You Don't Need to Know How It Ends

Desaray Wilson | Certified Nurse Coach

Earlier this week, I shared about something my daughter has been teaching me without even realizing it. She's been doing a lot of hard things lately. Swimming. Starting VPK. Walking into moments where I can see both excitement and a little bit of fear existing at the same time. She isn't waiting for the fear to disappear before she moves. She's just moving with it.

And watching her has made me think a lot about my own relationship with fear, especially the fear that comes when I don't know how something is going to turn out.

Because if I'm being truthful, sometimes the hardest part isn't actually doing the thing. It's not knowing what happens after I do it.

We want to know the ending first

As adults, we've gotten really good at trying to protect ourselves from uncertainty. Before we put ourselves out there, we want to know people will receive us well. Before we make the change, we want to know it's the right one. Before we start something, we want proof that it will work. Before we let go of what's familiar, we want to know exactly what will be waiting for us on the other side. We call it being prepared. Sometimes it is. But sometimes it's fear dressed up as preparation. Sometimes we're trying to control the outcome because not knowing feels too uncomfortable. And I know this one personally. Putting myself out there is hard for me.

Sharing my thoughts. Talking about the work I do. Allowing myself to be seen. Continuing to build something I care deeply about without knowing exactly what it will become or who it will reach. There is vulnerability in that. Because once I put something out into the world, I can't control what happens with it. I can't control who reads it. I can't control what someone thinks about me. I can't control whether something succeeds in the way I imagined it would. I can only decide whether I'm willing to show up.

Our bodies love what they know

There's a reason uncertainty can feel so uncomfortable. Our nervous systems are constantly looking for cues of safety, and familiar things can feel safer simply because we know what to expect. Even when we want something different, the unknown can bring up fear. So when we feel that discomfort, our instinct might be to retreat. Overthink it. Wait. Tell ourselves we'll do it when we feel more confident. Try to figure out every possible outcome before taking the first step. But feeling afraid doesn't always mean something is wrong.

Sometimes it simply means we're standing at the edge of something we haven't done before. There's an important difference between overriding ourselves and gently stretching our capacity. Doing something scared doesn't mean ignoring every signal your body gives you. It means learning to stay with yourself while you do something that matters.

I'm nervous, and I can still take one step.

I don't know how this will turn out, and I can still try.

I feel uncomfortable being seen, and I don't have to disappear.

That is such a different relationship with fear.

And this is where faith keeps meeting me

There is another piece of this that I can't separate from the rest. My faith. God never promised me that I would get to know every outcome before taking the next step. In fact, so much of faith requires the opposite. Trust. Surrender. Releasing the things I was never actually in control of to begin with.

We're told to bring our worries to God, but I'm realizing how much of a practice that really is. Because I can say, "God, I trust You," and still spend the next three hours mentally rehearsing every possible way something could go wrong. I can pray about something and then immediately pick the worry back up. I can ask Him to lead me while simultaneously asking for a detailed map of exactly where we're going. Maybe surrender is less about saying the perfect prayer and more about practicing release again and again.

This is what I can control.

My next step.

My intention.

How I care for myself through it.

Whether I show up.

And this is what I can't control.

How everyone responds.

Whether everything goes according to plan.

What happens six months from now.

The outcome.

That part doesn't belong in my hands.

Maybe that's what "doing it scared" really means

When I watched my daughter walk into VPK this week, she wasn't walking into a completely unfamiliar world. She knew her teacher. She knew the school and the classroom. There was familiarity there. But there was newness, too. A new year. A different rhythm. Maybe new friends. New experiences she couldn't possibly predict yet. And she walked in anyway. Not because someone had given her a guarantee that every moment would be easy. She just trusted enough to take the next step.

I'm realizing I want to practice that more in my own life. I want to stop requiring certainty before I give myself permission to move. I want to trust myself enough to take the step in front of me. And I want to trust God enough to release what happens after I take it. Maybe that's what courage looks like in this season. Not becoming fearless. Not forcing myself through things that don't feel right. Not pretending uncertainty doesn't make me uncomfortable. Just learning that I don't have to know how the story ends before I'm willing to participate in it.

So I'm still sitting with the question I shared earlier this week:

When was the last time you did something scared?

But I want to add another one.

What are you waiting to do because you can't control how it will turn out?

Maybe you don't need another sign. Maybe you don't need another month of thinking about it. Maybe you don't need to become a more confident version of yourself first. Maybe your work is simply to notice the fear, stay connected to yourself, place the outcome in God's hands, and take the next step that's yours to take.

You can trust yourself with the step. You can trust God with the rest.

Visit renurture.co to learn more about working together. I hold space for women every day, and I'd love to hold it for you.