Moving Through the Octaves of Growth - One Realization at a Time

“Comfort is lovely… but growth lives just beyond it.”

Have you ever had one of those moments where everything suddenly makes sense—at least for a breath? That happened to me recently.

It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t come with fireworks or a booming voice from the sky. It felt more like a

Growth doesn’t move in straight lines—it ascends in spirals.

soft “click”—a quiet clarity that landed right in the middle of an ordinary day. A download, if you will. Not about what’s next… but about the process I’ve been living through for months, if not all of my life, without ever seeing it clearly - until now.

It's a four-phase path and it's one that spirals, not in a loop of repetition, but in elevation—like climbing a mountain in circles. And with each turn, I arrive somewhere a little higher. A little lighter.A little more self aware and just a bit more accepting of myself.

Let me walk you through the four steps I’ve come to know.

1. Resonance – When Life Feels Aligned

This is the sweet spot. When things feel in sync. Life just feels calm here. I feel relaxed - connected to my body, the people in my life, and the present moment. Troubles are less and I feel like there's no mountain I can't climb. There’s ease. Grace. Joy even peaks its head in every once in awhile.

This is what I used to call “being in flow.” But what I understand now is that this resonance is a phase, not a forever. It’s like a resting chord in a piece of music—beautiful and stable, but not the end of the song.

2. Resistance – When the Friction Starts

This phase used to scare me—a lot. Especially before I could name it. Before I recognized that it was part of something intelligent and meaningful. Back then, it just felt like everything was falling apart, or worse—like I was.

It starts subtly, like a background hum that turns into static. Things that once brought joy now feel oddly out of sync. Conversations feel heavier. Routines that once comforted me begin to feel like constraints. Even my body reacts—tension builds, energy dips, I start to feel heavier, slower, or like I’m walking through fog.

The trickiest part? It’s easy to take it personally. I used to interpret this friction as a sign that I’d made a mistake, or worse, that I was somehow broken. “Why am I feeling like this? What’s wrong with me?” That kind of inner narrative can spiral fast.

But now—more often than not—I catch it. I pause. And I remember: this isn’t punishment. This is preparation.

What I’ve come to understand is that resistance is not a sign of something going wrong. It’s the first signal that something deeper is waking up. It’s the tension between the part of me that knows I’ve outgrown a space, and the part of me that still wants to stay safe inside it. It’s the rub between what was and what’s becoming.

It’s friction. And friction creates fire.

This fire is not meant to destroy. It’s meant to transform.

This is the alchemical phase—the one that turns what’s stagnant into fuel. It burns through old stories, outdated roles, and inherited expectations. And it makes room for what’s next. The discomfort is real, yes. But it’s not evidence of regression. It’s evidence of motion. My soul has outgrown the shell it once called home, and it’s quietly urging me to stretch into the unknown.

It’s not easy. But it’s sacred.

And the more I learn to meet resistance with curiosity instead of fear, the more quickly I can begin to hear what it’s trying to tell me.

3. Realization – The Gentle Click of Clarity

This phase isn’t always loud.

Sometimes it arrives as a whisper—a gentle click, like a puzzle piece quietly sliding into place. One moment I’m tangled in confusion, and the next… something shifts. I might not have full understanding yet, but I can feel truth start to settle in just a little. It’s like the fog doesn’t fully lift, but a beam of light cuts through—and that light is enough to start moving again.

I begin to recognize what I’ve been holding onto. An identity. A belief I thought I needed but realized it's no longer serving me. A coping mechanism that once kept me safe. I start to see it for what it is—not wrong or bad, just complete. Something I no longer need to carry.

And as that awareness dawns, a new space begins to open. One foot still lingers in the known, but the other has already stepped into something unfamiliar—but promising. It’s a phase of liminality, and it can feel disorienting. I bounce back and forth—some days steady in new awareness, other days pulled back into old habits. Some days I can see myself clearly in the new world without the old identity structure and other days I realize I'm still burning off the residue of the old belief.

This is where compassion matters most.

Realization isn’t just an “aha” moment—it’s a slow integration. It asks me to hold the truth I’ve uncovered while still nurturing the part of me that’s afraid to fully let go. There can be grief here. Lots of crying. Frustration. Confusion. Even if the old story wasn’t ideal, it was mine. Letting go of it can feel like losing a part of myself.

But there's also a quiet hope in this phase. A sense that something more aligned is taking shape. It just requires patience. Stillness. And a steady kind of self-trust that says: You're doing it. Even if it's messy.

4. Resonance (Again) – But This Time, Higher

At some point, the wobble settles.

Not because everything outside of me has changed, but because I have. The shifts I’ve been working through begin to land. The energy I’ve been processing begins to stabilize. And that old heaviness? It’s gone.

I feel resonance again—but it’s different now. Deeper. Clearer. It doesn’t just feel like safety—it feels like alignment.

Where once there was inner noise, now there’s quiet knowing. I’m no longer questioning whether I belong here. I’m not efforting to fit in. I’m not shrinking to match something outdated. I’ve stepped into the new octave fully, and I can feel the resonance ripple outward.

The old version of me—the one I used to judge, fix, or mourn—feels far away. Not in a dismissive way, but in a way that says: thank you for getting me here. There’s no longer any pull to go back. No guilt. No friction. Just a sense of completion.

And then, the beautiful part: I rest. Not forever—but for now.

Until the next call comes.

Until the next octave begins to hum beneath my feet.

This Process Isn’t Linear. It’s a Spiral.

We’re not messing up when we hit resistance—we’re actually growing. Each turn of this four-phase spiral brings us closer to who we truly are. It’s not a loop that traps us; it’s a path that rises.

And honestly, what’s changed everything for me is how I see that second phase now—the resistance.

I used to beat myself up in that place. I’d feel stuck, confused, like maybe I was doing something wrong. I’d spiral into thoughts like, Why am I feeling like this again? I thought I already healed this.” But now? I know better. Now I see that resistance isn’t a breakdown—it’s a breakthrough in progress. It’s the part where things shift, even if I can’t see it yet.

That tension I feel? It’s just the signal that something deeper is realigning. Something truer and more aligned is trying to take root. And weirdly… just knowing that helps me move through it quicker. Not because I’m trying to rush out of it, but because I’m no longer afraid of it.

I don’t resist the resistance. I don’t label it as failure. I meet it with curiosity - and that changes everything.

So if you’re in Resonance—soak it in. If you’re in Resistance—be gentle with yourself. If you’re in Realization—give yourself grace and loads of patience as you sort through the shifts. And if you’re landing in a new Resonance again in a higher octave—even if it’s subtle—pause and acknowledge it.

Because this right here…This is what growth actually looks like.

This is the sound of your becoming. #octavesofgrowth #myinnerspark #HealingsNotLinear myinnerspark.com