A Prayer for the Woman Who Is Still Becoming
I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to become her.
You probably know the woman I’m talking about.
She’s healthier than I am.
More confident.
More patient.
More disciplined.
She doesn’t overthink.
She isn’t afraid of disappointing people.
She always knows what to say.
She handles conflict beautifully.
Her house is probably clean.
She drinks enough water.
And somehow she manages to remember what’s for dinner before 5:00.
I’ve been chasing some version of her for as long as I can remember.
Before recovery, I thought becoming her would finally make me happy.
After recovery, I just changed the definition.
Now she was healed.
Emotionally healthy.
Secure.
Spiritually mature.
Completely free from the patterns I’d spent years working through.
I wasn’t chasing perfection anymore.
At least that’s what I told myself.
I was chasing growth.
But sometimes…
I think they were the same thing wearing different clothes.
I Thought Healing Would Eventually Lead Somewhere
I think part of me always assumed there would be an arrival.
A moment when I could look at myself and say:
“There. That’s her.”
The woman I was supposed to become.
But after years of healing, I’ve realized something.
Every time I arrive somewhere, there’s another invitation.
Another layer.
Another lesson.
Another season.
Another opportunity to grow.
Not because I’m failing.
Because I’m alive.
Maybe becoming was never supposed to have a finish line.
Maybe She’s Already Here
That’s the part I almost missed.
While I was looking ahead at the woman I hoped to become, I wasn’t noticing the woman standing here now.
She’s still afraid sometimes.
But she tells the truth anyway.
She still hears old voices.
But she doesn’t automatically believe them.
She’s learning to like herself.
She’s discovered that some relationships can’t come with her, and she’s learning how to grieve them without returning to places that aren’t safe.
She’s stopped treating herself like an endless renovation project.
She’s letting safe people see her.
She’s learning to notice ordinary Tuesdays.
She remembers the women who carried her.
And she’s learning how to turn around and carry someone else.
She’s not finished.
But maybe she was never supposed to be.
Maybe I’ve been becoming her all along.
I Don’t Want to Spend My Life Chasing Myself
There will always be another version of me.
The woman I’ll be five years from now will know things I don’t know today.
She will have lived through things I cannot anticipate.
She’ll probably look back at some of my choices and smile at how much I still had to learn.
That’s okay.
I don’t want to spend today constantly reaching for her.
I want to be here.
In this life.
In this body.
With these people.
In this season.
Learning what God has for me here.
Because I am beginning to believe that becoming isn’t about constantly reaching forward.
Sometimes becoming happens when we finally become present.
So Maybe I Need a Different Prayer
For years, my prayers were often about circumstances.
God, change this.
Fix this.
Help me accomplish this.
Take this away.
Make this easier.
And there’s nothing wrong with those prayers.
I still pray them.
But when I think about the woman I hope to become, I’m finding myself wanting something different.
I don’t need to know exactly what her life looks like.
I don’t need to know what she accomplishes.
I don’t need guarantees about what happens next.
Instead…
I find myself praying for who she is when life happens.
And maybe that’s the prayer I want to leave here at the end of this series.
For myself.
And for you.
For every woman who is still becoming.
A Prayer for the Woman Who Is Still Becoming
God,
I don’t know who I will be years from now.
I don’t know what life will look like.
I don’t know which prayers You will answer the way I hope.
I don’t know which dreams will come true.
I don’t know which plans will change.
I don’t know who will stay.
I don’t know what I will have to release.
I don’t know what joys are waiting for me.
Or what griefs I will have to carry.
But You do.
So instead of asking You to show me everything that’s coming…
help me trust You with the woman who will meet it.
Keep me soft.
When life hurts, don’t let pain turn into hardness.
Help me keep loving.
Keep forgiving.
Keep believing there is goodness in people without abandoning the wisdom You’ve taught me.
Let me have boundaries without building walls.
Give me discernment without cynicism.
And when my heart gets bruised, teach me how to protect it without closing it.
Keep me honest.
When hiding would be easier…
help me tell the truth.
When shame tells me to disappear…
help me step into the light.
When I’m tempted to manage how everyone sees me…
remind me that being known is more valuable than being impressive.
