As the temperatures cool and temperature-check “hey stranger” texts start making their cuffing-season rounds, November has a way of reminding us that as constant as change is, some things stay the same. And maybe that’s okay. Consistency can be a welcome comfort and isn’t synonymous with complacency.

Still, nature has a certain rhythm that we all tend to move to, sometimes unconsciously. Think of the flow of the seasons: in autumn, things quiet down and lose a bit of vibrance as winter approaches. Like the wildlife, we tend to go into our own sort of hibernation, especially here in the Midwest. 

Maybe it’s the months spent cooped up with not much to do but reflect on our lives, but by the time spring rolls around, there’s this sudden charge to “hit the ground running” (sometimes literally). The resolutions, the vision boards, the “new year, new me” energy all start to build momentum.

We talk a lot about growth, but rarely about grace.

What if a new you isn’t what’s needed in the new year? What if the invitation is to learn how to befriend the person you already are—to make sure the houseplants you have are thriving before buying something new? (I might be telling on myself here.)

It’s easy to chase improvement without ever pausing to get curious about the self we’re trying to improve. To sit with who you are, without editing or performing, takes courage. It’s uncomfortable to meet your own reflection without the filters—your habits, your history, your contradictions—but that’s where honesty begins. Self-acceptance isn’t a finish line; it’s a relationship. One that takes time, patience, and a little tenderness.

But perfectionism loves to interrupt that process. It whispers that rest is laziness, that worth is earned through productivity, and that vulnerability is weakness. Imposter syndrome joins in, convincing us that we’ve somehow tricked people into believing we’re capable and that any pause will expose the truth. 

These patterns can make self-acceptance feel like a luxury rather than a necessity. But neither perfectionism nor imposter syndrome tell the truth. They just make us forget who we are beneath all the proving. Slowing down, giving yourself grace, or simply existing without performing doesn’t make you less deserving—it makes you more human.

We’re often taught that self-focus is selfish, but being self-ish—in the healthiest sense—means making space to care for the parts of yourself that get overlooked when life gets loud. It’s the oxygen-mask principle: you can’t show up fully for others if you’re running on empty. When you take time to rest, refill, and reconnect with who you are, everyone around you benefits.

And maybe this season of slowing down is less about reinvention and more about reconnection. Instead of asking, “What if I had done more?” or “What if I’d taken a different path?”, what would it look like to practice contentment with what is? Not complacency, but peace—the kind that comes from watering your own grass instead of staring across the fence.

Grace lives there, too, in the willingness to be patient with your process, to forgive what you didn’t know then, and to accept that growth is rarely linear. Self-acceptance doesn’t mean you stop evolving; it means you stop fighting yourself along the way. You don’t have to earn rest, joy, or belonging. You can simply allow them—and, most importantly, give yourself permission to enjoy them.

So as the year winds down, maybe the question isn’t how to change, but how to care for yourself in the midst of it all. To move through this season not with pressure, but with presence. To remember that getting to know yourself is a lifelong practice, and the more familiar you become with your own rhythms, the easier it is to extend grace when life slows down or speeds up.

Because the truth is, you were never meant to bloom all year. Sometimes the most meaningful growth happens in the quiet, when you remember that even in stillness, you are enough.

With Love,

Dr. Love Jordan