January 6, 2023

This is Growth. Be Gentle with Yourself.

This is growth. It’s what you wanted, right?

Now that you’re here, it looks different.

It’s not so pretty sitting in the messy middle of it.

You’re being stretched beyond the edges of your usual capacity. Pulled past the brink of who you thought you were.

New boundaries are formed. A deeper sense of self. Confidence crystallizes.

And it hurts so much to go against everything you’ve ever known, the well-worn grooves of patterns that were once so comfortable.

Choosing love even feels painful. Healthy relationships feel so foreign at times, like being lost at sea. Self-care can feel f*cking overwhelming.

It’s a new sort of discomfort. You know you’re making good choices. You feel that in your bones. Your intuition beckons you forward.

So you keep going.

It’s all uncharted territory, uncovered one shaky, curious step at a time. It’s dark and you don’t have a map. That’s why it’s so disorienting; these novel neural pathways are distant galaxies, never visited before.

It feels like the edge of the earth, like you could fall off into the darkness of the mystery—into oblivion.

But there is life beyond the edges—nothing ends there.

It is a beginning scented with hope and tears.

And in some moments, you are so tired and it is so hard that you just collapse from the sheer weight of it all.

So you breathe and rest. You remind yourself why you chose growth. You feel the fire that brought you to your knees in the first place.

Because every goddamn fiber of your being told you to. Because your thirst to be wilder and more whole—well, it predates time.

You’re saying goodbye to unnecessary struggle. To relationships that don’t nourish you. To ways of being that leave you empty and worn.

It’s hard work. You’re gonna have to dig in. But it’s rewarding. It’s beautiful, the messy masterpiece of a lifetime.

The future flickers into view for mere moments, in a warm silver fog, then it disappears. You can’t capture it yet. And that’s okay.

It’s a mosaic you’re assembling and there’s a thousand things to feel along the way.

But I see you. I see you emerging. Through momentary sparkles and seemingly endless dark nights and the things you’re saying aloud you thought you’d never have the courage to say.

I wish I could say the fear goes away, but I don’t think it does.

Be okay with being raw for a while. Accept the turbulent feelings—the mixtures of grief and pain and relief and joy that will accompany you on the way.

Just because you feel lost doesn’t mean you actually are.

You are finding.

Finding something deeper. Finding you.

Your voice. The depth of your desires. The juicy truth of what you want out of life and relationships. Your sense of humor. Your weirdness and wildness. What feels okay to you—and what doesn’t.

Clarity is coming. It’s braided into the chaos, woven into the waves of despair.

You are unfreezing from years of hiding. It takes time. It takes love. It takes so much encouragement and mud and celebrating every tiny bloom along the way.

Above all else, I hope you are gentle with yourself.

Be patient. It’s gonna feel ugly at first. Let it all settle. You can’t force it. You can’t rush it.

Seek quiet. Silence everyone else’s voice but your own.

Watch in awe as beauty rushes in. Fresh depths of feeling. A stronger sense of self, a reawakened vulnerability. A new appreciation for what it means to be you. To be human. To be alive.

There is so much you are sifting through.

Above all else, I hope you are gentle with yourself.


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