Each of us has felt alone and confused at one point in our lives. In those moments, self-doubt creeps in and clouds our thinking. We begin to question everything — even our faith in God.
Suddenly, the natural rhythm of His plan feels off. Our need for control gets louder than His quiet guidance. We stop listening to the messages. We miss the signs. We ignore the lessons hidden in pain, in hardship, in the wrong turns.
The argument over who shapes our future — us or fate — is an old and familiar one. For a long time, I believed we design our own destiny. I spent years chasing happiness and success, convinced I had to carve it out myself. I resisted the natural path and instead surrendered to what I thought I wanted.
But here’s the truth: if we cling too tightly to our version of what should be, we miss what’s meant to be. We let stubbornness masquerade as strength. We make excuses that cover up our refusal to grow.
And often, we distract ourselves by trying to fix others.
Do you find yourself taking on the role of “the fixer”? Constantly offering advice, nudging people to change, trying to guide them toward what you think is best?
We tell ourselves it’s love. That sticking by someone, waiting for them to transform, is loyalty. But the truth is, real love isn’t about reshaping someone. It’s about becoming someone worth walking beside.
The best way to help someone is by example. It’s simple — maybe too simple for our egos. We want to do more, say more, prove something. But banging our heads against the wall trying to change someone? That’s not compassion. That’s control.
And when they don’t “improve,” we justify it with, “They just didn’t listen.” Then we move on to the next project — another soul to save.
It’s a terrible habit, I tell you.
We let our stubbornness — and sometimes our laziness — steer the course of our lives. We ignore our bad habits, neglect our well-being, and gloss over our part in our own pain.
We advise others on how to find themselves, while we stay lost.
I learned this the hard way.
I wanted to fix people. I really did. I poured energy into changing others, believing I could be their answer. And it drained me. It broke my heart. It stole years from my own growth.
Eventually, I had to face the truth:
I don’t have the answers.
I’m not a fixer.
And I don’t need to be a cheerleader.
What I can be is this:
I will listen.
I will be your friend.
I will hold your hand.
I will cry with you.
All of this, I can do.
But I cannot make you grow.
That work belongs to you.
Just like mine belongs to me.
So now, I focus on becoming better — not to fix you, but to honor my own path, my own healing. That’s the best gift I can offer the people I love.
I walk beside you. But your steps are your own.
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