Funny how I used to think patience meant waiting for results — turns out, it meant stopping the wait altogether. I stopped rushing progress not because I got better at it, but because I finally admitted I was never good at forcing growth anyway. Remember when I’d measure every week like a report card? “Not enough done.” “Too slow.” But plants don’t apologize for taking seasons to bloom — why did I think I should? Trusting the process didn’t come from discipline. It came from exhaustion — from hitting that quiet wall where hustling felt hollow. So I let go — not with a plan, but with a sigh. And somehow, without the pressure, things began unfolding… not faster, but fuller. Progress stopped being something I chased and became something I noticed — in small breaths, quiet mornings, unforced repetitions. Turns out, the process was always trustworthy. I was just too busy doubting to let it breathe.
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Funny how I used to think patience was something you practiced while waiting—turns out, it’s what you lose when you’re too busy measuring every step. I stopped trusting progress when I realized I was the one sabotaging it, checking for growth like a gardener yanking up seedlings to see if roots formed. The moment I quit timing my transformation was the moment it actually began. Not because I became disciplined or wise, but because I got tired of yelling at myself for not blooming on schedule. Turns out, rushing doesn’t speed things up—it just muffles the quiet work happening underneath. I didn’t learn to trust the process; I just stopped interrupting it. And weirdly, that’s when things started sticking. Not perfectly. Not fast. But steadily. Like moss on stone—unimpressive until you realize it moved mountains.
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It is incredibly cruel of so many judges to push murderous thugs on the innocent public! And double shame on anyone who funds them to do so.
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