Making Space for Growth: Grace, Silence, and Starting Again

Estimated reading time: 6 minutes

2024 stirred up memories of another time when my voice went quiet: 2021. That year started with fire in my belly and big dreams about making space for growth on the horizon. But it slowly unraveled into a season I could not put into words. At the time, I thought I had failed. Really, I just needed to let it all ruminate.

This time, I know better. Silence is not failure. It is space. Space to process. Space to wrestle with what is messy or hard. And this year was hard.

Finding meaning in the quiet

If I am honest, I fought against that quiet. I thought it meant I was falling behind or that I was not doing enough. But silence is not good or bad; it just is. It is space to feel, to grow, to untangle things that are too raw or too complex.

Looking back, I see that some of the biggest shifts in my life happened during those quiet chapters. Growth does not always look like fireworks and grand gestures. Sometimes, it looks like sitting in the stillness, letting yourself just be, and trusting that something is happening, even when you cannot yet see it.

These seasons of emotional resilience through silence teach us to trust the quiet as a place where growth begins.

You are allowed to pause. Your purpose will still be there when you return.

A Christmas walk down memory lane

Over Christmas, my favorite time to reflect, I gave my blog and website a little TLC. As I scrolled through years of posts, I noticed the gaps, especially in 2021.

At first, I wondered: Did I not write much that year because I had nothing to say? Hardly. I had plenty to say. I just was not ready to say it.

That January, I had joined one of CrossFit’s councils, fired up to represent people with chronic diseases and prove that CrossFit is for every body. I was all in, ready to make change happen.

But what I walked into was not what I expected.

When assumptions take over

Two months in, a fellow council member told me I did not belong there because I did not vote a certain way. The irony? My politics have always been private. I never shared them publicly. But that did not matter.

Suddenly, I was being labeled everything from a bigot to a January 6th conspirator by people who never asked, never cared, and never got the full story.

It all started with a twenty-second video I posted on Facebook in November 2020. I was in D.C. for a book signing with a women’s Christian group. The city was packed. The energy was wild. I took a quick video of the crowds. It was not political; it was not a statement. It was a “Hey, Mom, look at this!” moment.

But that clip became something else. People filled in the gaps with their own stories. Their own assumptions.

The problem with surface-level stories

Social media is not built for nuance. It is built for speed. A post, a picture, a twenty-second video. They can all be turned into something they are not, especially by people looking for drama.

We have all seen it. You post a picture of your workout, and someone chimes in with unsolicited advice. You share a moment from an event, and someone comments, “Guess I did not make the cut?” It is wild how something meant to connect can spiral into something it was never meant to be.

This experience taught me to pause. To lead with curiosity. To remember that there is always more to the story than what you see on the surface.

Your worth does not depend on how others interpret a single moment.

Lessons from making space for growth

Looking back, I understand why I did not write much in 2021. It was not because I did not have anything to say. It was because I was still in it, still working through the things I could not name just yet.

What I know now is this. Those silent seasons are where resilience is built. They are where we learn to stay grounded when everything feels shaky. They remind us of what truly matters: family, faith, purpose, and the people who know your heart.

2024 has already reminded me that silence is not empty. It is where the deepest growth happens. And for that, I am thankful.

Grace and curiosity: a dynamic duo

Grace and curiosity are pretty much my survival kit these days.

Maybe you have seen it before. A new member at your gym who seems hesitant during workouts. They are struggling with movements. They do not seem fully into it. It is easy to assume they are not motivated or committed.

What if, instead of assuming, you asked, “How did that movement feel for you today?” That one small question offered with empathy could be the lifeline they need. A reminder that struggling does not mean failing.

Maybe it is you this week. The meal plan? Gone. The workouts? Missed. It is tempting to spiral into self-criticism. “I am failing. Why can I not just stick with it?” But what if you paused, gave yourself some grace, and asked, “What made this week harder?”

If emotional overwhelm has impacted your habits, read more in What Emotional Eating Really Is.

That one question changes everything.

P.S. there is always more beneath the surface

Let us be real. It is easy to look around and feel like everyone else has it figured out. The flawless workout videos. The endless wins. The highlight reels.

And then there is you. Sitting there thinking, “Why is this so hard for me?”

Remember what I said. There is always more beneath the surface. That person who seems miles ahead may be carrying more than you know. Progress is not always flashy. Sometimes, it is quiet. It is slow. It is steady.

Because nobody has it all figured out. Not them, not you, not me. And that is okay.

Let us make space

Grace says it is okay to stumble. Curiosity helps you figure out how to move forward. Together, they create space for real, honest growth.

As we move through 2025, let us make space. Space for the quiet and space for grace when things fall apart. Space for curiosity when life feels messy.

Silence does not mean you are failing. Stumbling does not mean you are stuck.

This year, I will be sharing more stories. The messy. The joyful. The silent. I hope you will make space for yours too.

And yes, space to stop and smell the roses.