Becoming Her, Slowly
Becoming her has been a quiet revolution, not a grand, sweeping transformation. It’s been a process of finding her in the everyday moments—the early mornings, the steady effort, the whispered affirmations on days I doubted myself. She wasn’t waiting for me in some far-off, unattainable place. She was slowly taking shape in each simple act of intention and faith.
I used to admire women who seemed to embody a kind of effortless strength and grace. They walked into rooms, not loudly but with a presence that gently commanded attention. Their lives seemed composed in ways I couldn’t comprehend, like their worlds weren’t spinning a little too fast beneath the surface. What I didn’t see back then was the discipline behind the grace, the intention behind their elegance, and the self-awareness it must have taken to arrive at that space.
One day, in a quiet moment of clarity, I stopped admiring her from the sidelines and decided to create her for myself. It wasn’t as much a decision as it was a surrender—a realization that becoming her wasn’t about chasing some perfect version of myself. It was about leaning into the woman I already was, with all her flaws and fears and magic, and letting her evolve, little by little.
The first step was the hardest, as it often is. I had to come to terms with the fact that the life I wanted wouldn’t happen by default. She—the woman I admired, the one I wanted to be—was only going to emerge through intention. Yet, I didn’t need sweeping changes; I needed small, deliberate choices. Decisions that spring from a quiet kind of discipline, the kind that feels less like rigidity and more like self-respect.
Each day became a canvas. I began waking up just a little earlier, not to rush into productivity but to sit with myself. Sometimes, I’d sip tea by the window, letting the steam curl and wrap around my fingers. Other times, I’d journal, writing down the kind of woman I was becoming, asking myself how I could move a fraction closer to her that day. These weren’t grand declarations of change—they were gentle promises.
I stopped chasing perfection and started leaning into grace. Grace meant forgiving myself when I stumbled, which I often did. It meant treating mistakes not as evidence of inadequacy but as valuable teachers. Grace was acknowledging that she—the woman I was becoming—wasn’t unreachable but also wouldn’t be rushed. She required patience, compassion, and the space to grow.
Discipline didn’t always feel glamorous. Some days, it was just showing up. Going for a walk when I’d rather stay curled in bed. Saying no to things misaligned with the life I was building, even when guilt threatened to creep in. Carving out time to move my body, even when I felt clumsy. Discipline wasn’t just about consistent action; it was about rooting those actions in love, not pressure.
Over time, I started noticing her in the mirror—not all at once, like a sudden reveal, but in fragments, in the way the sunrise spills across a room gradually. She appeared in the clarity of my skin after weeks of honoring my body with water and nourishment. She arrived in the steady rhythm of my breath during evening stretches. She was there in the softness of my voice when speaking to myself, in the strength I felt when I respected my boundaries.
Becoming her wasn’t about shedding who I was. It was about layering grace over discipline, intention over monotony, and kindness over criticism. It wasn’t about trying to impress the world; it was about creating a life that felt true to me.
And maybe that’s the secret the women I once admired had already understood. That the glow we sometimes envy in others isn’t blessed into them, but built, day by day. That becoming her isn’t so much a destination as it is a relationship—a commitment you make with yourself to honor the person you’re meant to be.
To anyone on this path, here’s what I’ve learned so far. Becoming her is slow, yes, but it’s the most worthwhile kind of slow. Show up every day with intention, however small. Be disciplined, but never at the expense of grace. And remember, the beauty of this process isn’t just in who you’re becoming—it’s in how you get there. Quietly, patiently, with a love for the woman you get to meet along the way.
