The Pain of Growing and the Necessity of Enduring

Sometimes What Feels Like Breaking Is Actually Becoming

First, let me apologize for the lack of blog posts.

It has been far too long since I last shared a reflection here.

The truth is, life has been moving at a pace that has left little room for sitting still. Between new contracts, including my work with Addiction Professionals of North Carolina, and speaking engagements with organizations such as OCCP, LAHEC, Sam Houston State University, and the Connecticut Healthy Campus Initiative in partnership with Wheeler's Connecticut Center for Prevention, Wellness, and Recovery, the days have been full.

Full of travel.

Full of preparation.

Full of opportunities I once prayed for.

And if I am honest, full of growing.

As grateful as I am for every door that has opened, this season has reminded me of something we do not talk about enough: growth is often painful.

We celebrate the achievement, but we rarely discuss the stretching that precedes it.

We applaud the success, but seldom acknowledge the sacrifices, uncertainty, and exhaustion that accompany becoming.

Over the past several months, I have found myself reflecting on the tension between gratitude and weariness. Between embracing new opportunities and mourning the comfort of familiar rhythms. Between excitement about what is unfolding and the very real demands that come with stepping into larger assignments.

What I have learned is that growth does not arrive without resistance.

Every new level of responsibility requires a new level of endurance.

Every answered prayer introduces new challenges.

Every opportunity asks us to become someone capable of carrying it.

And that process can hurt.

There is a version of growth that we celebrate.

It is the promotion. The graduation. The healed relationship. The successful launch. The answered prayer.

Then there is the version of growth we rarely talk about.

The version that hurts.

The version that stretches us beyond what feels comfortable. The version that asks us to release old identities before we are fully settled into new ones. The version that requires us to walk through uncertainty with no guarantee except the belief that something meaningful is being formed within us.

That kind of growth is often mistaken for failure.

I know because I have lived it.

There have been seasons when I questioned everything I thought I knew about myself. Seasons when doors closed without explanation. Seasons when relationships shifted, opportunities disappeared, and the future looked nothing like the picture I had carefully created in my mind.

I wanted relief.

What I received instead was refinement.

At the time, I could not see the difference.

Pain has a way of convincing us that something has gone wrong. Yet some pain is not evidence of destruction. Sometimes it is evidence of development. Just as muscles experience resistance before they become stronger, our spirits, minds, and hearts often encounter pressure before they expand.

The challenge is that growth rarely asks for our permission.

It interrupts our plans.

It exposes our fears.

It reveals wounds we thought had already healed.

It confronts the habits, beliefs, and coping mechanisms that once protected us but can no longer carry us where we are called to go.

And that process can feel brutal.

Especially for those of us who have spent years surviving.

Especially for Black women who have often been taught to endure everything while receiving little space to process what endurance costs.

There is a difference between unhealthy suffering and purposeful endurance.

One diminishes us.

The other develops us.

Purposeful endurance is not pretending the pain does not exist. It is not forcing a smile while silently breaking apart. It is not glorifying exhaustion, burnout, or self-sacrifice.

Purposeful endurance is acknowledging the reality of the struggle while refusing to surrender your belief that this season is producing something greater than what you can currently see.

It is choosing to continue when quitting would be easier.

It is taking one faithful step when certainty is unavailable.

It is allowing yourself to grieve what was while remaining open to what can be.

Endurance is not passive.

It is active courage.

The truth is that some lessons cannot be learned through comfort.

Patience is developed through waiting.

Wisdom is often gained through mistakes.

Compassion grows through suffering.

Faith deepens in uncertainty.

Character is revealed under pressure.

None of these realities make the pain enjoyable.

But they do make it meaningful.

When I look back over my life, the seasons I would never choose again are often the seasons that taught me the most about myself. They exposed strengths I did not know I possessed. They revealed communities I did not know would show up. They taught me that resilience is not the absence of struggle but the decision to keep moving despite it.

Those seasons left receipts.

Receipts that proved I survived things I once believed would break me.

Receipts that showed me I was being prepared, not punished.

Receipts that reminded me that every ending carried the seeds of a beginning I could not yet imagine.

Perhaps that is what we forget when growth becomes painful.

We forget that becoming requires letting go.

The caterpillar cannot become the butterfly without first entering a season that looks remarkably like confinement.

The seed cannot become the tree without first breaking open underground where no one can witness the transformation.

The process is hidden.

The process is uncomfortable.

The process is necessary.

And so if you find yourself in a season that feels heavy, uncertain, or painfully transformative, I want to offer this reminder:

Do not measure your progress solely by your comfort.

Sometimes growth feels like loss before it feels like gain.

Sometimes healing feels like breaking before it feels like restoration.

Sometimes endurance feels like standing still when, in reality, deep roots are forming beneath the surface.

You do not have to enjoy this season to learn from it.

You do not have to have all the answers to keep moving forward.

You do not have to be fearless to continue.

You only have to endure.

One day.

One decision.

One breath.

One act of faith at a time.

Because growth is often painful.

But what is being developed within you may be stronger, wiser, and more aligned than anything you are being asked to leave behind.

The pain is real.

The struggle is real.

But so is the possibility that this very season is perfectly positioning you for what comes next.

Reflection Questions

What discomfort in your life might actually be evidence of growth?

What have you survived that once felt impossible to endure?

What strengths, wisdom, or clarity are emerging from your current season?

How can you honor your pain without allowing it to define your future?

What would it look like to trust that this season is preparing rather than punishing you?

Endure. Not because the journey is easy, but because what is being formed within you is worth the process.