The Process of Growth Isn’t a Beautiful Dance; It’s Full of Pain
Acknowledge the truth for what it is; there’s no reason to idolize it
“Most people want to grow, but the price of growth is pain.”— Dan B. Allender
The concept of personal growth has become glamorized. Google has pages of articles on how to attain a growth mindset and turn your failures and losses into success stories, and stories of how you overcame tragedy and “rose out of the ashes.”
But growth comes at a cost. The cost is pain.
Putting colorful descriptions and metaphors around it doesn’t make it hurt less, but that’s exactly what we keep doing.
We’re told that to grow, we must embrace, and even welcome, the process that will lead to wisdom and depth of character that only comes with experience.
It’s true that in order to grow, we do have to accept and work through events and emotions that will affect and challenge our mindsets and comfort zones, but that acclaimed process stinks.
The person you grow into may be more mature and deep, but you’re probably going to go through a lot of pain to get there. You shouldn’t be expected to enjoy the process.
Yet all of the hard things we go through, often by no choice of our own, have been romanticized by poetic phrases like,
“It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.” — Ralph Waldo Emmerson
Or,
“The journey between what you once were and who you are now becoming is where the dance of life really takes place.” — Barbara De Angelis
You don’t waltz your way into growth. You crawl through loss and grief and failure on bruised hands and knees to get there. Death, betrayal, divorce, heartbreak, sickness, loneliness, abuse — those are often the dance partners that lead us to the trophy cup of growth.
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” — Rumi
But that fresh wound is gushing blood and draining your energy.
A cleverly crafted fluffy quote about how beautiful heartache is may sound inspiring when you’re happy and healthy, but it doesn’t help you in the moment when your world is crashing around you, and you’re powerless to stop it, and your heart feels like it’s being crushed inside your chest.
You don’t care how much your pain resembles a butterfly’s cocoon; you’re just trying to survive the day.
It’s ok to let pain be pain. Let the tears flow, and don’t worry about how blotchy your face gets. That’s real life, and real life is hard.
Don’t worry because you can’t see how your pain is a “colorful thread being woven through the tapestry of your life.”
Just take care of yourself.
Pain doesn’t need to be beautiful.
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