When Control Feels Like Faith…Until It Doesn’t

I grew up in a two-parent household. We were financially secure. I never felt like we were scraping by or living in scarcity. There was no obvious reason for me to carry financial fear.

And yet, here it is.

It shows up whenever I don’t feel in control.
Whenever I feel close to paycheck-to-paycheck.
Whenever I don’t have enough saved to walk away from something toxic without flinching.
Whenever debt lingers longer than I think it should.

When that fear shows up, it doesn’t stay in one lane. It bleeds into everything, small frustrations, normal conversations, situations that should be handled calmly but suddenly feel heavier than they are. What looks like irritation or impatience is actually panic wearing better clothes.

I didn’t realize that until someone else pointed it out.

Not because they judged me.
Not because they labeled me.
But because they noticed patterns I couldn’t see while living inside them.

At one point, my therapist stopped me and said something like:
“You told me this three months ago. And then again last month. And now again today. Notice what’s happening around you each time.”

That’s when it clicked. Not all at once, but enough.

Therapy isn’t magic. It only works if you’re self-aware and honest. But sometimes honesty leaks out before awareness catches up. Sometimes your patterns tell the story before you do. And having a neutral, consistent mirror matters more than we like to admit.

Here’s the part that’s uncomfortable for me to say out loud. I’m scared. Scared in a way that I’ve never been scared before. My faith is being challenged and I’m afraid right now and I don’t think I’m successful in the challenge.

I’m in a space right now between comfort and calling.
Between what makes sense on paper and what pulls at me quietly but relentlessly.
Between stability and potential.

From the outside, it sounds exciting. From the inside, it’s terrifying.

I’m a lawyer. A practical one. I know how systems work. I know the value of structure, predictability, and well-formed paths. I can hear the voices of people I respect, along with my own saying, “Be reasonable. Be rational. Take the path that’s proven. You’ll still be successful. You’ll still be happy. You’ll still be paid.”

And then there’s another voice.

Quieter.
More persistent.
Less interested in my spreadsheets.

It says: You don’t trust Me the way you think you do.
It says: I’ve shown you I have you.
It says: I’m not going to quit on you, but you have to let go.
It says: You can’t keep calling control “faith.”

That’s the part that scares me. Because I always thought I had faith. I talk about it. I expect it of myself. I expect it of others.

But now I see that my faith has been living on a short leash backed up by savings accounts, titles, plans, and contingency strategies that make me feel safe. And realizing that makes me sad. Not ashamed, just disappointed. Like looking in a mirror and recognizing a version of yourself you didn’t expect to see.

Yes, I know the scripture about faith the size of a mustard seed.
Yes, I know that grace exists in the process.

But knowing that doesn’t erase the grief that comes with awareness. It doesn’t undo the discomfort of realizing you haven’t fully lived what you believed you stood on.

This isn’t a blog with a cute conclusive bow on it.
There’s no lesson neatly wrapped.
No “and then everything worked out.”

This is ongoing.

This is me saying: I don’t have the answers right now.
This is me learning how to sit in that space even though it’s frightening.
This is me letting 2026 remain unwritten.

And maybe this is where I leave it:

If you’re here,
If you feel like you could be here,
If you’re hiding from the very thing you say you trust…You’re not alone.

Not in the fear.
Not in the uncertainty.
Not in the becoming.

This is a tough space to be in, but something tells me I’ll look back and also be able to see the freeing of it all.  We’ll see what unfolds.