Moving into relationship with the polarities that arise in change

Moving into relationship with the polarities that arise in CHANGE

Every time I’ve committed to meaningful change in my life, it’s felt like stretching a rubber band. At first there’s energy. Momentum. A sense of possibility. I make the decision, I take the first steps, and everything feels aligned.

And then — snap.

Something goes wrong. Doubt creeps in. The old voice starts whispering, “Maybe this isn’t meant to be.”

For a long time, I believed that snap was a sign to stop.

Change has a strange way of beginning beautifully and then unraveling just enough to make us question everything. I can’t count how many times I’ve committed to something new, only to feel that invisible elastic pull me backward. What starts as clarity and excitement slowly turns into resistance and self-doubt.

I used to mistake that tension for a red light. I no longer believe that.

There are always two forces at work when we choose change. One pulls us toward growth — toward the dream, toward the life we say we want. The other pulls us back toward what’s familiar and safe. I’ve felt that push and pull so many times it began to feel predictable — stretch, stretch, stretch… and then snap.

What I once called failure, I now recognize as something else entirely.

When we move toward something that truly matters to us, we don’t just awaken the dream — we awaken everything that stands in opposition to it.

Desire rises.
And so does fear.

Clarity comes forward.
And so does doubt.

This isn’t bad luck. It isn’t fate stepping in. It’s polarity.

Growth pulls us forward, while old conditioning pulls us back. The tension between those forces can feel sharp, even violent at times. But tension isn’t proof we’re on the wrong path. Often, it’s proof we’ve stepped onto one that matters.

When that tension shows up now, I hear it differently. There’s still a voice — but it no longer sounds like defeat. It sounds almost challenging:

How much do you really want this?
What are you willing to do?

Instead of collapsing, I take a breath. I smile. I dig my heels in.

Because I’ve learned that when things begin to wobble, it doesn’t mean quit. It means get clear. It means refocus. It means tend to the change instead of abandoning it.

The snap is no longer an ending. It’s an invitation.

There’s an idea I once heard that has stayed with me: we are not the waves — we are the water itself. The waves are the fear, the doubt, the emotional storms that rise and fall. The water is who we are beneath it all.

When I remember that, everything softens.

The doubts are still there. The discomfort still comes. But I don’t treat it as a verdict anymore. It’s just weather passing through something deeper and steadier.

The surface may be restless.
But the water remains.

I don’t believe change requires a grand leap. I don’t believe success comes from one bold, dramatic act.

I believe it comes from staying.

From choosing again after the snap.
From taking one small step when you’d rather retreat.
From meeting the fear without handing it the steering wheel.

Our desire for change is often a desire to heal. And healing doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in ripeness. In readiness. In small, steady acts of courage.

The tension will come. The waves will rise.

But the work isn’t to eliminate the storm.

The work is to remember who you are beneath it — and keep going.

What once knocked you down may be the very force that strengthens your roots.

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