There’s a kind of pressure that comes with being a multifaceted person especially one with vision. You carry dreams in your chest like they’re urgent errands. You measure your progress in milestones and sometimes forget that the most powerful growth often happens in the in-between.
Today, I reminded myself that small steps count too.
No, I didn’t launch a new project. I didn’t finish a song. I didn’t tick everything off my list. But I showed up for myself, for my process, and for the quiet nudges that told me, “You’re still on the path.”
It’s easy to get discouraged when your movement doesn’t match your ambition. When you’re full of plans but short on capacity. When your body is tired, your mind is noisy, and your calendar feels like it has a life of its own.
But if I’ve learned anything in this journey, it’s that consistency isn’t always loud. Sometimes it looks like writing a single sentence. Or praying with more honesty than eloquence. Or even resting when your body asks for it, trusting that rest is also a part of momentum.
We live in a culture obsessed with leaps. Viral moments. Big wins. Dramatic before and afters. But what about the quiet, faithful walk? What about the days that don’t look impressive but are still moving you forward?
I’m learning to honor my pace. To see value in the process, not just the product. To stop measuring success only by visibility and start measuring it by obedience, growth, and peace.
The truth is, small progress is still progress. A seed doesn’t look like a tree, but it carries one inside. And right now, some of the work I’m doing is internal. It’s the type no one claps for, but God sees. I see.
Today, I had to remind myself that even breathing deeply and choosing not to quit is a kind of triumph. That replying that one email, revisiting that journal entry, humming that half written song, all of it matters.
Sometimes I get so caught up in where I’m going that I miss the beauty of where I am. And today, I want to pause and thank God for here. For the present version of me who hasn’t given up. For the me who still believes, even when things aren’t clear. For the me who’s learning to rest and trust that the vision is still alive.
Little steps may not make headlines, but they make history. And when I look back, I don’t want to only remember the peaks. I want to remember the faithful walks through the valley. The quiet days. The building seasons. The layers.
So here’s to every small step we take toward healing, toward purpose, toward wholeness.
Here’s to not quitting.
Here’s to Layers of Blessing, and the quiet courage it takes to keep going when no one’s watching.