The Slow Becoming

March Journal Entry — C.Z.

I’ve been thinking lately about what it means to live well.

Not in the Instagrammable, bubble bath and crystals version of self-care. But truly, deliberately, and with the kind of integrity that doesn’t need applause.

Most of us are living in denial. Not about our taxes, not about our cholesterol. About our stress.

“I’m so stressed,” we say — like it’s a badge of honor.
A twisted form of self-importance.

In today’s hyper-individualistic society, it’s almost fashionable to be overwhelmed. As if admitting you’re at peace means you’re not working hard enough. Try telling someone, “I actually feel really good right now.” You’ll get blank stares — maybe even suspicion. Like you’ve said something indecent.

But here’s the truth:
Stress isn’t just a feeling.
Chronic stress is a slow bleed.
A full-on neurological assault that rewires your brain in ways we don’t fully respect.

And that “busy” culture we glorify?
It’s not noble.
It’s not even sustainable.
It’s a soft form of self-destruction — disguised as drive.

Your brain is the engine of everything:
Your decisions. Your relationships. Your ability to feel joy.

And yet we treat it like it’s invincible.
We run it on caffeine and chaos, then wonder why we’re so depleted.

I’ve come to realize that if you want to live a long, creative, energized life — really live — then you need to build a system that honors your brain.

Feed it well.
Move. Sleep. Get bored sometimes.
Stop chasing the illusion of optimization, and start investing in restoration.

That’s the slow becoming.

And it doesn’t stop with how we treat ourselves.
It bleeds into how we show up for others — especially in love.

As a perfectionist, this part was harder for me to accept.

I used to believe in the idea of the perfect match.
That if I optimized hard enough, filtered enough, swiped enough… I’d land on someone who met 100% of my criteria.

Spoiler: that person doesn’t exist.

Now, I believe something simpler — and maybe more radical in today’s culture:

Compatibility is not discovered. It’s built.

I came across Becca Bloom on TikTok and she put it well — the idea that if someone checks 70% of your boxes, you can build the remaining 30% together. That stuck with me. It’s not about settling; it’s about recognizing that real connection is built over time, not discovered in a moment of perfection. The couples who last aren’t the ones who found everything — they’re the ones who committed to growing together through the things they didn’t.

Not in the checklist — but in the choosing.
Over and over again.

People fall in love all the time.
Anyone with a brain and a pulse can do it.

That’s not the hard part.

The hard part is staying in love. Constructively. Consistently. Even when it’s not convenient.
It’s communicating when silence would be easier.
Choosing trust when doubt feels justified.
Offering grace when it would feel better to be right.

Jay Shetty once said:

“We don’t just want someone to say they love us. We want someone who lives like they do.”

Too often, our feelings of love blind us to a harder truth: love, on its own, is not enough. What we really seek isn’t just someone who says “I love you” — we want someone who makes us feel loved. Someone who shows up with care, consistency, and emotional presence. Someone who sees us, hears us, understands us, makes us feel safe— and someone we’re willing to do the same for in return.

We don’t crave declarations. We crave alignment — between words and actions. Between saying “I love you” and living like you mean it.

So when I say love isn’t enough, it’s not cynicism — it’s clarity. Too many of us have been sold the idea that love is the destination, the fix-all, the final answer. But real partnership demands more: commitment, effort, repair, and reciprocity. Love may start the fire — but it’s what you build around it that keeps it burning.

I used to think growth looked like a makeover. A plot twist. A clean before-and-after.

Now? I think it’s quieter.
Subtler.

It’s about how you respond when no one’s watching.
Whether you move toward numbness or toward presence.
Whether you chase perfection — or lean into the beauty of building something flawed but honest.

The slow becoming is not glamorous.
It’s not optimized. But it’s real. It’s human. And it’s enough.