The Drowning Lifeguard When Your “Plans” Don’t Work out.

The drowning lifeguard

When Your “Plans” Don’t Work Out…

There’s an expression people often say when someone’s feeling overwhelmed:

“God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”

For years, I found comfort in that phrase. It helped me believe I wouldn’t be asked to carry more than I was capable of.

But lately? I’m not so sure.

Because the past couple months have felt earth-shattering—far beyond what I feel able to carry...ALONE

And maybe… that’s the point.

Maybe God gives us more than we can handle alone—not to crush us, but to draw us into deeper surrender. Maybe He’s been trying to teach me that lesson again and again, and I’m just now beginning to listen.

So in faith, I’m at a place of full, raw, messy surrender to Christ.

Shipwreck After Shipwreck

May and June 2025—you have been a journey.. a hot mess.

I lost my job—my main source of income.

I lost a family member.

I lost my daily routine.

I underwent a psychoeducational assessment that stirred up even more questions.

I thought I had landed the job I dreamed of back in my second year of university. For nine months, I was genuinely happy. I felt like I had finally arrived.

And then… it slipped away.

Ever since my fourth-year practicum, I’ve been chasing stability. But I've found myself jumping from workplace to workplace, often due to circumstances beyond my control.

And I’m tired.

Tired of navigating the open sea.

Tired of shipwreck after shipwreck.

Not where I thought I'd be:

At 29, I imagined a very different life:

Married to my life partner, In the early stages of motherhood, Living in my own place, Building a career I could return to after maternity leave.

Instead, I’m unemployed.

Brutally single.

Living in my parents’ basement.

Scrolling through social media, comparing my reality to curated highlight reels of "trad wives" and influencers..

Losing my job wasn’t just about the paycheck. It was the collapse of a dream.

There is a deep grief in letting go of what you thought would anchor you. But maybe that's the point I can't land my anchor on earthly imperfect things.

An ache in surrendering to a heavenly timeline you can’t see yet—but that has already been written.

As a Counsellor, I’ve been so honored to hold space for silent struggles and vulnerable stories. And I still believe there’s a calling for me—but maybe it depends on who I choose to listen to.

The Drowning Lifeguard

The Drowning Lifeguard

While journaling recently, a metaphor surfaced that stopped me in my tracks:

The drowning lifeguard.

Being a lifeguard was one of my first jobs. Helping and rescuing others is part of who I am. It’s likely one of the stepping stones that led me to social work.

I’ve always been a story-holder and space-maker for invisible struggles—struggles I’ve lived through myself. That resilience felt like my superpower, something I could offer others.

But now?

I feel like I’m the one drowning.

Despite everything I’ve done to support my mental and physical well-being, I still feel like I’m falling short.

I keep asking myself:

What am I missing? What critical piece haven’t I found yet?

It’s a strange, cruel irony: trained to support others, yet I can’t seem to stay afloat myself.

Surrendering to the Waves

Learning to Be Lifted

So what now?

Surrender.

It’s the only thing left—and honestly, it feels completely unnatural.

Surrendering expectations.

Surrendering my timeline.

Surrendering control.

Letting go. Trusting God. Accepting that I don’t have all the answers.

It’s terrifying.

Especially when I’ve surrendered before—and things still fell apart.

I’m not saying I’m clinically depressed. But I’ve hit a wave of emotional exhaustion. And it sucks. Because I usually love summer. But it’s hard to enjoy anything when your routine is gone, your dreams feel crushed, and you’re too tired to hope again.

I don’t have a Plan B. And that makes surrender feel even scarier.

Silently Going Under

As a lifeguard, you learn to watch for two kinds of drowning:

The ones who panic and scream for help

And the silent drowners—the ones who slip under quietly, unnoticed

If you’re not paying attention, you miss them. And they don’t come back up.

Lately, I think that’s what I’ve become: a silent drowner. Not crying out, but very much in need.

And honestly? I relate to Meredith Grey ( season 3 episode 16) in that scene where she lets the water take over—not because she wants to die, but because she’s too exhausted to keep swimming.

That’s me right now.

At the mercy of the waves.

But even there—maybe especially there—I remember:

I have a Savior who dives in to save me.

Not Dr. McDreamy (because real life isn’t a telenovela).

But Someone better.

Someone holy.

Someone who already knows the way back to shore.

Someone who walks on water😆🛟

> Isaiah 43:1–2

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you."

That verse reminds me:

Being overwhelmed doesn’t mean being overcome.

Even when I feel like I’m drowning—

I am not forgotten.

I am held.

I am known.

I am His.

I’ve seen surrender before—in the lifeguard chair.

You scoop a drowning child from the water—they gasp for breath.

Their body softens.

They cling to you.

They trust—even though they’re still surrounded by the water.

That’s what I want.

That’s what I’m learning.

That’s faith:

The quiet courage to say, “I don’t have to have it all together. I can let go. I can rest in the promises declared over me.”

It’s a whispered prayer.

And a soft realization that even I deserve to be lifted.

So if you’re out there right now

Floating.

Flailing.

Or Silently sinking

Please hear me:

You are not alone.

You are not failing.

You are worthy of rescue, too.