Let me be the same woman in private that I am in public.
Keep me teachable.
No matter how many years pass…
don’t let me believe I’ve arrived.
Let me listen.
Let me apologize.
Let me change my mind.
Let me hear hard truths without immediately defending myself.
Give me people who love me enough to challenge me.
And give me the humility to recognize when they’re right.
Help me notice my life.
Please don’t let me become so focused on what’s next that I miss what’s here.
The people around my table.
The laughter coming from another room.
The conversations before bed.
The coffee.
The walks.
The ordinary days.
When I start believing I need something bigger to be happy…
remind me how desperately I once prayed for ordinary.
Give me courage to let go.
There will be people, places, expectations, identities, and dreams I may need to release.
Help me know when it’s time.
Let me grieve without believing grief means I made the wrong decision.
Let me honor what was good without returning to what is no longer healthy.
And when my hands are empty afterward…
help me trust that empty doesn’t mean abandoned.
Help me hold tightly to the people You’ve given me.
Don’t let familiarity make me careless with them.
Help me say thank you.
Help me answer the phone.
Help me show up.
Help me forgive.
Help me listen.
Help me tell people I love them while I still have the chance.
And when another woman is struggling beneath a weight I recognize…
help me remember the women who carried me.
Show me when it’s my turn to pull up a chair.
And God, please help me laugh.
Let me be silly.
Let me play.
Let me enjoy things that accomplish absolutely nothing.
Let there be music and inside jokes and ridiculous moments and laughter that makes my stomach hurt.
Don’t let healing become so serious that I forget joy is holy too.
Help me build a life that isn’t merely healthy…
but alive.
Most of all, let me keep becoming without believing I am never enough.
When I grow, let it come from love instead of shame.
When I fail, remind me that failure isn’t my identity.
When old patterns appear, help me respond with curiosity instead of condemnation.
When I look in the mirror, help me see someone You are still shaping…
not someone You are constantly disappointed in.
Let me want growth without withholding grace from the woman I am today.
Still Becoming
Eight weeks ago, we started this series talking about the parts of ourselves we thought we’d outgrow.
And maybe that’s exactly where we needed to begin.
Because becoming isn’t about leaving every imperfect part of ourselves behind.
It’s about learning how to meet those parts differently.
With honesty.
With courage.
With boundaries.
With community.
With grace.
We’ve talked about learning to like ourselves.
The loneliness that sometimes accompanies growth.
Putting down the exhausting need to constantly fix ourselves.
The courage required to let people really see us.
Learning to recognize the miracle hiding inside ordinary life.
And remembering the people who carried us here.
And after all of that…
I don’t think I have a neat conclusion.
I think that’s fitting.
Because I’m still becoming.
So are you.
There is more healing ahead.
More joy.
More grief.
More ordinary Tuesdays.
More people to love.
More things to release.
More mistakes.
More grace.
More life.
And maybe we don’t need to know exactly who we’ll be when we get there.
A Final Prayer
God,
I don’t know exactly who I’m becoming.
But for the first time in my life…
I don’t need to.
I know Who is leading me.
So I give You the woman I was.
I give You the woman I am.
And I give You the woman I am still becoming.
Help me stop chasing her long enough to love the woman standing here today.
And wherever this journey takes me…
let me remain soft.
Let me remain honest.
Let me remain grateful.
Let me remain willing.
Let me remain close to You.
And when I look back years from now, I hope I don’t measure my life only by what I accomplished or how much I changed.
I hope I can say:
I was here.
I loved deeply.
I told the truth.
I let myself be known.
I noticed the ordinary.
I allowed others to carry me.
I carried others when I could.
I laughed.
I grieved.
I grew.
I lived.
And through all of it…
You kept becoming more visible in me.
Maybe that’s the truth I needed all along.
The work was never mine to finish.
I am allowed to participate in it.
To show up.
To tell the truth.
To make the next right choice.
To remain willing.
But I don’t have to frantically manufacture the woman I’m supposed to become.
God isn’t finished with me.
And that no longer scares me.
It gives me peace.
Because perhaps the most beautiful thing about becoming is finally realizing:
I don’t have to know who I’m becoming.
I can trust God with her.
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