“Still becoming” is not a phase I’m trying to rush through.
It’s not a placeholder for who I’ll be once I have it all figured out.
It’s an acknowledgment.
For a long time, I thought becoming meant arriving. Hitting milestones. Being able to say, I’m healed now, I’m confident now, I’m finally enough now. I measured growth by how little I struggled and how put-together I could appear.
But life doesn’t move that way. Healing doesn’t move that way. Neither does faith, creativity, or identity.
Still becoming means I’m allowed to be in motion without apology.
It means I can be grateful for who I am today while also recognizing that I’m unfinished. It gives me permission to change my mind, soften my pace, and release versions of myself that were built purely for survival.
For me, still becoming is especially tied to unlearning.
Unlearning the need to perform strength.
Unlearning the idea that rest has to be earned.
Unlearning the pressure to explain myself every time I choose differently.
There were seasons where holding it together kept me safe. Masking helped me function. Pushing through felt necessary. I don’t shame that version of myself. She did what she needed to do with what she had.
But still becoming means I don’t have to stay there.
It’s choosing honesty over polish. Presence over productivity. Gentleness over self-criticism. Some days, still becoming looks like growth and clarity. Other days, it looks like confusion, fatigue, or sitting with feelings I’d rather avoid.
Both count.
This phrase also shapes how I build, create, and work. I’m not interested in becoming successful at the cost of myself. I’m learning to build slowly, with care, and with space for rest. I’m learning that my worth is not tied to output, consistency, or visibility.
Still becoming reminds me that I don’t need to rush my own becoming just because the world is loud.
I’m allowed to take my time.
I’m allowed to be honest about where I am.
I’m allowed to grow quietly.
And so are you.
If you’re in a season where things feel unfinished, uncertain, or tender, I hope this reminds you that you’re not behind. You’re not failing. You’re not broken.
You’re still becoming. 🤎
