The Shape of the Journey: Beyond Linear Growth
Our culture often gives us a narrow set of metaphors for life: the straight line, the staircase, the ladder. Always climbing, always achieving. But if we look to the natural world, we discover so many richer, wilder, and truer shapes to describe what it means to grow, to heal, and to change.
Life doesn’t unfold only in lines. It takes the form of branches, spirals, waves, spheres, and radial patterns—shapes that surround us in trees and rivers, seashells and spiderwebs, seeds and stars. These organic forms remind us that our own inner journeys follow rhythms and patterns far more dynamic than constant upward progress.
We Are Not Linear Equations
In case you don’t remember, a linear equation looks something like: ax + by = c. It’s an elegant tool for algebra. But when applied to human behavior, it becomes reductionistic—sometimes even harmful.
Some religious versions of these “limited equations”:
Pray + faith = miracle
Harm + forgiveness = all better
Self-sacrifice + submission + household labor = Proverbs 31 woman
Some cultural and psychological versions of these linear equations:
Hustle + grind = wealth
Work hard + never give up = success
Positive thinking + gratitude = happiness
Willpower + “letting go” = healed trauma
The problem is, humans are far too complex and mysterious to be reduced to a tidy formula. And when the promised result doesn’t appear—when you hustle but don’t get wealthy, or when forgiveness doesn’t erase the wound—you’re often blamed. You must have done the steps wrong. You must be lazy, unworthy, not faithful enough.
This is what we often call spiritual bypassing or psychological bypassing: plugging pain into an equation and expecting transformation to simply “balance out” on the other side.
But real growth doesn’t work like math homework.
Beyond the Equation
What if, instead of starting with a formula, we start with curiosity?
We can reverse-engineer our lives by asking: What’s the outcome I actually desire? Is it peace? Belonging? Healing? Joy? Then, instead of reducing it to a single equation, we can explore the diverse conditions that sometimes give rise to it.
This exploration looks less like math class and more like a Montessori experiment or a scientific inquiry. It allows room for nuance, trial and error, and changing needs. What sustains you in one season may shift in another. What works for me might not work for you.
Notice that in the real world, linear equations apply beautifully to things like finance, distance, wages, or force. But not to love. Not to healing. Not to grief. Not to becoming human.
Human journeys are not formulas—they are ecosystems.
Metaphors for the Journey
Across myths, spiritual traditions, and healing stories, the image of the journey appears again and again. I think journeys are a more helpful way to approach human transformation. IFS is the other one, which I explain here. When I think about the path of self-trust and personal transformation, several metaphors feel especially alive:
Deconstructing and reconstructing
Learning and unlearning
Order, disorder, reorder
Seasons of growth and rest
Transplanting and rooting
Caterpillar to butterfly
Snakes and shells—outgrowing old homes
Labyrinths
The Hero’s or Eco-Heroine’s Journey
Birth
The Self-Trust Journey
Each one sheds light on a different facet of the process.
Deconstructing and Reconstructing
Healing from religious trauma is commonly known as “deconstruction.” If you picked up this book, it is likely that you are knee-deep in this process of deconstructing religious ideology, belief systems, and conditioning. It is a difficult process with a lot of shedding, grieving, and ultimately reorienting.
The visual I often have of deconstruction and reconstruction is the casita (house) in the Disney movie Encanto. The casita itself begins to crack and break, and ultimately fall apart because of the rigid roles and expectations placed on everyone in the family. The casita is rebuilt when the rules and expectations for the family are reoriented around new values and more support.
Learning and Unlearning
We are taught so many things as we grow up. Some of them explicit, and some of them implicit. As we get older, we often go through a period of examining what we’ve learned, sifting through it, and deciding what to keep. Feminist, antiracist, decolonizing work call us to examine the systems we were raised in, what they taught us, and who it benefits. We get to unlearn whitewashed histories and relearn history from marginalized perspectives, for example. We get to examine the linear equations we were given for life, and find more nuanced answers to the problems of human existence and our place in the ecosystem in which we dwell.
I love Walt Whitman’s exhortation in his preface to Leaves of Grass:
“Re-examine all you have been told in school or church or in any book, and dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and our very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the richest fluency, not only in words, but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion and joint of your body.”
