Yesterday I Believed It Would Happen — And It Didn’t

The Inner Conversation That Transformed My Understanding Of Faith

Yesterday I believed, deeply and quietly, that something was going to happen. I could feel it. My body was aligned with the image of it. For days, I carried that subtle conviction — not loud, not dramatic — just a calm inner knowing that things would unfold in a certain way.

They didn’t.

What came instead was something much more revealing: I saw how attached I had been to the outcome. Not just hoping — but leaning. Leaning on the idea that it had to unfold that way.

And when it didn’t, an old layer surfaced.

It wasn’t only disappointment. It was the memory of a younger version of me who had once believed that if you asked with enough faith, reality would respond. That if something didn’t happen, it meant you had not believed strongly enough.

That belief had created a subtle but exhausting tension: a quiet negotiation with life. If I am sincere enough, aligned enough, convinced enough… then the result should follow.

But life does not negotiate.

What I felt yesterday was not the collapse of faith — it was the collapse of a contract.

A contract that said: conviction guarantees outcome.

As I sat with it, something inside me softened. My solar plexus — that center of will and control — relaxed. My chest felt warm, a little sad, but open. It was the sadness of releasing an old definition, not the sadness of losing meaning.

I realized something simple and radical:

Faith cannot be a mechanism for control.

If it is, it inevitably turns into struggle. And struggle against reality always produces suffering.

I began to see the immensity of existence in a different way. The precision of cells. The choreography of atoms. The orchestration of planetary motion. The intelligence embedded in everything that unfolds without my supervision.

In front of that vastness, my insistence that events must bend to my expectation felt incoherent — not wrong, not sinful — simply out of proportion.

And so a new understanding emerged.

Faith is no longer the certainty of what I expect.

Faith is reverence for what is.

Not because everything feels pleasant. Not because I enjoy every outcome. But because what is unfolding belongs to a complexity far greater than my preference.

I can still desire.

I can still ask.

But without the contract.

I do not need miracles that suspend reality. The deeper miracle is reality itself — this precise, unfolding, intricate movement of life in every moment.

What left me was the illusion that my mind must shape the universe.

What remained was coherence.

And from coherence comes influence — not magical control, but presence. When I regulate my nervous system, I see more clearly. When I am grounded, others feel safer. When I am aligned, something reorganizes — not because I force it, but because coherence naturally influences systems.

This is not supernatural power.

It is participation.

I did not lose faith.

I lost the need for guarantees.

And in that loss, I found rest.

Katiana