ROOTED, NOT RUSHED TRUSTING THE GROWING SEASON YOU CANNOT SEE
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
There is a particular kind of frustration that belongs only to women who are trying to grow.
It is not the frustration of someone who has given up. It is not apathy or laziness or a lack of desire. It is the frustration of a woman who is doing the work, who has made the decision, planted the seed, started the routine, set the boundary, begun the healing, and is now standing in the field staring at what looks like bare ground, wondering if anything she did actually mattered.
.
She prayed. She planned. She started.
And then she waited.
And waiting, it turns out, is one of the hardest things a growth-oriented woman is ever asked to do.
This is the week we need to talk about patience not the passive, resigned kind that simply tolerates delay, but the active, rooted kind that continues to water the soil even when nothing visible is happening. The kind that trusts the process because it understands the principle. The kind that does not confuse the silence of the growing season with the absence of growth.
Because here is the truth that will change everything if you really let it in:
The seed is working. You just cannot see it yet.
The Culture We Are Fighting Against
Before we talk about patience, we have to be honest about the environment we are trying to practice it in, because we are not practicing it in a vacuum.
We live in a world engineered for immediacy. Every platform, every app, every algorithm has been designed to deliver results, responses, and rewards as fast as possible. We can order dinner and have it at our door in thirty minutes. We can post content and know within hours whether it resonated. We can send a message and expect a response before we set our phone down.
This is not inherently evil. But it has rewired our expectations in ways most of us have not fully examined.
When we bring the mindset of instant gratification into the slow, sacred work of personal transformation, we create a mismatch that produces enormous suffering. We expect healing to move at the speed of a download. We expect character to be built in the time it takes to watch a masterclass. We expect the seeds we planted last Monday to be producing visible fruit by Friday, and when they are not, we conclude that the seed was wrong, the soil was wrong, we were wrong, and maybe we should just try something else.
This cycle of plant, wait, panic, dig up, replant is costing women years of their lives. Not because they lack faith. Not because they lack desire. But because no one has taught them what the growing season actually looks like from the inside.
It looks like nothing. That is the point.
The most significant growth in your life will happen in seasons that feel unproductive. The roots form underground, invisible and unannounced, before a single inch of green breaks the surface. If you dig up the seed every two weeks to check whether it is working, you will never see the tree.
What Galatians 6:9 Is Really Saying
Galatians 6:9 is one of those scriptures we hear so often it can begin to lose its edges: “And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season, we shall reap, if we faint not.”
Read it again, slowly, because every phrase is doing work.
Let us not be weary in well doing. Not weary in doing something extraordinary. Not weary in performing miracles or making bold moves or taking massive action. Weary in well doing the ordinary, faithful, unsexy, consistent work of doing what you said you would do, day after day, even when no one applauds it and nothing appears to be changing.
The weariness this verse addresses is not laziness. It is the specific exhaustion that comes from doing the right things and not yet seeing the right results. It is the tiredness of a woman who has been showing up for weeks or months and is starting to question whether it is worth it.
For in due season, we shall reap. Not in your preferred season. Not in the season you planned for or prayed for or felt ready for. Due season is the season that is appropriate for what was planted. Different seeds have different growing times. A flower and a fruit tree do not produce on the same timeline. Your breakthrough does not have to match anyone else's pace to be real.
If we faint not. This is the condition. The harvest is guaranteed, but only for the woman who does not quit in the waiting. The seed that gets dug up in impatience produces nothing. The seed that stays in the ground long enough gets everything.
The promise is fully intact. The only variable is whether you will stay.
The Ways We Dig Up Our Own Seeds
Most of us are not conscious of how often we interrupt our own growth. We do not think of it as self-sabotage — we think of it as being realistic, or protecting ourselves, or responding to new information. But underneath those reasonable-sounding justifications, what is often happening is this: we got tired of waiting and we dug up the seed.
Let's name some of the most common ways this shows up.
