Today, my patience was tested.
When things feel destabilized and out of control, how do we respond?
Do we tighten our grip?
Do we force solutions?
Do we take back control?
Or do we trust?
Lately, I’ve been intentionally practicing letting go of control, especially when it comes to work.
And honestly, it has been harder than I expected.
Because when I step back and see standards slipping, processes breaking, or things not being done the way I would have done them, every instinct in my body wants to step in and fix everything.
That has always been my default gear.
See the problem.
Take control.
Solve it.
Move on.
But lately, I’ve been resisting that urge.
Not because I don’t care.
But because I care about something bigger.
The truth is, if I want to build the life I envision for myself, I cannot be the one controlling everything forever.
Because the moment everything depends on me, I become the bottleneck.
And bottlenecks eventually limit growth.
So here I am, trying to learn a different skill.
Not execution.
Not problem-solving.
Not optimization.
Patience.
Restraint.
The quiet kind.
The kind that sits in discomfort.
The kind that watches imperfections exist without immediately intervening.
The kind that trusts that people can grow through responsibility the same way I once did.
I’ll be honest.
It hurts.
It hurts to see things I’ve spent years building operate below the standards I know are possible.
It hurts because the clinic I built is not a business for me.
It represents years of effort, sacrifice, mistakes, lessons, passion and dreams.
A piece of my life exists within those walls.
So when things feel messy, it feels personal.
But perhaps this is the cost of growth.
Maybe every builder eventually reaches a point where they must choose between comfort and expansion.
Comfort says:
“Take control. Fix everything yourself.”
Growth says:
“Trust the process. Trust the people. Let them learn.”
And maybe leadership is having the wisdom to know the difference.
I don’t think what I’m experiencing is a downfall.
It feels that way, but internally..
I think it’s transition.
Something old is being released so that something new can be built.
Something larger.
Something that no longer depends entirely on me.
And perhaps that is the very thing I’ve been praying for all along.
So today, I pray for patience.
I pray for a strong heart.
I pray for the ability to endure seasons where things don’t look the way I want them to look.
And when anxiety tells me to tighten my grip, may I remember this:
The Creator has always been in control.
Not me.
Never me.
My job is not to carry everything.
My job is to faithfully build, trust, and continue moving forward.