What We Can't Control And What We Can

Letting Go and Finding Peace

“In the process of letting go, you will lose many things from the past, but you will find yourself.” — Deepak Chopra

One of the most brutal truths I've had to learn is this: I can't control what someone else thinks, does, or says, even when it breaks my heart or what I desire.

In our relationships with partners, children, siblings, parents, and friends, we often envision the type of connection we desire. It's crucial to maintain a vision for the relationship without trying to control the outcome, as this approach allows us to be fully present with each other.

Control is something many of us strive for, believing it brings security and certainty. Yet, the constant need to manage every aspect of life can lead to stress, anxiety, and missed opportunities for joy.

We Love Them and Want to "Fix It"

Love wants to protect. It pushes us to solve problems and avoid worst-case scenarios. Sometimes, our passion convinces us that we can save someone from their pain. As a mother, I lived in that hope for over 12 years. For my son, Kevin, I did everything within my power. I reminded him of his worth when he forgot it. I stood in the gap when his hope ran dry.

But despite all my love and effort, I did not have the power to heal Kevin. Letting go of the belief that I could fix everything has been one of the most painful but powerful lessons of my life. Life rarely unfolds with predictable outcomes.

Grief often carries a cruel lie: If I'd done more, they could still be here. But love doesn't work that way. People aren't problems to be solved; they are souls to be understood. They have struggles that love alone may not be able to reach. We were never meant to carry the burden of saving someone. It's too heavy for human hands to bear. Instead, we can offer understanding, empathy, and a deep connection with our loved ones.

There was a time when I would ask myself, ' What more can I do?' I prayed. I supported. I researched. I loved. However, the truth is that we cannot heal them. However, surprisingly, there is a profound relief in accepting this truth.

🌿 What I Can't Control

My story is about surrender, love, and the reality of mental illness. There is a deep ache in loving someone you cannot save. I know it. I've lived it. I cried and pleaded with God to heal Kevin, who had quietly battled severe depression since age eleven. He hid that painful truth for ten years.

Eventually, I found peace in acknowledging that I couldn't control it and releasing all of my fears and insecurities to God. It took years and heartbreak for me to say this with peace: I couldn't control Kevin's death.

It's not easy to admit that we can't control everything. It's how we've protected ourselves from a world that often feels hostile and judgmental of our existence.

Depression Is an Illness

As a mother, my instinct was to nurture, fix, and protect. But depression is not something you can "parent" away. It's not just sadness. It's a medical condition that affects brain function. According to research from the National Institute of Mental Health and leading psychiatric journals:

• It disrupts neurotransmitters like serotonin and dopamine.

• It affects the prefrontal cortex, impairing decision-making.

• It shrinks the hippocampus, impacting memory and emotional regulation.

• It distorts reality and makes a person feel hopeless, unworthy, or like a burden.

Kevin was, and still is, unconditionally loved. But depression is a cruel illness that distorts reality, numbs emotions, and builds walls around the heart. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to feel our love; he simply couldn’t. The disease clouded his ability to receive what was always there. Depression didn’t define Kevin. It tried to silence the vibrant, kind, and thoughtful soul he truly was. But even in the shadows, love remained. And it still does.

The Lie I Had to Let Go Of

Letting go is terrifying because it means embracing vulnerability. It means accepting that not everything is within our grasp but that there is beauty in surrender.

For a long time, I believed:

• If I had prayed harder

• If I had seen the signs sooner

• If I had gotten more help

• If I had not been away

But that's not true. That's grief speaking through guilt. The truth is that we did everything we could. We loved Kevin relentlessly, but his illness was real, powerful, and beyond our control. Believing I could have saved him means believing I failed him.

How do you let go in a world that has tried to influence every aspect of your being? How do you release the grip on shame, fear, and internalized judgment when those things have been ingrained in you for so long? It begins with changing your mindset and choosing to have faith in God.

A Faith That Holds Us When We Let Go

Through my walk with Jesus, I've learned that surrender isn't a sign of failure. It's a spiritual practice. God invites us to choose light and love, but never forces our hand. Faith has been my source of strength and comfort in this journey of letting go. It's the belief that there's a higher power guiding us, even when we can't see the path ahead. It's the trust that we're not alone in our struggles, and that there's a plan even in our pain.

"Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." — Matthew 11:28.

That rest is for those who tried everything, who loved deeply, and who must now find peace after loss and devastation. It's a promise of comfort and hope in our deepest struggles.

The world tells us to manage our circumstances through manipulation and our own strengths and hard work, but true peace and thriving are found by relinquishing control to the only One who can make the trees grow.

The Bible encourages us to release our fears and rest in God's care.

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

If you're struggling with the heavy burden of losing someone by suicide, please hear me:

• You did not fail.

• You did not abandon them.

• Your love, presence, and faithfulness were more than enough.

I can't control someone else, but I can choose how I love them. I can forgive. I can release guilt. I can believe in God, even when the outcome breaks my heart. That's where the shift begins. It's a path to hope and peace.

What I Can Control Now

I can't change the past or how depression stole Kevin's life. However, I can control how I respond to my pain: I can either use it for a purpose or wallow in self-pity. I choose to:

• I can tell the truth about mental illness to help break the stigma.

• I can share Kevin's story to support others.

• I can love others without trying to be their savior.

• I can grieve with hope, believing that God's love held Kevin even when he could no longer hold on.

• I can live in peace knowing that I can't control the uncontrollable.

We're often taught that control equals strength. From an early age, we're shown that the more we can dictate our circumstances, appearance, relationships, and careers, the more powerful and secure we'll feel. But what if the true power lies in surrender? What if letting go is the most radical, empowering act we can take?

Closing Blessing

May we find rest from the burden of control. May our hands unclench. May our hearts breathe. May we believe that love never ends, even when life ends. And may we walk forward, not with guilt, but with grace and dignity.

If this reflection resonates with you, I invite you to stay connected. Whether you're walking through grief, supporting someone with mental illness, or learning to let go of what you can't control, you're not alone.

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Let's walk this journey together with open hands and honest hearts and with the gentle hope that healing is possible. 💛