The Grace of Becoming

There was a time I thought becoming meant achieving.

That if I could just fix enough things, forgive enough people, soften enough flaws-I would be closer to

whatever wholeness meant. But wholeness doesn't arrive like that. It doesn't bow to performance.

It begins, quietly, with grace.

Not the kind handed out as a reward, but the kind that meets you where you are and simply says: "I see you.

Still." The kind that doesn't force you forward but gently whispers, "We can begin here."

Becoming isn't about becoming someone else. It's about becoming more of yourself-beneath the armor,

beneath the fear, beneath the roles you've played so well you forgot they weren't you.

It's an unwinding. A returning.

Some days, it feels like healing. Some days, like unraveling. Most days, like both.

The grace of becoming doesn't rush you. It doesn't shame you for taking time. It doesn't keep a checklist of

all the ways you fell short. It says: "Even in your undoing, something sacred is taking shape."

It is not religion that taught me this. It is presence. It is loss. It is the silence after being misunderstood. It is

the stillness I chose instead of the argument. It is the way my daughter looks at me when I think I've failed.

We become not because we're told to. We become because we are loved into it.

Not because we are ready.

But because grace always was.