Lately, there’s something I’ve been pondering about growth, emotional maturity, and becoming the kind of people we want to be.
For many of us—especially intelligent, thoughtful, analytical people—the instinct when we find ourselves in tough situations or struggles is to learn more. We read another book. Search for more insight. Look for the next revelation, framework, or “aha” moment that will finally unlock change we desperately seek.
And don’t get me wrong: understanding matters. I love learning. I love wisdom. I love digging deeper. My groups are filled with book, article, or video recommendations. Great stuff! I love that my people are learning and growing in many areas. It’s delightful and refreshing.
But sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of information, the stacking piles of suggestions, programs, and ideas. The increasing volume of health trends or psychological insights. At times it can feel crushing…not illuminating.
So, lately I’ve been wondering if sometimes the next step we all need to take isn’t more learning. Maybe it’s more practicing. More doing.
It harkens back to the idea of passive learning vs. active practicing. While knowledge comes by learning, skill comes from practice.
“Passive learning creates knowledge. Active practice creates skill.” ~James Clear
You can understand piano theory and still not know how to play the piano. You can understand the physics of diving into a pool without touching the water. At some point, action is the answer. Your hands must touch the keyboard. Your body must enter the water.
Progress happens through repetition, muscle memory, and imperfect attempts—not more study.
I’ve been trying to practice this in my own life. I’m trying to be more thoughtful with my words. To pause before speaking from pain. To stop myself from turning every hurt into something that must be said aloud in the moment.
I’m actively choosing my responses based on what I’ve learned, and I’m practicing in the moment. It’s a process. I get better with each attempt. I won’t reach perfection, you know, due to being human and all, but I’ll continue to improve, even with setbacks. Even with new obstacles. Even as I falter.
Recently, I found myself in a conversation where people were talking about the sweet plans they’re making with their husbands for retirement. And suddenly grief rose up in me like an ache in my throat.
Five years after losing my husband, grief still walks beside me. Sometimes it feels crushing, like an elephant’s foot on my chest. Other days it’s quieter, like a softer buzz in the background of life.
In the past, I probably would have spoken into that moment. I might have reminded everyone what a gift it is to still have those conversations. I might have shared the pain of knowing those moments are no longer mine.
But this time, I didn’t. Not because I didn’t feel it. Not because it didn’t hurt.
But because I’ve been practicing. Practicing pausing. Practicing letting discomfort exist without immediately reacting to it. Practicing choosing connection over momentary relief.
I’m learning that growth often looks far less dramatic than we imagine.
Success isn’t: “I never messed up.”
Success looks more like:
- I caught myself earlier.
- I paused before reacting.
- I handled it 10% better than last time.
- I softened my response.
- I chose peace one moment sooner.
Tiny victories still count.
I’ve learned to watch for warning signs: tension in my body, emotions rising, the feeling that I’m absolutely right and urgently need to say something.
When that happens, I try to slow myself down. Breathe. Relax my shoulders. Listen, actually LISTEN, instead of preparing my rebuttal. Remember that other people carry experiences I don’t fully understand—just as they often don’t understand mine.
I’ve also found it helpful to have grounding phrases ready for hard moments:
This moment matters.
Peace over being right.
Respond, don’t react.
Feelings are not commands.
Will this matter next week?
Lord, help me respond wisely.
More and more, I’m trying to think of growth as training—not testing. Not pass/fail. Not perfection. But practice.
And I think faith works this way, too.
God certainly grows us through understanding. But often, He grows us through repetition—the ordinary, messy work of trying again…and again. Scripture calls us not just to hear truth, but to live it. Patience, gentleness, self-control, et. al., these are rarely instant transformations. They are built slowly, quietly, through many imperfect but increasingly better attempts.
Growth is messy, and holy all at once.