Growth Isn’t Linear—It Loops, Backtracks, and Begins Again

We tend to imagine growth as a straight upward path. Like if you just read enough books, go to enough therapy sessions, or push through enough hard days, you’ll arrive somewhere confident, grounded, and whole. But real growth doesn’t work like that. It’s far messier.

Growth moves in spirals. It loops back around. It revisits old wounds, but with wiser eyes. And sometimes, it begins with collapse before it ever looks like clarity.

If you’ve read Get Grounded, you know that my move from New York City to Denver wasn’t smooth. It was, quite honestly, one of the loneliest and most disorienting seasons of my life. I left a city that was fast, full, and familiar for one that felt still and unfamiliar. I didn’t have friends in Denver. I didn’t have a community yet. My job was draining, and my boss—let’s just say, not the most supportive. I was overwhelmed. But more than that, I was unanchored.

I knew something had to change, but I didn’t know where to begin. That’s the thing about transformation it’s often born from necessity, not vision.

The first step was the hardest: admitting I wasn’t okay. Not just to the people around me, but to myself. So I did the only thing I could manage at the time: I broke it down.

I didn’t start with a five-year plan or a grand reinvention. I started with something simple a smile in the morning. One quiet breath. One small acknowledgment that I was still here, still trying. I practiced gratitude. I began writing in a journal. Not because I had anything profound to say, but because putting my thoughts on paper helped me make sense of the chaos in my head.

Journaling, for me, wasn’t about documenting a journey. It was about surviving one.

Little by little, the fog started to clear. I noticed what I needed more of connection, creativity, purpose. I paid attention to what was draining me. And rather than trying to fix everything at once, I began working backwards: identifying what wasn’t working and choosing one small thing each day to shift.

That’s how I slowly began to rebuild my life in Denver.

Not with grand gestures, but with grounded ones. A walk around the neighborhood. A phone call with someone who really heard me. A few brave moments of asking for what I needed. A few quiet ones of letting go of what I didn’t.

We don’t often talk about the middle of growth, the part after the decision to change, but before anything really looks different. The part where you’re still in the weeds, still questioning, still tired, but showing up anyway.

That’s the part that matters most.

If you’re there now, I want you to know you’re not failing. You’re becoming.

And if it all feels too big, start small. Smile in the morning. Write down what you’re feeling. Celebrate small wins. Let that be enough. Because often, the real transformation isn’t in how far you leap, but in the moment you decide you’re worth the effort of beginning again.

Growth isn’t linear. It’s lived. And every time you show up, even a little bit, you’re doing the work.