What If I'm Afraid of Making the Wrong Decision?

Navigating Transition | Part 4

"What if I get it wrong?"

It's a question I've heard many times in coaching. I've asked it myself.

When we're facing an important transition, decisions can suddenly feel much heavier than they normally would. We aren't simply deciding whether to take a new job, make a move, retire, leave something behind, or pursue a new opportunity. We're imagining everything that could happen because of that decision.

What if I regret it? What if this doesn't work out? What if I disappoint someone? What if I misunderstand what God is saying?

Sometimes we're so afraid of making the wrong decision that we struggle to make any decision at all. When that happens in a coaching conversation, I'm often less interested in immediately helping someone decide what to do. I'm curious about something else:

What's behind the fear of getting it wrong?

Listen to What's Beneath the Fear

There could be any number of answers. Maybe you've made a decision in the past that didn't turn out the way you'd hoped. Maybe you grew up in an environment where mistakes carried significant consequences. Perhaps you've worked under leaders who expected you to get things right and made it difficult to question, experiment, or change direction.

Maybe you've developed an understanding of God that makes you afraid there's one correct path for your life—and that somehow you might miss it. Or perhaps the loudest voice isn't coming from anyone else. It's your own.

I should know by now. I shouldn't still be struggling with this. Everyone else seems to have figured it out. I need to make a decision.

These internal scripts can quietly exert tremendous pressure on us. And sometimes that pressure masquerades as wisdom.

When We Put Transition on a Deadline

Deadlines can be helpful. They can move us toward action when we've been procrastinating or avoiding something we know needs our attention.

But self-imposed deadlines can also wreak havoc on a healthy transition. We tell ourselves, I need to know by the end of the month. I should have this figured out before I turn 60. We need a five-year plan.

But do you?

Some decisions genuinely require a deadline. Others need room for exploration. We may need time to experiment, gather information, have conversations, notice what is emerging, and even change our minds.

Healthy transition isn't always linear. Sometimes clarity comes precisely because we've given ourselves permission to explore.

When Other Voices Become Too Loud

After twenty years of living overseas, my wife and I were facing some significant decisions about our future. Where would we live? What would we do next? What did our family need? What was God inviting us toward?

These weren't small questions, and somewhere along the way, I began to feel trapped.

Looking back, I realize that I wasn't always experiencing the freedom and autonomy God had actually given me to make thoughtful decisions that were best for our family. Instead, I second-guessed myself. I overthought. And I sometimes looked to other people in unhealthy ways to validate decisions I needed to own for myself.

There is nothing wrong with seeking wise counsel. In fact, other voices can be tremendously valuable during transition. But there's an important difference between receiving someone's input and needing someone's permission.

That's something I had to learn.

Other people could offer wisdom, ask questions, point out things I hadn't considered, and even disagree with me. But ultimately, I needed to receive those voices as input I could thoughtfully consider—not authority I had to obey.

I could receive their perspective. I could also respectfully decline it.

That realization restored something important to my decision-making process: freedom.

What If There Isn't One Perfect Decision?

Sometimes our fear of getting it wrong rests on the assumption that somewhere out there is one perfect decision. If we discern carefully enough, pray hard enough, gather enough information, or ask enough people, we'll eventually discover it. And once we do, everything will work out.

But life rarely gives us that kind of certainty.

We make decisions with the information we have today. We pay attention to our needs and values. We seek wisdom. We pray. We consider the people our decisions will affect. We notice our fears without allowing them to make the decision for us.

And then, at some point, we choose.

A wise decision doesn't guarantee a particular outcome. It gives us a thoughtful and faithful way of choosing with what we know today.

And if circumstances change, we respond again. We learn. We adjust. We keep listening and moving forward.

That's not failure. That's navigating transition.

You Can Trust Yourself to Navigate What Comes Next

Perhaps confidence in transition doesn't mean reaching the point where you can finally say, "I'm 100 percent sure this is the right decision."

Maybe it sounds more like this:

"I've listened well. I've considered what matters most. I've sought appropriate input. I've prayed. And I'm willing to take responsibility for the choice I'm making."

That's a different kind of confidence. It's not certainty about the outcome. It's trust that you can navigate what comes next.

And for those of us who follow with our faith, there's an even deeper confidence available to us. Our hope isn't ultimately in our ability to make flawless decisions. It's in a God who continues to lead, teach, redeem, and walk with us—even when the path takes turns we didn't anticipate.

That gives us freedom: freedom to listen, freedom to explore, freedom to choose, and sometimes even the freedom to change course.

Coaching Question

What's behind your fear of getting it wrong—and whose voice are you allowing to have the final say?

