Latest / Still Standing: Stories of Resilience, Survival & Strength / Patience Is Not Waiting: Choosing Stillness in a Hurry | Still Standing
Transcript
- I used to think patience was just the ability to sit still while life happened around me, but I was wrong. It is actually one of the most violent, active choices you can make. Take a breath with me. Right now. Feel your shoulders drop away from your ears. Let’s sit in that for a second. We have this cultural idea that patience is passive. We treat it like a virtue of endurance, something you practice when you are stuck in traffic, or waiting for a text back, or standing in line at the grocery store. We tell ourselves we are being patient, as if we are simply holding our breath until the obstacle disappears. But lately, I have been realizing that this definition is not just limiting; it is exhausting. Because if patience is just waiting, then it implies that you are powerless. It suggests that you are a passenger in your own life, forced to endure the timeline of everyone else. And if that is true, then every time you feel impatient, you are failing. You are lacking discipline. You are weak. But what if impatience isn’t a character flaw? What if it is a signal? A signal that you are trying to force an outcome that doesn’t belong to you yet. That changes everything. It moves the needle from judgment to curiosity. Instead of asking why I can’t wait, I start asking what I am afraid will happen if I don’t control the pace. Let’s talk about what did that cost you? When we try to speed up nature, when we try to rush healing, or growth, or connection, there is always a bill coming due. I learned this the hard way. In my corporate days, I treated my career like a ladder where I had to sprint between rungs. If I didn’t get promoted by thirty, I felt like I was falling behind. I wasn’t building; I was burning. And when I burned out, I didn’t just rest. I tried to rush my recovery. I wanted to be fixed. I wanted to snap back into productivity because that is what I knew. But healing is not linear. It is messy and slow and deeply personal. When I tried to force myself back into the high-pressure environment before I was ready, I ended up right back where I started, only more depleted. That was the moment I realized that patience is not passive waiting. It is an active boundary. It is saying no to the version of myself that wants quick fixes. It is choosing to trust the process even when the process feels invisible. It is showing up for yourself when there is no applause, no promotion, no visible result. It is doing the work in the dark, knowing that roots grow silently before the plant ever breaks the surface. Think about a tree. Have you ever watched a seedling? It looks so fragile. One strong wind could knock it over. But underneath, deep in the soil where you cannot see, something intense is happening. The roots are searching. They are anchoring. They are connecting. This happens without fanfare. There is no noise. No celebration. Just steady, relentless growth in the dark. Most of us want the bloom. We want the Instagram photo, the finished project, the healed relationship. We do not want the root work. But the root work is where the strength lives. Patience, then, is the act of trusting the roots. It is believing that just because you cannot see progress, does not mean nothing is happening. This requires a kind of faith that goes against our modern wiring. Our phones give us instant feedback. Every swipe, every click, every notification provides immediate data. We are trained to expect instant results in every area of life. So when love takes time, or when health takes months, or when a business takes years to find its footing, we panic. We interpret silence as failure. But silence is often just space. Space for integration. Space for depth. To choose patience is to choose to look beneath the surface. It is to accept that some things cannot be rushed, and that rushing them would only destroy their potential. So how do we practice this? How do we move from passive suffering to active choosing? First, we have to name the urge. When you feel that tightness in your chest, that desire to push, to fix, to accelerate, pause. Do not act on it. Just notice it. Say to yourself, 'I am feeling the need to control this.' Acknowledge it. Then, ask yourself a simple question: What is mine to do right now? Often, the answer is nothing. Or perhaps, the answer is just to breathe. Or to water the plants. Or to write one page. Small, manageable actions that honor the present moment rather than chasing a future ideal. This is active patience. It is not sitting on your hands. It is doing exactly what is required, with full attention, without attaching your worth to the speed of the result. I have found that this approach brings a profound sense of peace. Not the peace of having everything figured out, but the peace of knowing that I am enough, even in the in-between. Even in the waiting. Especially in the waiting. Because in that space, I am learning who I am without the external validation. I am learning to trust myself. And that is a gift that no amount of rushing could ever provide. We also need to remember that we do not have to do this alone. Community is such a powerful container for patience. When we are surrounded by people who judge our speed, who measure our worth by our output, it is incredibly hard to stay grounded. But when we find people who understand that growth is non-linear, who celebrate the small steps, who sit with us in the uncertainty, the burden lightens. I think back to the conversations I’ve had with women who are also navigating their own transitions. We share stories of our stumbles, our fears, our quiet victories. And in those moments, I realize that my journey is not unique. My struggle is not a sign of failure. It is part of the human experience. This shared understanding creates a safety net. It allows us to take our time. It gives us permission to be imperfect. To be slow. To be human. And in that humanity, we find resilience. Not the loud, heroic kind, but the quiet, enduring kind. The kind that keeps us going when the road gets long. The kind that reminds us that we are not alone. That someone else is walking beside us, even if we cannot see them. Even if they are miles away. Their presence is a reminder that we are part of something larger. Something that unfolds in its own time. Finally, let’s talk about the beauty of the unseen work. There is a quiet dignity in doing things that no one sees. Washing the dishes. Making the bed. Showing up to therapy. Writing in your journal. These acts may seem mundane. They may seem insignificant. But they are the bricks that build the foundation of your life. When we embrace patience, we stop looking for shortcuts. We stop seeking the easy way out. We commit to the hard, slow, beautiful work of becoming. And in that commitment, we find freedom. Freedom from the need to prove ourselves. Freedom from the anxiety of comparison. Freedom to simply be. To exist. To live. This is not about giving up. It is about letting go. Letting go of the illusion that we can control everything. Letting go of the belief that we must earn our rest. Letting go of the fear that if we stop moving, we will fall apart. Instead, we discover that we are held. By ourselves. By our values. By the quiet strength that has been within us all along. So today, I invite you to choose patience. Not as a passive state, but as an active practice. Choose to trust the timing of your life. Choose to honor the roots. Choose to be gentle with yourself. Because you are doing better than you think. You are growing in ways you cannot yet see. And that is enough. More than enough. It is everything. Thank you for listening, for staying, for showing up for yourself today. I’ll be here next week. Until then, be gentle. Be brave. Take care of that heart of yours. Love you.