choosing your own hard

The price of becoming is worth every penny.

I love getting to know myself. And I love pretty much any tool that helps me understand myself and others better—not to put people in boxes, but to add layers to what I already know, to deepen understanding and appreciation. One of my favorite tools is the Enneagram (this deserves a whole separate post - stay tuned). I especially love that many of my close friends share this interest, because it gives us a shared language, one that invites nuance and honesty into our conversations.

So when I found myself this weekend day-tripping with a group of these friends (three 7s and a 1), I knew we were in for something glorious and special. And it was every bit that and more: a nourishing day rich with meaningful conversation, curiosity, and insight. We each walked away having learned something new or seen something familiar in a different light.

Part of what made it so magical was my lovely friend Mia Rose introducing us to a book she’d found: an astrology-based guide that explores core traits based on your birthdate. We passed it around, reading each other's entries, fusing what the book offered with what we already knew, and asking each other deeper probing questions. I think we were all a little stunned by how accurate some of the descriptions were.

When it was my turn, I read mine once. Then again. Did this really resonate with how I see myself? Some pieces felt too broad at first. Others didn’t feel like they quite lined up. But then certain truths began to press in—especially one: I love a challenge.

I’ve always had a drive to do hard things. Not for the sake of hardship, but because I want to meet myself at the edge of what I think I can do. I like testing my own limits. I like surprising myself (and sometimes others) with my grit, resilience, and hunger to rise. I like breaking molds, defying expectations, and creating room for others to rise alongside me.

Through this lens, it suddenly made sense why self-work has always felt so vital to me. Why I’m drawn to growth even when it’s painful. Why I wake up every day asking “how can I become more of who I’m meant to be today?” Why I’m embarking on the journey in front of me.

Becoming the best and highest version of yourself is one of the hardest things you can do. It’s not glamorous. Often, it feels exhausting, fruitless, disorienting, even painful. And that’s why so many people stop. They settle, not because they’re weak, but because they know: becoming asks for everything.

It requires shedding old versions of yourself—again and again. Even the versions you loved. Even the ones that once saved you (read: the price of becoming).

Becoming is an act of breaking your own heart, repeatedly, in service of growth. And each time, you build back stronger. Fuller. More you.

Right now, I’m sitting in a contradiction: in one way, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and in another, the most deeply heartbroken. It’s hard to reconcile these two parts of me. One minute, I’m riding this wave of joy, and the next, I’m swallowing this heavy ache that feels like it might shatter me.

Sometimes, when you’re so deeply in love with life, it’s in that very intensity that you feel the most fragile. The more you open yourself up to its beauty, the more you risk being cut by its sharp edges. When you care deeply and when you live with that kind of depth, love and grief often arrive holding hands.

But in this fragility, I find my power. Because it means I'm alive to all of it: the joy, the ache, the hope, the breaking. It means I'm not numbing out or closing off. I'm letting it move through me, even when it splits me open. That’s where the strength lives: not in guarding myself, but in choosing to stay open anyway.

I’ve come to realize that this is what becoming is. What it demands. It’s not clean, it’s not pretty. It’s messy. It’s this tangled mess of joy and grief, hope and loss—one doesn’t erase the other. They sit next to each other: sometimes drowning me, sometimes lifting me up.

And still, I choose it. I choose to keep going. To keep evolving. To keep becoming. We all get to choose our own hard. Changing is hard. So is staying the same.

Every time I’ve stood at a crossroads, faced with the discomfort of staying the same or the discomfort of growing, I’ve chosen growth. Yes, I have doubts. Yes, I have fears. But becoming is the hard I choose. Because somewhere deep inside, I trust the voice that whispers: “there’s more in you yet.”

Becoming.

i have been
the question,
the climb, 
the quiet work
no one sees. 
the prayer in motion,
the fire burning low.

i've held my breath
through unraveling,
then breathed life
into what's next.

there is nothing 
i cannot rise from.
nothing i cannot do. 

and now, 
as i stand in the light
of everything 
i'm becoming—
the loudest voice
cheering me on
is mine.

The price of becoming is not just the pain we endure, it’s the quiet, relentless shedding of who we thought we were, every single day. It’s the price I’m willing to pay.

What’s the price of your becoming? What are you willing to lose to rise?

walk boldly,

Caroline