Some days, I still catch glimpses of the woman I used to be — the one who lived in a constant rush, who measured her worth by what she could get done, who wore exhaustion like a badge of honor.
She was strong, yes… but she was also tired.
She smiled for her kids and kept moving forward, but inside she was unraveling — quietly, invisibly.
And even now, as I try to live differently, I sometimes feel her tugging at me — the old patterns, the noise, the guilt, the need to hold it all together.
The in-between is hard.
The space between who I was and who I’m becoming can feel messy, uncomfortable, and uncertain.
But I’ve learned something holy there: you can find calm even in the chaos of becoming.
Growth doesn’t always feel graceful.
It’s not all journaling and deep breaths — sometimes it’s tears in the kitchen or sitting in your car trying not to fall apart before pickup.
You can love where you’re going and still grieve what you’ve left behind.
You can crave peace and still find yourself snapping, doubting, or questioning if you’re really changing at all.
That’s okay.
Real growth is rarely pretty — it’s sacred work disguised as ordinary days.
Here’s what I’ve learned, slowly and imperfectly: calm isn’t something you arrive at — it’s something you choose, right in the middle of the mess.
When the laundry piles up and the bills are due,
when the old you whispers “you’re failing again,”
when the new you says “keep going” —
that’s where peace begins to grow.
Not in the perfection, but in the pause.
Sometimes, finding calm looks like:
- Lighting a candle after the kids go to bed.
- Whispering a prayer instead of a complaint.
- Sitting in silence for just two minutes, letting your body exhale.
Tiny, quiet moments that remind your soul:
You’re not who you were — and you don’t have to be.
If you’re caught in the tension — the “almost” place, the “not there yet” season — I want to remind you:
You are still becoming.
And that’s something sacred.
You’re learning to soften.
To trust yourself.
To live from peace, not panic.
You don’t have to have it all figured out to be growing.
Sometimes growth looks like resting.
Sometimes it looks like saying no.
And sometimes, it looks like standing still long enough to let God work in the quiet corners of your heart.
Who you were got you here.
She survived, she showed up, she fought hard.
But who you’re becoming — she’s learning to breathe.
She’s learning to believe that calm is not a reward; it’s a way of living.
So, give yourself grace in the in-between.
You’re not lost — you’re simply on your way home to yourself.
With peace and gratitude,
Sarah
On the Riverbend
“Where faith meets motherhood — and chaos finds grace.”