We start healing, then return to the environments that wounded us.
Healing is disorienting. It changes you in ways that make old spaces feel uncomfortable, old relationships feel misaligned, and old versions of yourself feel like a coat you have outgrown but keep reaching for anyway. And because that discomfort is unfamiliar and the old patterns are familiar, we retreat. We call it loyalty. We call it grace. Sometimes it is. But sometimes it is simply fear of how far the healing might take us if we let it go all the way.
Every time we go back to the relationship that was quietly draining us, to the environment that kept us small, to the thought patterns we worked so hard to uproot, we are not just pausing our growth. We are actively loosening the roots we spent months building.
We start a business or creative pursuit, then quit before the seeds have time to grow.
There is a specific graveyard that exists inside most entrepreneurial women: a mental cemetery where the first podcast lives next to the abandoned Etsy shop, which sits beside the online course that was almost finished, which is adjacent to the brand that had a logo but never had a real launch. Each one was a real seed. Each one was planted with genuine intention. Each one was dug up before it had a fair season to produce.
The reasons always make sense in the moment. Nobody was paying attention. The money wasn't coming fast enough. It felt like too much work for too little return. But most of those conclusions were drawn at week six of a process that needed eighteen months. Most of those seeds were dug up just before the roots would have gone deep enough to sustain something real.
We start a healthy routine, then abandon it at the first disruption.
A missed day becomes a missed week. A missed week becomes a month. The momentum dissolves so quietly that by the time you notice it is gone, starting over feels more daunting than it did the first time. And the inner critic, who has been waiting patiently, steps in to confirm what you secretly feared: that you just cannot maintain things, that consistency is for other women, that you are someone who starts but does not finish.
None of that is true. But it starts to feel true every time you dig up the seed.
We begin to step into our calling, then shrink back when people do not respond the way we hoped.
You shared something vulnerable. You put something you created into the world. You stepped into a new identity, as a leader, a speaker, a business owner, an author, and the response was smaller or quieter or more complicated than you imagined. And instead of understanding that most meaningful things are met with silence before they are met with applause, you interpreted the quiet as confirmation that you were wrong to try.
This is perhaps the most heartbreaking form of digging up the seed, because it combines external disappointment with internal doubt in a way that can convince a woman to step back from her calling entirely, sometimes for years.
Learning to Read the Silence
The growing season is quiet. That is not a bug. It is a feature.
Think about what is actually happening underground while you see nothing above the surface. The seed is cracking open, which is a kind of necessary destruction that precedes all growth. Roots are forming and reaching downward, building the infrastructure that will eventually hold everything up. The plant is gathering resources, organizing itself, doing the slow and invisible work of becoming.
None of this is visible. None of it is impressive to look at from the outside. But all of it is essential. The above ground growth that looks so dramatic when it finally appears is only possible because of the underground work no one photographed.
Your season of silence is doing the same thing.
The months you spent in therapy that felt like they were going nowhere were rewiring how you attach to people, how you regulate your emotions, how you understand your own story. The business content you created that got twelve views was building a body of work, developing your voice, and training your consistency muscle. The mornings you got up early when it felt pointless were proving to your nervous system that you are someone who honors commitment even when it is inconvenient.
Nothing you planted in faith is wasted. The question is never whether the seed is working. The question is whether you will still be standing in that field when the season shifts.
Trust the Farmer, Not Just the Field
Here is what makes patience sustainable, and it is not willpower. It is trust.
You can white knuckle your way through a waiting season for a little while. You can grit your teeth and stay committed through sheer determination. But eventually, discipline without faith runs out of fuel. What carries you through the full duration of a growing season is the settled conviction that the One who gave you the seed also governs the season, and that He does not waste what is planted in obedience.
Waiting on God is not the same as waiting for circumstances to change. It is an active orientation of the heart toward someone who is trustworthy. It is remembering, in the quiet seasons, that your growth is not contingent on your ability to force it. It is contingent on your willingness to tend it and trust the timing.
