#WellspringWednesday #CreateYourNow #HealthAndWellness

But you’re not the same person who walked into those rooms. And that’s a strange kind of grief, isn’t it? Grieving something that isn’t gone — it just doesn’t fit the way it used to.

Or maybe for you it’s not a relationship. Maybe it’s a role. The title you carried proudly for years — the one that used to define you — and now it feels like a borrowed coat. Too heavy. Too stiff. You keep wearing it because you don’t know who you are without it, but every morning it gets a little harder to button up and pretend it’s still yours.

Here’s what I want you to know: that ache? It’s not a warning sign. It’s not God telling you something went wrong. It’s the exact opposite. It’s the stretch marks of the soul, and they only show up when something inside you is expanding faster than the space you’ve been living in.

Think about it this way. When a child has growing pains — those middle-of-the-night, throbbing-leg, “Mama, it hurts” moments — no parent panics and says, “Quick, make her stop growing!” You rub their legs. You tell them it’s going to be okay. You remind them that what hurts right now is actually proof that their body is doing exactly what it was made to do. So why don’t we extend ourselves the same grace?

I think it’s because we’ve been quietly taught that discomfort means disobedience. That if we were really walking in God’s will, the path would be smoother. But Scripture tells a very different story. Romans 8:28 says, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” All things. Not just the beautiful things. Not just the comfortable things. The aching, awkward, “I don’t even recognize myself anymore” things — He’s working in those too.

And sometimes, honestly? The discomfort is the work.

I remember a season — and maybe you’ve had one like it — where I had to let go of something I loved. Not because it was bad. It was good. It was familiar. But it had become a hiding place, and God doesn’t grow us in hiding places. He grows us in open fields where the wind can reach us. Where we’re exposed, yes — but also where we can finally spread out. That letting go didn’t feel like freedom at first. It felt like loss. But on the other side of it? That’s where the bloom was waiting.

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg.”

I love that. Because it captures the absurdity of what we sometimes try to do — we want the wings without the cracking. We want the new life without the death of the old shape. But that’s not how becoming works.

Becoming is a series of holy interruptions. It’s God saying, I love you too much to let you stay comfortable when I created you for something bigger. And if that makes your chest tight and your eyes sting a little — good. That means you’re paying attention. Grow through the ache.

The K.I.S.S. ~ Grow through the ache!

So what do we do with the ache? How do we keep walking when every step stretches us past what feels safe?

1. NAME ONE AREA where growth is causing discomfort, and resist the urge to shrink back to a more comfortable size.

This takes more courage than it sounds like. Because shrinking is so subtle. It doesn’t announce itself. It shows up as “maybe I was being too ambitious,” or “I should just be grateful for what I have,” or “who am I to think I could do that?”

And gratitude is beautiful, and humility is necessary. But there’s a difference between being humble and being hidden.

Isaiah 54:2 says, “Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back; lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes.”

God isn’t asking you to be comfortable. He’s asking you to make room.

• • Maybe right now that means staying in the hard conversation instead of backing away from it.
  • Maybe it means keeping your hand raised for that opportunity even though your voice shook when you said yes.
  • Maybe it means simply admitting out loud, “I’m growing, and it doesn’t feel good yet, but I’m not going to stop.”

Name the place. Stay in it. And remind yourself that the ache isn’t a stop sign — it’s a growth marker.

2. GIVE yourself PERMISSION to grieve what you’re outgrowing (a habit, a role, a version of yourself — without guilt).

This one is so important, and it’s the one most of us skip. We jump straight from “old season” to “new season” like there’s no hallway in between.

But there is a hallway, and it’s called grief, and it’s holy ground. You’re allowed to miss who you were. You’re allowed to mourn the friendships that shifted, the routines that no longer serve you, the version of yourself who had it all figured out — even if “figured out” really just meant “under control.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”

A time to plant and a time to uproot. A time to hold on and a time to let go. Grieving isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s your heart’s way of honoring what was real before making space for what’s next.

So if you need to cry about it — cry. If you need to journal three ugly pages about how unfair it feels — do it. And then get up, wash your face, and keep becoming. The tears don’t disqualify you. They water the soil.

3. ANCHOR yourself in one scripture that reminds you that stretching is part of God’s design for your life.

When the ache hits — and it will — you need something to grab onto that isn’t your feelings. Feelings are real, but they aren’t always reliable narrators. Scripture is. Find one verse that speaks directly to where you are and plant your feet on it.

Maybe it’s Philippians 1:6: “Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” He started this. He’s not going to leave it half-done.

Or maybe it’s James 1:2-4: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

Perseverance is finishing its work in you right now — even when it feels like falling apart. Write your verse on a sticky note. Put it on your mirror. Say it out loud in the car when that familiar ache creeps in. Let it be your anchor when the stretching makes you want to snap back to who you were.

Please remember this: the discomfort you’re feeling is not a sign that you’re failing. It’s a sign that you’re outgrowing. And the only thing worse than the pain of growing is the pain of staying the same when God has called you to more.

You’re not falling apart, my friend. You’re being reshaped. And the woman on the other side of this ache will look back and realize every stretch mark was a story—and every story pointed to a God who loved her enough to never leave her where she was.

Let it go and keep growing, especially when it hurts.

“Be present. Be incredible. Be YOU!!!“