Raspberry Iced M

I have a lot of fears.

Some rational. Some irrational. Some that probably need to be discussed with Jesus. And possibly my therapist.

But underneath the ones I tell people out loud – snakes, clowns, squirrels (don’t ask), being robbed at gunpoint – there is one fear that I keep quiet out of embarrassment and a lack of ability to adequately explain:

What if I never ‘become?’

What if I never become the woman I am trying to hard to be? What if I spend the rest of my life working on myself without ever actually becoming someone different? What if I am always a work in progress? What if the worst things I have done really do say more about me than everything I have tried to do since? What if I never become peaceful, disciplined, wise, emotionally healthy, faithful? What if I get to the end of my life and realize I spent all of it trying to be someone I can tolerate…but never fully arrived?

That terrifes me.

I think I’ve been waiting for that arrival. I have imagined growth like a destination.

Someday I’ll get there. Someday I’ll be healed. Someday I’ll respond perfectly. Someday I’ll stop caring what other people think. Someday I’ll be disciplined enough to get out of bed on time and complete every task on my list. Someday my past won’t bother me. Someday I’ll be the woman I write about.

But I’m beginning to suspect that day isn’t coming. Not because I am incapable of change, but because becoming doesn’t have a finish line.

I keep looking for evidence. As emotional as I can be, I am also perceptive enough to want proof that I’ve changed. Something tangible. Measurable. I finally lost that 30 pounds. It’s been six months since I last missed a church service. I folded laundry every day for a month. Before and after pictures would be convenient.

But unfortunately character doesn’t photograph particularly well. So sometimes I look for evidence in other people. Do they notice? Do they trust me more? Do they see me differently? Have they forgiven me? Do they believe I’ve changed?

And if I don’t like my own answers to those questions, I catch myself thinking hopeless, helpless things. Things I don’t say out loud. Things I haven’t even told my therapist. I’ve asked the Lord if I really am evil. If I am beyond repair. If who I really am, at my core, lies inside the awful things I’ve done. And if all of this hard work of trying to be a better person is just another performance…another mask…another impossible task.

I scroll through TikTok and I see posts that contain information that seems valid. “Once is a mistake. Twice is a choice. Three times is a pattern, which reveals character.” Or, “I forgive you, but you’ll never have a seat at my table again.” Or, “10 traits of a narcissist,” and then recognizing myself in 3 or 4 of them.

I have learned that you can find a quote online to match any argument you’ll ever make. So if there are people in the world who really believe I’m a terrible person – that I’ve made too many irredeemable, hurtful decisions – it must be true…right?

And that’s where ‘becoming’ crosses into dangerous territory. Because if I require someone else’s recognition to validate my growth, I’ve handed that person authority over something that belongs in God’s hands. And the reality is that some people may never update the version of me they have concocted in their minds. Some people may always remember me at my worst. And what cripples me these days is the realization that those people have perfectly understandable reasons for doing so. If those people can’t get past their own narratives, I have to learn to live with that.

I cannot demand that anyone recognizes any changes I’ve made. That’s humbling. Changed behavior does not create an obligation for someone else to trust me again. An apology doesn’t require forgiveness on my timeline. Growth doesn’t erase consequences. And becoming a healthier person today doesn’t undo the ways I hurt someone yesterday.

That’s part of accountability. I can wish for another chance. I can wish someone saw me differently without demanding that they do. I can hope for reconciliation without believing I am entitled to it.

And I can change anyway.

Maybe that’s the test. Would I still want to become better if nobody applauds? Would I still choose integrity if the people whose opinions matter most to me never change their minds? Would I still go to therapy? Pray? Apologize? Control my reactions? Keep my promises? Work on myself?

If nobody ever said, “Wow, you’ve really changed,” would the change still be worth it?

And the answer is yes. Otherwise, I’m still performing for approval…in a healthier-looking costume.

So maybe ‘becoming’ is happening in smaller places. Maybe I’ve been gearing up for something dramatic, when all along, transformation happens on a tinier, more consistent scale.

Not responding to nasty gossip. Recognizing the fear-based voice inside my head without embracing what it tells me. Apologizing without defending a mistake I made. Allowing questions to go unanswered without pressuring God or anyone else to provide clarity. Letting people misunderstand on their own without explaining myself. Noticing when I am falling back into an old pattern. Asking myself numerous times a day if a decision I’m making aligns with my values. Keeping ordinary promises. Staying when it’s the right thing to do. Leaving alone what isn’t mine to fix. Praying first.

None of those things are particularly impressive. But they’re different. And maybe different matters.

Trees don’t spend their whole lives checking their height. A tree doesn’t dig itself up every three weeks to make sure its roots are growing. It just stays planted. Accepts water. Reaches toward the light. It survives seasons, gets pruned…

…and eventually…

…it bears fruit.

So maybe I’m not supposed to be inspecting my roots so often. Maybe I’m not supposed to gaslight myself into believing I’m still a horrible evil person under different dressing.

Maybe my job is simply to remain standing. To keep showing up. To keep choosing what is good. To keep depending on the Lord to remove things (and people) that aren’t necessary. And trust that I am getting taller even if I cannot measure it.

It’s funny…I think God is probably a lot less anxious about my timeline than I am. “He who began a good work in us will carry it on to completion.” I like that verse, and there is something important about its language. God is the one doing the completing. Not me. My responsibilities consist of obedience, willingness, repentance, and faithfulness. I don’t have to wake up tomorrow as the finished version of myself. I just have to trust Him enough to take the next faithful step.

Maybe I will never ‘become.’ Maybe I’ll turn 40…still ‘becoming.’ Or 70. Maybe I’ll spend my entire life discovering things He wants to soften, strengthen, remove, heal, or reshape.

And maybe that’s not actually a sign that I’ve failed. Maybe ‘becoming’ isn’t the thing that happens after all the work. Maybe becoming is the work.

So if my biggest fear lies inside the question, “What if I never ‘become?’” – it’s possible that I’ve been asking the wrong question.

Maybe the better question is, “Did I move toward her today?”

Did I tell the truth? Did I love well? Did I practice restraint? Did I keep my work? Did I allow God to correct me? Did I back up when I failed?

If I can answer yes – even imperfectly – then maybe I don’t need to be so afraid.

And perhaps the woman I am trying so desperately to reach isn’t standing somewhere far ahead of me, waiting for me to finally get my act together.

Maybe she’s being built now.

In the apologies. In the ordinary Tuesdays. In the prayers. In the boundaries. In the consequences. In the choices no one sees. In every quiet, unwatched moment when I could return to who I was…and instead…decide differently.

I don’t have to arrive today. I just have to keep ‘becoming.”