self-compassion

Meet Me Where I Am

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Lately, I’ve been learning what it means to meet myself where I am.

Not where I wish I were.
Not where I think I should be by now.
Just… here.

It’s harder than it sounds.

I’m quick to extend grace outward, but slower to offer it inward.
Quick to trust that God meets me in my weakness —
but hesitant to sit honestly with that weakness myself.

So often, I rush past the present moment.
I tell myself to be stronger, more healed, more settled.
As if becoming requires skipping over where I actually stand.

But maybe growth doesn’t start with pushing forward.
Maybe it starts with staying.

Staying long enough to acknowledge the tiredness.
The questions.
The ache that hasn’t fully lifted yet.

Meeting myself where I am doesn’t mean giving up.
It means telling the truth.
And trusting that God is already there — not waiting for a better version of me to arrive.

When I slow down enough to be honest with myself,
I find that grace doesn’t feel so far away.
It feels close.
Gentle.
Steady.

And maybe that’s the work of this season —
learning to stand where I am, without shame,
and letting God meet me there too.

“For He knows how we are formed; He remembers that we are dust.”
— Psalm 103:14 (NIV)

I’m Not Who I Was — And That’s a Good Thing

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I used to think healing would bring me back to who I was before.
Before the breaking.
Before the questions.
Before the silence.

But I’ve learned —
healing doesn’t take you back.
It walks you forward, slowly,
into someone new.

And the woman I’m becoming
is softer than she used to be —
but she’s also steadier.
She still feels things deeply,
but she no longer apologizes for that.

She pays attention now.
To what feels safe.
To what feels like peace.
To what feels like home.

There was a time I thought becoming meant performing —
trying to prove I was strong, unshaken, “okay.”

Now, I know better.

Becoming looks like knowing when to speak
and when to stay quiet.
It looks like grace for the in-between.
It looks like choosing truth,
even when it’s tender.

And while I wouldn’t have chosen this path,
I’m learning to see beauty in who I’m becoming along the way.

No, I’m not who I was —
and maybe that’s not something to grieve.
Maybe that’s something to honor.

It’s the quiet strength that speaks the loudest.
Can you hear it in yourself, too?

Rest — You Don’t Have to Run Anymore

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Rest — You Don’t Have to Run Anymore

I didn’t know how heavy shame could feel —
until it sat across my shoulders like a weight I couldn’t name.

Today in therapy, I tried to describe it.
What came out wasn’t polished. It wasn’t pretty.
It was real.

It felt like I was fully submerged in sinking sand,
trying to run.
Not walk — run.
As if urgency could save me from the pressure pressing down.

And then —
once my hands found a rhythm,
once the tapping steadied something inside me,
I saw myself.

Running.
But not forward.

Running from myself.

Running from the pressure I’ve placed on my own shoulders.
From the expectations I’ve created in my own mind.
From the shame I’ve added to my own story
because I keep measuring myself against a version of me I can’t seem to become.

And here’s what surprised me:
Saying it out loud didn’t make me feel weaker.
It made me feel awake.

I’ve been adding weight to the load — not because I’m wrong or bad —
but because I’ve been afraid that naming the pain would mean I’ve failed.

But what if it means I’m healing?

What if seeing the running is the first step to slowing down?

What if the girl I’ve been running from —
the one still buried in the sinking sand —
is the one who needs me to stop,
kneel,
and softly say:

Rest—
You don’t have to run anymore.