What is the shape of becoming?

A letter from the in-between, where growth is quiet and progress wears no crown.

A few days ago, I was chatting with a friend I’d only recently met when she asked me a simple question: “How have you been?” Now, if you know me well, you’d expect a quick, clean reply. Something like, “I’m good.” Or “God is faithful.” Curt. Safe. Just enough to move the conversation along. But that morning, the words felt hollow. I stared at the screen, at the message I’d typed. It was polite, polished, but completely untrue. So I paused because hitting send would’ve meant telling a beautiful lie. And I couldn’t do that, not that day. Instead, I sat with the question a little longer. I actually thought about how I was doing. And then, I sent something else. A little rambling. It was a little raw. Maybe more poetic and emotional than necessary. But it was true.

“I don’t quite know how to answer the question. Maybe it's easier to describe it. Lately, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of myself, somewhere between who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. Just ahead, I see a winding road that seems to lead to something beautiful. Maybe it’s purpose. Maybe it’s paradise. I don’t know. All I know is it matters.

The path is barely lit. I can only see a few steps at a time, just enough to keep moving, not enough to feel safe. But still, I walk. I make out shadows, colours, outlines, maybe people, maybe places I’m meant to touch. I hear music in the distance, soft, joyful, familiar. Like it’s calling me, but not in a rush. My heart is full. My hands are trembling. I’m not sad. I’m not ecstatic either. Just quietly awake to the weight of it all.

So, how am I? I think I’m in that sacred, awkward space between where I was and where I’m meant to be. I think I am becoming. It is slower than I’d love, but I am learning to listen as I walk forward, one step at a time.”

Her response was gentle. She said she’d been tired, discouraged, and quietly afraid. She’d been questioning her path, wondering why it had to feel so heavy, so unclear. She told me she knew all the “right answers,” but knowing them didn’t make the walk less lonely. She ended her message with a line that hushed something in me: “This too shall pass.” In that moment, without saying it aloud, we both understood that we weren’t lost. We were becoming. That conversation stayed with me. It made me wonder: What does becoming really look like? Not in theory, not in hindsight, but while you're still inside it. And that’s the question this essay explores: What is the shape of becoming? Let’s walk through it together.

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Becoming doesn’t always look like progress

The older I get, the more I realise: becoming is rarely loud. It doesn’t always come with clarity, confidence, or a checklist. It often comes disguised as fatigue, as uncertainty, as the aching silence between what you know and what you hope. There are seasons when everything is in motion, yet nothing seems to be moving. You’re doing the work. You’re showing up. You’re trying. But it still feels like standing still. And that’s the tension: you are changing, even when you don’t feel transformed. You’re evolving, even when you don’t feel impressive. You are becoming, even when all you can measure is survival. Growth doesn’t always announce itself with milestones. Sometimes, it’s hidden in the quiet work of holding on when it would be easier to let go. Sometimes, it’s in the decision to stay soft in a hard world. Sometimes, it’s just choosing to take the next small, invisible step without applause or certainty. There is a shape to becoming. But it’s not always symmetrical. It bends. It stretches. It waits. And more often than not, it feels like walking blindfolded toward a place you only know by heart

Many are waiting for the breakthrough. For the phone call. The open door. The one piece of good news that will make the waiting feel worthwhile. And in the meantime? They’re stuck somewhere between draining jobs, thankless tasks, and a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t all there is. But here’s what no one tells you about becoming: Most of it happens in the dark. There are seasons where everything within you is shifting, your thoughts, your values, your inner compass. But nothing on the outside seems to change. No new job. No big announcement. No applause. Just you, wrestling with questions no one can see, making choices no one celebrates, becoming someone no one yet recognises. Sometimes, becoming might even look like doing the dishes while whispering doubt away. Sometimes it’s answering emails when your soul feels numb. Sometimes it’s simply not quitting on yourself after an ordinary day. We’re taught to expect growth to feel like fire or flight, passionate, cinematic, obvious. But often, it feels like stillness. Like repetition. Like silence so loud you start to hear your own soul again. This is the shape of becoming: Unflashy. Uneven. Sacred.

