Honestly, Sandie

MATURITY MONDAYS (NO DRAMA REQUIRED)

I was reading something I wrote back in 2020 about comfort zones and growth, and I had to laugh because I remember exactly who I was when I wrote it. I really believed that if things felt too comfortable, it meant I needed to change something. Like growth lived somewhere outside of my life, and the only way to get to it was to disrupt everything I knew.

And that thinking didn’t come out of nowhere. It was built. Reinforced. Repeated.

I sat in rooms where we talked about being intentional about growth, thinking bigger, pushing further, not making excuses but finding opportunity. I remember hearing things like “if we stop growing, we die” and feeling like that meant there was no room to pause. No room to question. Just move. Just do. Just become more.

It sounded like maturity.

It felt like pressure.

And the wild part is, you don’t realize it while you’re in it. You think you’re being developed. You think you’re becoming someone strong, disciplined, purpose-driven. And in some ways, you are. But in other ways, you’re learning how to override yourself.

Override your exhaustion.
Override your questions.
Override the quiet voice that says… this doesn’t feel right.

Because the answer is always the same. Think bigger. Do more. Keep going.

And I lived there for a long time.

So now, sitting in my life as it is today, I can see how that pattern followed me. Working a job, writing when I can, feeling this pull toward something more creative, more honest, more aligned with who I actually am… there’s still that part of me that wants to handle discomfort the same way.

Fix it.
Change everything.
Prove I’m growing.

Combat. I’m ready for combat.

Even when I say I don’t want that.

And that’s the part I see now.

Because recently, I had one of those moments that stopped me in my tracks. Not a big, life-altering moment. Those don’t shake me the way they used to. It was something small. A mess. A disruption. One of those everyday things that shouldn’t matter as much as it does.

And that’s what got me.

And I could feel it… the reaction, the internal speeches, the version of me that used to jump in immediately just to release the tension.

I’ve got a hundred thrown-out speeches.

But this time, I didn’t say them.

I stayed.

And that’s new.

Because what I’m starting to understand is that I’ve been both.

The one reacting.

And the one observing it.

The archer.

And the prey.

And maturity… it lives right in the middle of that awareness.

Not in pretending the reaction isn’t there.

But in not letting it run the whole story.

Because the truth is, the big things don’t unravel me anymore. I can hold those. I can stay steady in those. But the little things? Those are the ones that reveal what’s still sitting underneath.

And instead of trying to fix that immediately, I’m learning to understand it.

And at the same time, there’s this other voice that’s been showing up. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just steady.

The voice that sees seasons. The voice that looks at my life and says… you didn’t go through all of that for no reason. Not in a scripted, everything-was-planned kind of way. In a lived, undeniable way. Like something in me has been forming over time whether I could see it or not.

Because I look at where I am now, sitting in this in-between space, working, writing, feeling this pull toward something I haven’t fully stepped into yet… and I can feel it.

This is part of it.

This uncomfortable, unclear, not-there-yet space.

This is the work.

Not escaping it. Not rushing past it. Staying in it long enough to understand what it’s doing in me.

Because I didn’t leave one system that told me to push, prove, and perform… just to build another one for myself.

I’m not turning becoming a writer into another version of pressure where I have to force it into existence just to feel like I’m growing.

That’s not maturity.

Maturity is staying.

Staying in the life I have. Staying in the tension of knowing there’s more in me without needing to prove it today. Staying in the discomfort without trying to escape it.

Because maybe the point isn’t to force the next version of my life.

Maybe the point is to become someone who can actually hold it when it gets here.

And that doesn’t happen by blowing everything up every time something feels off.

It happens by staying long enough to understand it.

That’s maturity.

Not reaction.

Not pressure.

Not performance.

Just staying.

And letting that change you.

And if that feels slower than what I was taught it should look like… good.

Because for the first time, I can see myself clearly enough to know—

I’m not at war with my life anymore.

Song references and lyrical themes are used for creative and editorial expression only. I do not claim ownership of any lyrics. All rights belong to the original artist. Music continues to inspire the way I think, feel, and write.