If you're facing an important decision in a season of transition, coaching can provide a place to slow down, separate your own voice from the noise around you, reconnect with what matters most, and discern your next step without requiring absolute certainty.

P.S. If this conversation resonates with where you are right now, I'd love to have you join me for my Navigating Transition workshop on September 22. We'll explore a practical framework and tools for understanding what happens during transition, discerning what matters most, and moving forward with greater clarity, confidence, and purpose.

The Transition I Never Would Have Chosen

Navigating Transition | Part 3

Some transitions begin with an invitation.

We sense something changing. A new possibility emerges. Maybe we're ready for a new challenge, a different career, a move, or a new season of life. We may still feel uncertain, but at some level, we've chosen the change.

Other transitions feel very different. They choose us.

I've sometimes called these "rug-pulled-out" transitions. Something changes that we didn't initiate, didn't expect, and certainly didn't ask for.

A job disappears.

An organization changes direction.

A relationship ends.

A diagnosis alters the future we imagined.

Sometimes the circumstances aren't even unexpected. Retirement arrives. The kids leave home. Parents grow older and need more support. We knew those seasons were coming. We just weren't ready for them. And suddenly we find ourselves asking a very different question. What do I do with a transition I didn't choose?

When Life Changes Before We're Ready

My wife and I have experienced this in different ways over the years.

At one point, supporting aging parents meant making a geographical move so we could tap into greater family support and resources. It was the right decision, but that didn't necessarily make the transition easy.

Even today, we find ourselves holding another question: Now that we've built a life we love in Idaho, at what point do we need to give serious attention to moving closer to our children and grandchildren in another state?

Nothing is forcing that decision today. But we know another season may eventually ask something of us that our current season doesn't.

That's one of the realities of transition. Sometimes we're ready for change before our circumstances change. Other times, our circumstances change before we're ready.

When the Rug Really Did Feel Pulled Out

One of the most significant transitions of my life came after my family and I had spent nearly twenty years living and serving overseas.

This wasn't simply a job. It was our life. Our relationships were there. Our work was there. Our sense of calling was deeply connected to the people and places where we had invested so much of ourselves.

Then our organizational culture began to change. New leadership brought a different direction, and over time I began to recognize a growing disconnect between the organization's direction and some of our own values and approaches to work and ministry.

I didn't want that tension. I certainly hadn't planned for it. And for a while, I felt trapped by it.

Leaving would mean much more than changing jobs. It would redirect the course of our lives after two decades overseas.

Where would we live? What would I do? What would this mean for our family? What would happen to relationships that had been woven into our lives for years? There was no easy answer.

In many ways, the circumstances felt forced upon us. But eventually I began to recognize an important distinction: I hadn't chosen the circumstances, but I still had choices about how I would respond to them.

Finding Agency in a Transition You Didn't Choose

That's one of the things I've learned about unwanted transition. When the rug gets pulled out, it's easy to focus entirely on what has been taken away.

Our sense of control. Our plans. Our expectations. Perhaps even a part of our identity.

And those losses are real. They deserve to be acknowledged and grieved. But somewhere in the middle of an unwanted transition, another question eventually begins to emerge: Given what I cannot control, what can I choose?

For us, that question required paying attention to what mattered most. At the time, I didn't have the Needs and Values Assessment I use today in my coaching practice. But looking back, I can see that many of the conversations my wife and I were having were really conversations about needs and values.

What did our family need in this next season?

What kind of environment would allow us to thrive?

What mattered most to us about the way we lived, worked, served, and related to others?

What were we willing to release?

And what were we no longer willing to compromise?

Those questions didn't make the decision painless. But they helped us recognize that even within circumstances we hadn't chosen, we weren't powerless. We could still discern. We could still choose. We could still move toward a life aligned with what mattered most.

Forced Doesn't Have to Mean Powerless

I think this is particularly important when we're navigating a transition that feels forced.

There's a difference between saying: "I didn't choose this." and saying: "I have no choice."

The first may be completely true. The second often isn't.

You may not have chosen retirement. You may not have chosen an empty nest. You may not have chosen your organization's new direction. You may not have chosen the needs of an aging parent, the closing of a door, or the circumstances that suddenly changed the future you imagined. But you still have choices about how you will respond.

You can pay attention to what you're grieving. You can name what you need. You can rediscover what matters most. You can notice what this new season might be asking of you. And eventually, you can begin making choices about how you want to move forward.

The Transition I Never Would Have Chosen

Looking back now, I can say with confidence that leaving our life overseas redirected the course of my life. But I wouldn't want to romanticize it. I didn't stand at the beginning of that transition thinking, This is going to open all kinds of wonderful new possibilities. I mostly saw what we might lose.

