When My Life Was in My Own Hands

There was a time when my life was a mess.
I was falling apart at the seams. I was stressed and angry and bitter. I was dangerous.

I almost lost ten years of sobriety from addiction and had to check myself into the hospital just to stay safe from my own mind.

My hands have scarred my body.

My hands have chosen the wrong partners.

More than once, those choices nearly destroyed me.

I’ve written before about staying safe as a recovering people-pleaser while walking in faith. At the time, I focused on trusting God’s plan and believing that He wants what’s best for me.

What I didn’t explain was the evidence that led me there.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
— Proverbs 3:5

The comparison between life in my own hands and life surrendered to His is like black and white.

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The comparison between life in my own hands and life surrendered to His is like black and white.

My hands aren’t strong enough to steer my life in the right direction. I can’t avoid the obstacles because I can’t see them until it’s too late.

God doesn’t have that problem.

He knows where every pit in the road is. He could drive the road with His mighty eyes closed and never hit a single one.

But the evidence for me didn’t come all at once.
It came in small, almost quiet moments—ones I could have missed if I wasn’t paying attention.

It looked like stopping before making a decision I would have rushed into before.
Not because I suddenly became disciplined, but because something in me said, wait.

It looked like walking away from people I once would have chased.
Even when it felt wrong. Even when it felt lonely.

It looked like choosing safety over intensity.
Peace over chaos.
Slowness over urgency.

And realizing, over time, that those choices weren’t coming from the same place they used to.

Because when my life was in my own hands, my patterns were predictable.
I chased what hurt me.
I ignored what was good for me.
I called chaos “normal” and peace “boring.”

And it always led me back to the same place.

But when I started placing my life back into God’s hands, something shifted.

I didn’t suddenly become perfect.
I didn’t suddenly understand everything.

But I stopped spiraling the same way.

The decisions that once would have destroyed me… didn’t.
The situations that once would have pulled me under… didn’t.

Not because life got easier.
But because I wasn’t the only one carrying it anymore.

Life in my own hands is dangerous. Unpredictable. Terrifying.

Life in God’s hands can still be unpredictable. It can still be hard.
But underneath it all, there is peace.

There is a steadiness I didn’t have before.
A quiet sense that even when I don’t understand what’s happening, I am not lost inside of it.

There is joy that can be drawn on like armour.

And I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that in God’s hands, I will make it to the other side in one whole piece.

Because I already know what happens when I try to carry the weight myself.

My hands have tried.

And my hands have never been enough.