This does not mean passivity. Keep watering. Keep showing up. Keep doing the faithful, ordinary work of the growing season. But release the grip of control that says if it hasn't happened by now, it isn't coming. That timeline is yours. The harvest belongs to God.
Due season is coming. Stay in the field.
Practical Ways to Stop Digging Up Your Seeds
Knowing you tend to give up early is useful. Knowing why is more useful. And knowing what to do instead is what actually changes the pattern.
Name your growing season out loud. Tell someone trustworthy what you are working on and what your timeline actually is. Not the polished, optimistic version, the real one. “I am building this for the next twelve months and I am committing to staying in it even if I don't see results for the first six.” Saying it out loud creates accountability that your internal voice alone cannot provide.
Stop measuring progress only in outcomes. Outcomes are a lagging indicator. They show up long after the work that created them. If you only measure whether the seed is working by looking for fruit, you will always feel behind. Start measuring in process: Did I show up today? Did I honor the commitment? Did I choose the harder, better thing? Process metrics tell you the truth about your growing season in real time.
Build a practice of looking back, not just forward. Every week or month, look back at where you were six months ago. Not to compare yourself to other women, but to compare yourself to yourself. Most women are so focused on the distance between where they are and where they want to be that they completely miss how much ground they have already covered. Looking back recalibrates your perspective and reminds you that the seeds you planted in previous seasons are already bearing fruit you have gotten used to and stopped calling growth.
Celebrate small evidence of life. Not every sign of growth is dramatic. Sometimes it is the fact that the conversation you used to avoid no longer terrifies you. Sometimes it is a single comment from someone who says your content helped them. Sometimes it is the quiet recognition that you responded differently this time, with more patience, more groundedness, more of the woman you have been working to become. Learn to call these things what they are: evidence. The seed is alive. It is working. Let that be enough to keep you going until the larger harvest arrives.
Protect the seed from your own doubt. You will have days when the seed feels lost. When the effort feels pointless. When the quiet of the growing season feels indistinguishable from the quiet of something that simply isn't working. On those days, do not make permanent decisions based on temporary feelings. Do not announce a pivot. Do not close the chapter. Write in your journal, call someone who believes in you, pray, and wait twenty four hours before making any choice that cannot be undone.
The seed is still there. Let it work.
Journal Reflection
Where in your life have you been digging up seeds before the season was complete? Be specific. Name the area, name the timeline, and name the real reason you walked away. Then ask yourself: what would it look like to go back and tend what you planted? Is the seed still alive? Is there still time?
This Week's Affirmation
I will not grow weary in doing what is right. I trust that my faithful, consistent effort is producing something I cannot yet see. I will stay in the field. I will keep watering. I will not dig up in impatience what I planted in faith. My due season is coming, and I will be here when it arrives.
Closing Reflection
The harvest does not belong to the most talented woman in the room. It belongs to the one who refused to leave the field.
As we celebrate Juneteenth, we honor the resilience, faith, and perseverance of those who continued believing in freedom even when they could not yet see it. Their story reminds us that delayed does not mean denied, and that some of life's greatest breakthroughs arrive after seasons of waiting, endurance, and unwavering hope.
May their legacy encourage us to remain faithful to the seeds we have planted, trust God's timing, and continue moving forward even when growth is not yet visible. God's promises are never canceled by delay, and our greatest transformations often come after seasons that require us to trust Him the most.
To the woman waiting on her healing to show: Stay rooted, sis. Your due season has already been written.
To the woman building something no one sees yet: The field is yours. The harvest is coming. Now go tend what you planted.
To the woman who shrank back after the silence: Stop checking the dirt and start trusting the work. Your bloom is non-negotiable.
Mind your business, build your brand, and live your best life.
I'LL SEE YOU IN YOUR DIAMOND ERA.
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