That's often how unwanted transition works. We see the ending long before we can imagine the beginning. Only with time do we begin to recognize that an ending we never would have chosen can also create space for something we never would have imagined.

That doesn't make the loss less real. It simply means the loss doesn't get the final word. And perhaps that's one of the quiet invitations hidden within transition: Not to pretend we chose what happened. Not to rush toward a silver lining. But to slowly rediscover our ability to choose what happens next.

Coaching Question

In the transition you didn't choose, where might you still have more choice than you realize?

If you're navigating a transition you didn't ask for, I'd be honored to walk alongside you. Coaching can provide a place to acknowledge what you've lost, reconnect with what matters most, and begin discerning how you want to move forward—even when the path ahead isn't yet clear.

P.S. If you'd like to explore these ideas in a practical, interactive setting, I'd love for you to join me for my upcoming Navigating Transition workshop on September 22. Together, we'll explore a practical framework and tools to help you navigate change with greater clarity, confidence, and purpose.

How Do I Know What My Next Step Is?

Navigating Transition | Part 2

One of the questions I hear most often in coaching is this:

"How do I know what my next step is?"

Sometimes the question is about changing jobs. Sometimes it's about retirement. Sometimes it's about a move, a ministry opportunity, or simply wondering what this next season of life is supposed to look like.

Whatever the circumstance, the emotion underneath the question is usually the same: "What if I get this wrong?"

If that's where you find yourself today, I want you to know something. You're not alone. I've sat with many people who felt like they were standing at a crossroads, hoping God would somehow hand them a roadmap with every turn already marked. Honestly, I've wished for that roadmap myself.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if clarity always came before we had to make a decision? But that's rarely how life works. More often than not, clarity grows as we walk.

When We Say We Need Clarity...

Over the years, I've noticed something. When people tell me they need more clarity, what they often mean is they want more certainty. They want to know they'll make the right decision. They want confidence that things will work out. They want assurance they won't look back with regret.

Those desires are understandable. But certainty is rarely something God promises. Instead, He invites us to trust Him one step at a time.

Think about Abraham. God didn't reveal the entire journey before asking him to leave home.

The Israelites didn't receive forty years' worth of directions while wandering through the wilderness.

The disciples weren't handed a five-year ministry strategy.

Again and again, God gave enough light for the next step—not the entire path. Perhaps that's still how He leads us today.

The Better Question

Instead of asking, "How do I know exactly what to do?" what if we asked, "What is the next faithful step?"

That subtle shift changes everything. One question is driven by the desire for certainty. The other is rooted in trust. One focuses on controlling the future. The other focuses on faithfully responding to what God is inviting us to do today.

I've found that this question has a way of quieting the noise.

Clarity Often Comes Through Movement

One of the greatest misconceptions about transition is believing we need to see the destination before we begin walking. But imagine driving through a heavy fog. Your headlights don't illuminate the entire highway. They simply provide enough light to keep moving safely.

Life with God often feels the same way. He doesn't always remove the fog. Instead, He gives us enough light for the next stretch of road. As we move, things begin to unfold.

Conversations happen. Doors open. Some doors close. We learn something new about ourselves. We begin noticing patterns we couldn't see while standing still.

Is there a life lesson here? Clarity is often the result of movement—not the prerequisite for it.

A Conversation I Often Have

When someone says, "I just need more clarity,"

I'll often ask them a different question. "Tell me what you already know."

At first, there's usually silence. Then, slowly, the answers begin to emerge.

"I know this season is coming to an end."

"I know I can't keep doing what I've always done."

"I know this opportunity aligns with what matters most."

"I know fear has been speaking louder than faith."

Those may not feel like complete answers. But they're often enough to begin. God rarely asks us to act on everything we don't know. He invites us to respond faithfully to what we do know.

Trust the Next Step

If you're facing an uncertain future, remember this: You don't have to figure out your entire life today. You don't need every answer before taking the next step. You don't need absolute certainty before you move forward.

What you need is the courage to respond faithfully to what God is already showing you.

Perhaps that's one of the greatest gifts of transition. It teaches us that confidence isn't found in having complete clarity. It's found in trusting the One who walks with us. And as we trust Him, clarity often meets us along the way.

Coaching Invitation

What do you already know to be true about this season that you've been overlooking while waiting for complete certainty?

If you're navigating an important life transition and would like a thoughtful partner to help you discern your next faithful step, I'd be honored to walk alongside you. Coaching won't give you an instant map, but it will create the space to explore what matters most, listen well, and move forward with greater clarity, confidence, and purpose.

P.S. If you'd like to explore these ideas in a practical, interactive setting, I'd love for you to join me for my upcoming Navigating Transition workshop on September 22. Together, we'll explore a simple framework to help you navigate change with greater clarity, confidence, and purpose.