The Quiet Ways We Grow
I have been thinking a lot about how we change without noticing. Not the dramatic turning points, but the slow shifts in perspective that quietly shape who we become. We all have expectations of who we would be. Then there is the reality of who we are today. Somewhere in between is a long trail of lessons. Some hurt. Some heal. All of them matter.
Looking back, I can see four or five themes that have kept resurfacing over the years. Each one softened or sharpened me in ways I didn’t expect. Each one still shapes the way I show up in the world.
From striving to be likable, to learning to be myself
For a long time, I believed being likable was a survival skill. I said yes quickly. I apologized even when nothing was my fault. I tried to be the “easy” person in every room. It worked on the outside. People liked me. But inside, I felt like I was storing away small betrayals of myself, one after another.
Then one day in my late 30’s, someone casually said, “You are so easygoing.” Instead of feeling complimented, I felt tired. That was the moment I realized I had built a version of myself that was convenient for everyone but me. Likability had become a reflex. Authenticity was a muscle I hadn’t used in years.
The shift didn’t happen overnight. It was a slow process of choosing honesty over harmony, even when my voice shook a little. I learned that being myself doesn’t mean being rude. It means being real. And real people are not universally liked, but they are respected. Today, I try to live authentically. I want others to meet the real me. It’s not the edited version I once thought they deserved.
Being tolerant, but not at the cost of my peace
In my 20’s, I thought tolerance meant absorbing everything quietly. Difficult people. Thoughtless behavior. Repeating patterns of disrespect. I believed “good people” gave endless chances. So I kept giving. I kept understanding. I kept trying to see the “bright side” even when the situation was draining me.
Years later, I noticed a different fatigue settling in. I wasn’t tired of what people were doing to me. I was tired from what I was allowing. That realization changed me more than anything else.
Tolerance is a beautiful value. But tolerance without boundaries is self-neglect. Today I still try to be patient and understanding, but not at the cost of my own peace. I no longer feel guilty for distancing myself from what hurts me. Peace is not something others hand to us. It’s something we protect fiercely and intentionally.
Outgrowing the urge to prove myself
There was a phase when everything felt like a scoreboard. Every success had to be visible. Every achievement had to mean something. I chased external validation because it felt like the world demanded proof of my worth.
But somewhere along the way, the chase became exhausting. I remember a late-night meeting years ago. I was presenting something I had worked on for weeks. Everyone nodded. The meeting moved on. Nothing dramatic happened. But on the ride home, I felt something shift.
I realized I didn’t need a room full of nods anymore. I just needed to feel proud of the work. That night, I realized that internal validation is quieter but far more stable. Today, I still work hard, still chase excellence, still dream big. But I no longer need the world to clap every time I take a step. I clap for myself in small, private ways. It’s enough.
Choosing depth over speed
There was a time when speed felt like success. Quick decisions, quick judgments, quick conclusions. The faster I moved, the smarter I thought I was. But with time, I started noticing what speed makes us miss.
People aren’t quick. Healing isn’t quick. Relationships aren’t quick. Growth definitely isn’t quick.
Now I find myself slowing down. Listening longer. Pausing before reacting. Letting questions hang in the air without rushing to answer them. This shift has changed the way I talk, work, raise my child, and even love.
One of my clearest memories of slowing down was from a morning a few years ago. I was in the middle of a busy week. My mind was already running through tasks. My daughter tugged at my hand and said, “Come see the sunlight on the floor. It looks like gold.”
I almost said, “Later.” But something in her voice made me stop. We stood there for a few seconds, looking at nothing more than light on a tiled floor. But in those seconds, I felt something loosen inside me. That moment still reminds me that life reveals its beauty to those who pause long enough to notice.
Realizing that strength and softness can exist together
In my younger years, I wore strength like armor. I believed softness made me vulnerable. I didn’t want to be seen as fragile or emotional. So I toughened up. I became the reliable one, the resilient one, the person who “handled everything.” But inside, I yearned to be held, understood, and allowed to break sometimes.
Age does something strange to us. It makes us stronger in practical ways but softer in emotional ones. Today, I cry more easily but recover faster. I express myself more openly but stay grounded. I can say “This hurts” without feeling weak. I can be gentle without feeling small.
Strength without softness is rigidity. Softness without strength is fragility. With time, I realized I needed both. They are not opposites. They are companions.
Becoming more forgiving of my past self
When I look back now, I see all the versions of myself that tried so hard. The one who wanted to please. The one who feared conflict. The one who tolerated too much. The one who ran fast. The one who didn’t know any better.
I no longer criticize her. I thank her. She kept me going until I learned what I needed to learn.
If there is one thing age gives us, it is perspective. Not the noisy kind, but a quiet understanding of why we were the way we were. That forgiveness becomes peace, and peace becomes freedom.
The person we become
We don’t wake up one day transformed. Growth happens in whispers. In small realizations. In unexpected stillness. In conversations that stay with us. In the way our heart softens or our voice steadies.
I am still becoming. We all are.
And maybe that is the point. Not perfection. Not certainty. But becoming a little more honest, a little more aware, a little more ourselves with every year that passes.
If I can sum up my journey so far, it would be this: we grow up quietly. One day, we look back and realize we have changed in all the ways that matter.
Note: Personally curated self-growth resources are available on PurplleWave whenever you need them.
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