Why You Keep Going in Circles and How to Stop

You know that feeling when you wake up and realize you're living the same day over and over? Not literally, but it might as well be. You reach for your phone before your feet hit the floor and immediately start comparing your messy morning to someone else's highlight reel. You grab the same unhealthy breakfast because there's no time to think about it. You sit in the same traffic getting frustrated at the same intersection. You promise yourself you'll meal prep this weekend, you'll finally clean out that junk drawer, you'll start saving money next month when things aren't so tight.

But here's what I've been thinking about lately. Most of us aren't stuck because we don't know what to do. We're stuck because we keep doing what we've always done, even when it's not working anymore.

It's like when you keep buying things on Amazon to fill some emptiness inside, then feel guilty about the money you spent, so you buy something else to feel better about feeling guilty. Or how you keep saying yes to every request because you're afraid people won't like you if you say no, then you end up overwhelmed and resentful, snapping at the people you were trying to please in the first place. You know there's a better way to live, but you keep taking the familiar road anyway because change feels scary and unpredictable.

We tell ourselves the same stories about why we can't pursue that dream we've had for years. We check our phones obsessively, knowing full well it's making us more anxious, not less. We lie awake at 2 AM worrying about things we can't control, then drag ourselves through the next day on three cups of coffee and pure willpower. We buy another self-help book thinking this one will finally be the answer, but it ends up in the same pile as the other ones we never finished reading. We complain about feeling lonely while simultaneously turning down invitations because staying home feels safer.

Then we wonder why nothing ever changes.

The world has a million tips for this. Start fresh on Monday. Wait until you feel motivated. Declutter your space and your mind will follow. Make vision boards. Practice gratitude. But every time I read my Bible, I see something completely different.

"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." 

(Romans 12:2)

God isn't telling us to wait for better circumstances. He's telling us the problem is in how we think. The problem is that we keep conforming. We conform to what's comfortable, like staying in our comfort zones even when they've become cages We conform to what everyone else expects from us, saying yes when we mean no and smiling when we want to cry. We conform to our own excuses because facing the truth about our choices feels overwhelming.

I used to think biblical change meant I had to get my act together first, then God would help me. But that's backwards. God's way starts with surrender. Not the desperate kind when you've hit rock bottom, but the intentional kind that says, "I can't keep running my life this way."

It's like finally admitting you've been trying to fill a God-sized hole with Amazon packages, Instagram likes, and busy schedules, when what you really need is to stop running and let Him love you.

The world tells you to manifest a better life, to think positive thoughts and watch everything transform. But the Bible tells you something much more honest. It says your heart will trick you. It says the only truth that actually sets you free is found in Jesus. It says you need to be made completely new, not just rearranged.

"You were taught to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires, to be made new in the attitude of your minds" 

(Ephesians 4:22-23)

This isn't about trying harder to be better. This is about letting God change how you think about everything.

So if you're sitting there wondering why your life still looks exactly like it did last year, maybe it's time to look at what you haven't been willing to let go of. The need to have everyone like you, even if it means you disappear in the process. The habit of numbing your feelings with Netflix binges or online shopping instead of dealing with what's actually hurting. The way you keep yourself so busy that you never have to sit quietly with your own thoughts. The perfectionism that keeps you from starting anything because you're afraid of failing.

Change doesn't happen because you're tired of how things are. Change happens when you stop giving yourself permission to stay the same. And if we're being honest, most of us already know what God has been whispering to our hearts about. We just keep turning up the volume on everything else so we don't have to listen.

You can keep trying to fix the same problems over and over. You can keep waiting for that burst of motivation that will finally push you into action. Or you can try God's way, which has always been beautifully simple: listen to what He's saying, do what He asks, and keep walking forward.

There's no shortcut around the hard work of change. But there's grace for every step. Not the kind of grace that lets you stay exactly where you are, but the kind that meets you in your mess and pulls you forward when you finally stop fighting it.

It doesn't start with motivation or perfect timing or ideal circumstances.

It starts with surrender.

And maybe that's what you've been avoiding all along. 

 

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.