When Doubt Follows Your Decision

What has been the hardest decision you’ve had to make recently?

I don’t mean what to wear or what to eat, though even those can trip us up some days. I mean the decisions that feel like they carry the weight of a life in your hands. The kind that, once spoken, you can’t take back. The kind that can change your future, or the future of someone you love.

One night stands out in particular for me. My father had a medical emergency at 2:00 a.m. He was in a critical condition, and as the paramedics prepared to take him, they turned to me with a question: “Do you want us to take him to the nearest hospital or to the hospital you prefer? He needs immediate attention.”

The closest hospital was five minutes away. The one I trusted was twenty. I was half-asleep, adrenaline racing, heart in my throat. In that split second I said, “Take him to the closest.”

A few days later, my father passed away.  Even now, I sometimes wonder: would the outcome have been different if I had chosen otherwise?

That night taught me something I’ll never forget: hard decisions rarely come with perfect clarity, and they often leave us questioning ourselves long after the moment has passed.  They come fast, in moments of pressure, fear, and urgency. Caregivers know this when you have to decide, Do I push for every possible treatment to extend life, or do I choose hospice to give them peace? Do I quit my job to care for them full-time, or try to balance both and risk burning out? Parents feel it when weighing how much to step in, or step back. Leaders wrestle with it when deciding whether to release a staff member or hold on. Spouses face it in marriages strained to the edge.

Each decision carries weight. Each one is tangled with emotion. Honestly speaking, even not deciding is still a decision.  So what do we do with the doubts that haunt us after the choice has been made, or when we’re paralyzed before making it?

For me, I’ve had to cling to three lifelines:

1. Bring it to God

When I felt shaken, uncertain, and afraid of making the wrong choice, I poured it all out before Him, the doubts, the pain, the weight of responsibility. Sometimes that looked like tears in the middle of the night, crying in desperation because the decision felt too heavy. Other times it came out as resentment, frustration that I had to be the one to carry it. The circumstances didn’t always change, but His presence steadied me. And more than that, I felt seen. In the very moments when no one else could understand the weight I was carrying, He did. Psalm 139:23-24 became a prayer on repeat: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”

For you, this might look like a few minutes of honest prayer, journaling your raw thoughts to God, or simply whispering His name when words fail. The point isn’t polished words or perfect faith, it’s letting Him meet you right in the mess, allowing His presence to anchor you, and remembering that even in your heaviest decisions, you are fully seen.

2. Search for the root.
The hardest part of decisions hasn’t always been the choice itself, but the thoughts afterward: I should have known better. I chose too quickly. I failed. It’s not only the decision itself that weighs heavy, but the self-doubt that keeps reopening the wound long after the moment has passed. Those words replayed in my head louder than the decision itself. And if I’m honest, they didn’t just come from that one moment, they came from old scars, from painful places in my life where I felt like I had failed before. That’s the thing about decision-making: it rarely stands alone. It brushes up against our history, our insecurities, and the wounds we’d rather not revisit.

Naming those stories was painful because it meant facing the truth of where they were rooted  in fear, in self-blame, and in lies I had carried for far too long. But what I learned: healing can’t begin until the truth comes to the surface. For you, it may help to ask: “What story am I telling myself about this decision?” Maybe it’s fear of letting someone down, fear of judgment, or echoes of past wounds you thought you’d buried. Naming it doesn’t erase the pain overnight, and it isn’t easy to see yourself that honestly. But it does loosen the grip those stories have on you. And in that space, grace can finally breathe. 

3. Community.
I don’t think I could have made it through some of the toughest, high-stakes decisions without community. Having a few trusted people, friends who offered wisdom and safety without judgment, gave me the strength to keep going. They became a place to process, cry, and wrestle. For you, that might look like a counselor, a pastor, or a close friend. Having someone to walk with you won’t take the weight away, but it will keep you from carrying it alone.

These three practices don’t guarantee an easy path. Sometimes I repeat them again and again as I process, pray, and wrestle toward peace. But one question has stayed with me through it all: Can I trust God no matter the outcome?

And that’s the same question I want to leave with you. Can you trust Him, even here, even now?

God doesn’t call us to perfect decision-making, but He calls us to faithfulness. Our choices, even when flawed, can be redeemed by His grace. The measure of our caregiving, leadership, or parenting isn’t about never failing; it’s about loving deeply, seeking wisdom, and trusting Him with the rest.

Yes, doubts creep back in. They do for me, too. But each time, I return to that question: Can I trust Him despite the outcome? My answer is yes. Because even when my father did not survive, I witnessed God’s love through the people who showed up, His strength carrying me, and His peace covering me.

Peace doesn’t come from always choosing right. Peace comes from knowing God is with us in the uncertainty, redeeming what feels broken, and steadying us when we cannot steady ourselves. Because at the end of the day, decisions can feel like life in your hands, but peace comes when you realize your hands were never the only ones holding it.

Reflection Questions

• What is a hard decision you’ve been carrying lately, and what weight does it still hold over you?
• What story are you telling yourself about that decision—does it sound like blame, guilt, or fear?
• Where can you invite God into that place of doubt, asking Him to search your heart and steady your anxious thoughts?
• Can you imagine what it would look like to trust God with the outcome, even if the result isn’t what you hoped for?