The next phase doesn’t arrive with noise—
no thunderclap, no grand unveiling.
It slips in quietly,
like dawn testing the edges of a curtain.
You won’t notice at first.
Just a shift—
a thought you didn’t used to have,
a door you no longer feel afraid to open.
What once felt permanent
loosens its grip.
Old versions of you
become stories you tell
with a softer voice.
There is a strange courage here—
not the loud, defiant kind,
but something steadier,
like roots deciding to grow deeper
instead of reaching out.
The next phase asks less for proof
and more for presence.
Less for certainty,
more for willingness.
You carry forward
only what still breathes—
leaving behind the weight
that mistook itself for meaning.
And one day, without realizing when,
you’ll stand in the middle of it—
not new, not old,
but becoming.
And that will be enough.
Thank-you for reading,
Brenda Marie
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Lovely poetry, Brenda!
Thank-you, Tim
My pleasure, Brenda. 😍 Happy Easter!
Brenda, this is so beautifully observed—the way you capture quiet transformation feels like a soft, steady hand on the shoulder. Your words remind us that growing deeper is just as brave as growing louder. Thank you for this gentle truth.🤝🌷
Thank you so much—this truly means a lot to me. I’m really touched that the piece resonated with you in such a gentle way. Sometimes the quiet shifts are the hardest to trust, so your words feel like a reminder right back to me. I’m grateful you took the time to share this. 🤝🌷