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Becoming isn’t always seen

One of the hardest parts of becoming is this: not everyone will understand it. You’re changing slowly, deeply, irrevocably, but to the outside world, nothing looks different. You’re showing up with new values, new clarity, new boundaries, but the people around you still speak to the version of you they remember. Or worse, the version that was more convenient. And that can feel lonely. Not because you’ve isolated yourself, but because your evolution is too quiet to announce itself yet. You’re still learning the new language of who you’re becoming. You don’t quite have the words. You just know that you’re not the same. Some people will question your pace. Some will mistake your silence for a lack of ambition. Some will ask you what’s new in your life, and you won’t know how to say, “Everything, and also nothing you can see.” But hear this: Not every transformation comes with fireworks. Some arrive like sunrise, soft, steady, impossible to stop once it starts. And when no one else sees it, you must. You must honour the quiet. You must trust the shift. Because the world may not understand your becoming, but your future self is counting on it.

It was Vladimir Ilyich Lenin who said “There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.”

That line lives in my head like a gentle warning and a quiet promise. Because there are seasons where you’ll feel buried in routine, stuck in sameness, unsure if anything you’re doing matters. You’ll question the point of your efforts, your healing, your choices to take the high road when no one is watching. But growth has a rhythm. And becoming has a timeline. And sometimes, nothing seems to happen for so long until suddenly, everything does. It can take years to build what will bloom in weeks. The inner work you’ve done, the decisions, the discipline, the tears you wiped in silence, none of it is wasted. It’s compost. It’s seed. It’s architecture for a future that doesn’t arrive until it’s ready to be carried. And when the shift comes, because it will, you’ll look around and realise: the person it needed most… was the version of you that didn’t give up during the stillness.

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The shape of becoming

Becoming is not a straight line. It is a spiral. A slow unfolding. A shedding and a re-rooting. And though it rarely comes with a map, it always leaves a shape behind, a shape drawn in the quiet choices you make when no one’s watching. If you’re in that space, the in-between, the almost, the ache of not-quite-there, here are five things to hold onto:

1. Stay faithful to small routines: You don’t need to overhaul your life overnight. You need to honour the simple things that keep you steady. The morning stretch. The journal entry. The one chapter read before bed. The prayer whispered half-asleep. These tiny rituals are not meaningless. They are bricks. Quiet, repetitive, and unglamorous, yes. But over time, they build the path beneath your feet. The difference between stagnation and transformation is often a single small act done every day.

2. Honour your pace: We live in a world obsessed with speed. But growth is not a race; it’s a rhythm. Some roots take longer to deepen. Some seasons are slower because they’re sacred. Don’t let someone else’s highlight reel rush your process. Your timeline is not broken. It’s bespoke. Honour the unfolding, even if it feels late. Even if it feels like nothing is moving. Some of the best work happens underground.

3. Keep showing up, even when it’s quiet: There will be days when the work feels thankless. When no one sees your effort. When you question whether your prayers, your progress, your persistence even matter. But faithfulness in silence is not wasted. It’s soul muscle. Showing up when it’s quiet is how you build something solid enough to withstand the noise when it finally arrives. Every quiet day is an investment in the future version of you.

4. Choose integrity when no one is clapping: Becoming means being the person you aspire to be, even when there’s no audience. Even when the shortcut is tempting. Even when no one would fault you for cutting corners. Why? Because every time you honour your values in the dark, you become more trustworthy to carry the light. Fame will test your character. But obscurity will shape it. Don’t waste the shaping.

5. Speak kindly to yourself: You are not lazy. You are not failing. You are not falling behind. You are in process. And process is messy. Be careful with the voice in your head. If it constantly berates you, starves you, mocks you, you won’t grow. You’ll shrink. Becoming requires nourishment. Speak to yourself like someone worth keeping. Like someone you love. Because you are, and you’re worth hearing from, even now.

In closing, becoming is not about rushing toward the finish line. It’s about learning how to walk faithfully when the road is dim, the steps are slow, and the world isn’t watching. So if all you can do today is breathe, listen, and take one more quiet step forward, you’re doing it right. That’s the shape of becoming. And it’s beautiful because it’s you.

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