things used to be, for the future you thought you were going to have, for the person you were before all this started.

I'm usually pretty good at rolling with whatever life throws at me. I'm the friend people call when they need someone to talk them through a crisis because I can usually find the silver lining or at least crack a joke to lighten the mood. But this? This has me completely sideways. It's like trying to walk in a straight line when you're dizzy. You know where you want to go, but your legs just won't cooperate, and you keep stumbling off course.

The hardest part is feeling so helpless. There's this voice in my head that keeps saying "Do something! Fix this! There has to be something you can do!" But every time I try to take action, it's like running into a brick wall. Every conversation I have hoping for a breakthrough just leads to more disappointment. Every plan I make gets derailed by circumstances I can't control. It's exhausting, fighting a battle where you don't even know what the enemy looks like.

I lie awake on the couch replaying conversations, wondering if there was a better way to say things. Analyzing every detail, every facial expression, every pause in the conversation, looking for clues about how to make this better. My brain won't shut up. It's like having a really annoying roommate who never stops talking, except the roommate is living inside your skull and you can't kick them out.

Some days I just stare at the ceiling feeling completely stuck. The weight of everything presses down on me, and I can't seem to find a way forward. Every option I consider feels blocked, every solution I try to imagine falls apart before I can even finish thinking it through.

But here's the thing that keeps surprising me. Right in the middle of all this chaos, there are these moments. These tiny, unexpected moments where something shifts. Not in my circumstances, because those are still a complete disaster. But something deeper. Like suddenly remembering you're not actually drowning, you're just in deep water, and there's a difference.

It happened to me the other day when I was sitting in my room, feeling overwhelmed by everything I couldn't control for what felt like the hundredth time. I was so tired of feeling helpless, so frustrated with myself for caring so much about something I couldn't change. And then this verse from Isaiah came to mind: "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts."

I'll be honest, I used to struggle with that verse sometimes. Not because I didn't believe it, but because when you're hurting, you want answers more than mystery. You want to understand why things are happening the way they are. But sitting there in my room, tears streaming down my face, it hit me differently. Maybe God wasn't being distant or withholding information. Maybe He was gently reminding me that I'm trying to understand a puzzle when I only have three pieces, while He's got the whole picture spread out in front of Him.

It's like when you're watching a movie and there's this scene that makes absolutely no sense. The main character is making what seems like the worst possible decision, and you're yelling at the TV screen because you can see the disaster coming from a mile away? But then later in the movie, you realize that scene was setting up something beautiful that you never could have predicted. The thing that looked like a mistake was actually the thing that made everything else possible.

What if that's what this is? What if the thing that feels like it's destroying my life is actually part of something bigger that I just can't see yet? I'm not saying everything happens for a reason in some cosmic, destiny kind of way. But what if God can take even the worst situations and weave them into something good, even when I can't imagine how?

There's this Psalm where David writes, "You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; You perceive my thoughts from afar." I've known this verse since I was little, but lately it's hitting me in a whole new way. It means God knows exactly how overwhelmed I am. He sees me crying alone in my room and staying up way too late because my mind won't stop racing and pretending to be okay when I'm falling apart inside. And He's not judging me for any of it.

You know that feeling when someone really gets you? When you don't have to explain yourself or pretend to be someone you're not because they already understand? That's what this feels like. God isn't sitting up there waiting for me to pull myself together so He can start caring about my problems. He's right here in the mess with me, knowing exactly how heavy everything feels.

And then there's that part in Matthew where Jesus talks about how God takes care of every sparrow, and how He knows the number of hairs on our heads. I used to think that was a weird example. Like, why not something more impressive? But now I think I get it better. If God pays attention to something as small and seemingly insignificant as a tiny bird falling out of a tree, if He cares about details as random as the hair on my head, then He definitely sees this situation that feels so huge and impossible to me.

He sees all the tears I cry. He hears the prayers I can't even put into words, the ones that are just desperate, wordless pleading. He knows exactly how much I'm hurting, and He's not waiting for me to figure out how to fix it myself.

I'm not going to lie to you and say I wake up every day feeling peaceful and trusting. I still have those days where the weight of everything feels unbearable. I still catch myself trying to control things that are completely out of my hands. I still get frustrated when I realize that no amount of worrying is going to change anything.

But here's what I'm learning through all of this. When I start spiraling into anxiety, instead of just letting it carry me away, I'm trying to pause and take a breath. Instead of beating myself up for not having all the answers, I'm reminding myself that not knowing is okay. The point isn't to figure everything out but to trust that God already has it all worked out.

That's what faith feels like to me right now. Not some dramatic moment of revelation, but a quiet decision to stop fighting so hard against the uncertainty and trust that God knows exactly where I am. It's choosing to believe that His love for me is bigger than this situation, even when I can't feel it. It's deciding that He's got a plan even when I can't see it.

I still don't know how any of this is going to turn out. I can't tell you that everything will work out exactly the way I'm hoping it will. But I'm realizing that God's goodness isn't dependent on my circumstances turning out perfectly. His love for me doesn't change based on whether I get the outcome I want. And I don't have to figure this out on my own.

Some days that truth feels like a whisper, barely audible over all the noise in my head. Other days it feels like an anchor, the one solid thing I can hold onto when everything else is shifting. Either way, it is enough to keep me going.