Becoming
Not the kind with announcements,
no ribbon, no clean before-and-after.
Becoming happens the way bone knits—
slowly, invisibly, under pressure.
You are not shedding a former self.
You are carrying her forward,
rearranging weight,
learning which burdens have become structural
and which can finally be set down.
Some days feel like standing in fog,
certain only of the next step.
But even fog has direction—
it moves, it thins, it obeys forces
you don’t have to name to trust.
Becoming is consent to unfinishedness.
To working without guarantees.
To choosing alignment over speed,
truth over comfort,
continuity over approval.
Look closely:
the patience you thought was delay
is actually form.
The restraint you mistook for fear
is calibration.
You are not late.
You are not stalled.
You are in the precise middle
where change is too deep to be visible
and too real to be undone.
This is what it looks like
when a life reorients—
quietly, deliberately,
becoming itself.
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