Order, Disorder, Reorder
This way of thinking about the journey is compliments of Richard Rohr. When the current order becomes too rigid, inflexible, and causes harm, it loses what is most life-giving, supple, and flexible in it. It devolves into disorder as a new order is dreamed up and created. This process of disorder does not indicate that something is wrong. It is a necessary part of the process to get to the reorder. As a therapist I often see “disorder” as people suffering as their bodies, minds, and emotions have been holding on under oppressive or neglectful systems, and finally start to show the signs of wear and tear. It is the wake up call that something is wrong and something has to change. It is the hardest part of the process, but necessary to get to healing.
Disorder and reorder are not necessarily difficult and destructive if the original order is open to feedback, is flexible, and is willing to be a part of the process of reordering. It will still be messy in the liminal space, but it does not have to be inherently painful.
The Seasons of Growth
Nature teaches us to honor cycles. I once believed growth meant constant progress—always more, always better. But then I discovered the freedom of cyclical growth: spring’s emergence, summer’s fullness, autumn’s harvest, winter’s rest.
Even the hard winters of life are not wasted. They are essential seasons of restoration and preparation. Our inner lives move through these rhythms too—periods of energy, reflection, hibernation, and reemergence.
I love the seasons. I have lived in north Florida much of my life, where I label the seasons, “hot” and “not too hot”. I lived in Chicagoland for many years, and although I wearied of the long winters after a while, I also loved how the dramatic change in seasons held me and moved me through the year. It was a gift for my body and soul. Your ideal seasons may or may not match where you live, but the concept of seasons can still be useful.
I love how each time we find ourselves on the cusp of a new season, it is so familiar and yet so new. It feels like the perfect combination of predictability and novelty to me.
Growing up, I only knew the personal growth expectations of more, more, more. Always do more, achieve more, love God more, etc. It was such a relief when I learned about cyclical growth. That we are held through the seasons of new growth, summer bliss, harvest, and rest. The action cycle created by Ron Kurtz even mimics this and acknowledges that for effective action, we must end with celebration and rest before we are ready for more action. It was such a relief to know I didn’t have to be happy and achieving all the time. Some periods of time were just hard winters that were also important for my personal and spiritual growth.
Seasons of the year
We move collectively and personally through seasons similar to the four seasons of the year. Times of high energy (summer), times of reflection (autumn), times of hibernation, (winter), and times of emergence (spring).
Seasons throughout our lives
Seasons can also be a rhythmic move through seasons of our lives. New challenges and developmental milestones. A journey of “growing up inside” as Fred Rodgers put it.
Transplanting and Rooting
Sue Monk Kidd describes the experience of awakening as being like a transplanted sapling in unfriendly soil. Over time, we search for richer ground. Once we root ourselves in environments of truth and belonging, we become sturdy, like oak trees. From there, our creativity and vision scatter into the world like seeds. In Sue Monk Kidd’s poetic words: “In the beginning we wake to find ourselves like transplanted saplings trying to subsist in an unnatural, unfriendly (patriarchal) ground. We discover ourselves becoming sapless inside… We know that in order to save our lives…we have to find new ground. So we set off in search…and we put down roots. And if we are patient, if we are true to ourselves, if we are willing to see ourselves through the growing seasons, an inevitable thing happens. We become hearty women who have our own ground and our own standing, sturdy as an oak after the winds. We become women who let loose our strength, whose truth, creativity, and vision fly like spores into the world.” (Dance of the Dissident Daughter, p. 198).
Caterpillar, Goo, Butterfly
The metamorphosis of the butterfly offers another metaphor. First a hungry caterpillar, then a messy, unformed goo, and finally a butterfly that helps pollinate plants instead of consuming them.
It came to me recently that the metamorphosis of caterpillar to butterfly can be summarized as plant-eater, to hibernating goo, to plant-sustainer. It is a different and fun way of re-examining this classic way of seeing personal transformation. I love that in the middle messy phase, the creature doesn’t have to accomplish anything, just rest, and it’s okay that it is messy, unformed goo. I know I have felt that way at times on my journey, and I’m guessing you have too.
As a free spirit who loves to flit about in her natural state, the idea of being a butterfly has really spoken to me. I don’t have to mask as a caterpillar anymore (or mask the gooey phase in the middle). I can be the messy goo. I can be the damn butterfly.
