28/08/2025
She Thought She Was Late
She came to me in early spring.
colours
Everything around her seemed to wake up. Trees softened, birds were loud, and colors returned like they had somewhere to be. But she felt still, heavy, and quiet in a way that made her question everything.
“I feel like everyone else is becoming something. I just feel stuck.”
She wasn’t bitter, just tired. She had been holding that question for a while.
“Why not me?”
She told me she keeps seeing people bloom. Friends starting things, changing things, and smiling in photos like they knew exactly who they were now.
She wasn’t angry at them; she was happy for them, really. But she also felt confused and maybe a little ashamed.
What she feared most was that she’d missed her chance. That maybe she’d been too slow or too scared. Maybe life had already picked its favourites, and she wasn’t on the list.
But here’s what I saw: She wasn’t behind. She was becoming.
Quietly and slowly, like something underground that has been growing roots for years before it even thinks of showing a leaf.
It’s true that some people burst open like spring crocuses; fast, bright, early. But others? Others are autumn flowers. They need more time, more stillness, and more depth before they rise.
There’s nothing wrong with blooming late. Late blooms often last longer.
I told her, not in a lecture but gently, that not all growth looks like change at first.
Sometimes what feels like stagnation is really gathering. Sometimes resting is the first step toward movement. And sometimes the pressure to bloom too early is exactly what holds us back.
She nodded. She wasn’t convinced, but she wasn’t dismissive either.
Over time, she started to take care of herself differently. Less like a project to be fixed and more like something precious, she didn’t want to rush.
She stopped watching everyone else so closely. She gave herself quiet mornings. She started walking without headphones. She began feeding herself like someone who mattered.
And you know what? Nothing huge happened.
No grand transformation, no moment of thunder or light.
Just space, breath, and a softening.
But slowly, something began to shift. She didn’t notice it right away, but I did.
There was more colour in her voice. She laughed without checking first if she was allowed to. She shared ideas: not goals or achievements, just possibilities.
Then one day she said it, half-joking but not really:
“I think something’s growing in me.”
Here’s what I wish more people knew: You don’t owe the world speed. You don’t owe anyone a big reveal or a perfect before-and-after.
You owe yourself care, time, and a chance to become whatever you’re meant to: when you’re ready.
Some of the strongest, most astonishing things in nature grow invisibly for months or even years. Some break through the earth only after a fire. Some need cold, some need dark, and some just need to be left alone long enough to remember how to begin.
So if you feel like you’re not blooming yet, that’s okay.
Maybe you’re not supposed to; not yet.
Maybe the season you’re built for is still on its way. And when it comes, you’ll know.
You won’t need to rush it or force it.
You’ll just feel something inside say:
Now.
And that’ll be enough.
