“All things are difficult before they are easy,” wrote the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu. Growth and change ask something of us. They unsettle our routines, stretch our identities, and invite us into unfamiliar territory. Yet without them, life becomes stagnant. A seed that refuses to split its shell never becomes a tree.
We often imagine growth as dramatic transformation—sudden insight, bold reinvention, sweeping success. But more often it is quiet and incremental. It looks like choosing patience instead of irritation. It feels like telling the truth when silence would be safer. It sounds like beginning again after failure.
A friend once told me about her first attempt at gardening. She planted tomatoes with enthusiasm, only to watch the seedlings droop and yellow. Convinced she lacked a “green thumb,” she nearly gave up. But an older neighbor stopped by and gently suggested she test the soil. It was depleted. Together, they mixed in compost and adjusted the watering schedule. Weeks later, small green fruits appeared. By late summer, her vines were heavy with red abundance.
“What changed?” I asked her.
“Not the seeds,” she said. “The conditions.”
Growth works the same way for us. Sometimes we blame ourselves for not thriving, when what we need is nourishment—rest, encouragement, better boundaries, deeper faith. Change may require courage, but it also requires compassion. When we enrich the soil of our lives, we make space for new strength to take root.
In the end, growth is not about becoming someone else. It is about becoming more fully who we were meant to be.
Wishing you strength,
RelationSmiths, Nancy and Sharon
This week’s challenge: Practice simultaneously holding courage and compassion toward yourself.