Outgrowing Homes and Skins
As I’ve been reconstructing and exploring my spiritual path, I’ve become deeply drawn to the Divine Feminine—and one of her most enduring symbols: the snake. The snake embodies growth and transformation, shedding one skin after another as it outgrows what once fit and makes way for something larger, freer, more alive. Where once the snake was cast as evil in religious stories, I now see it as an emblem of continual renewal.
Snakes shed their skins. Snails find larger shells. These symbols remind us that growth can mean outgrowing old forms, and finding new ones. Moreover, growth often leaves us feeling raw and vulnerable, as if we’ve left behind a shell that no longer fits and haven’t yet found the next one. That tender in-between is part of the journey too.
Labyrinths: Circling Toward the Center
Walking a labyrinth is an ancient spiritual practice, one used by Christian mystics and contemplatives, as well as those following the Divine Feminine. It mirrors the inner work of transformation. At first, as we step onto the path, we begin shedding what no longer serves us—layers of conditioning, outdated identities, beliefs that once kept us safe but now hold us back. The walk inwards asks for surrender.
At the center, we pause. This is the heart of the labyrinth, the still point. Here, we reconnect with ourselves—our truth, our inner compass, our sense of belonging to our own being. It’s not about perfection or achievement. It’s about finding the wholeness that has been within us all along.
And then, we walk outward again. This isn’t the same journey in reverse; it’s a new path, carrying what we’ve integrated. The exit is a rebirth, a re-emergence into life—changed, steadier, more rooted.
Heroic Journeys
Another lens on the journey comes from myth. Joseph Campbell’s famous Hero’s Journey offers a pattern recognizable in countless stories:
A call to adventure pulls us from ordinary life.
We face trials, ordeals, and initiations, confronting fears and discovering strengths.
Finally, we return home, bringing back wisdom to share with our community.
It’s a story arc that speaks to growth through challenge, and the transformation that comes from daring to leave comfort behind.
But for many women, and for those seeking a more earth-centered way of seeing, Sharon Blackie describes an Eco-Heroine’s Journey. Instead of conquering or slaying dragons, this path is about remembering our place in the web of life. We descend inward—much like the labyrinth walk—to discover our belonging to ourselves, to each other, and to the Earth. At the core, we reconnect with our own rootedness, our ancient wisdom. When we return, we step into roles as guardians and protectors of both self and planet.
Both journeys—heroic and eco-heroic—show us that the arc of transformation is not random. We leave behind what is known, endure the messy and uncertain middle, and emerge carrying something new. Whether it’s courage, wisdom, or a deeper sense of connection, the journey always asks us to come back changed.
Birth
Sometimes, the journey is like birth. It is raw, primal, and holy—labor pains that stretch us to our very edges, intensity that takes our breath away, and a love so vast it makes space for something entirely new.
Birth reminds us that transformation is not tidy. It comes with sweat, tears, trembling, and surrender. It asks for stamina, for courage, for trust in a process we cannot fully control. And yet, woven into the very heart of the pain is beauty—the miracle of new life pressing its way into being.
This metaphor holds true for every rebirth we experience within ourselves. The endings that break our hearts, the transitions that leave us gasping, the moments of letting go that feel unbearable—all of these are contractions. They are the body of the soul preparing to bring forth something new.
Birth teaches us that struggle is not separate from love; they exist side by side. And on the other side of that intensity is expansion, possibility, and the joy of discovering who we are becoming.
The Self-Trust Journey
At the heart of it all is the journey of self-trust:
Reflect on what caused you to mistrust yourself.
Release what no longer serves you.
Reconnect with your inner knowing.
Reclaim what was lost or hidden.
Re-emerge with self-sovereignty, self-love, and self-advocacy.
Self-trust doesn’t unfold in straight lines. It spirals, branches, and circles back. It moves with seasons and waves. And every shape—whether messy goo, winter stillness, or radiant rebirth—is part of the path home to yourself.
If you’re new here, I am Catherine and I’m so glad you’re here.
I’m a Licensed Mental Health Counselor, Self-Trust Coach, Podcast Host, a mom of two, and a writer. My blog is where I share everything about Self-Trust, Neurodivergence and IFS. This is a place for play, relief, rest, repair, and renewal. Learn more about my signature program Befriend Yourself, books, 3 steps to trust yourself, and about me.
