the grace in wilting
/rōot/ awakenings post # 22 - on softening, releasing, and allowing for rest in times of transition
This week, I watched the peony bush outside my office bloom and wilt in what felt like the same breath.
One day, the blooms were tight fists of promise. The next, wide open—bold, fragrant bursts of pale pink, fuchsia, and bubblegum. And then, their petals began to fall. Slowly. Steadily. Without resistance. Without fight. Just a quiet release back to the soil.
Their time on earth is fleeting, and it used to make me feel sad to see the petals scattered on the ground. But what I’ve learned is that peonies spend nearly a year underground before blooming again. We’ve been taught to see the wilt as an ending, when really, it’s part of an ongoing cycle. A sign that something is complete—and that it’s time to rest and prepare for what comes next.
It made me think about how rarely we give ourselves that kind of grace.
Nature transitions through its seasons with ease—planting, rooting, rising, blooming, falling, resting—each phase making space for the next. No urgency. No shame.
But when we’re in our own seasons of transition, many of us struggle to slow down. We stay stuck in a loop of productivity, identity, and performance. We push through, strive, and keep performing—long after the moment has passed. We try to rush into what’s next without giving ourselves time to breathe. To rest. To simply be.
In nature, rest is everywhere.
Even in spring.
Especially in spring.
This week, the peonies reminded me that rest doesn’t only belong to winter.
It lives in the transitions.
In the letting go.
In the pause after beauty.
In the quiet space before we root again.
Rest is preparation for what comes next.
a compassionate reframe
We’ve been conditioned to believe that rest is something we earn only after we've pushed ourselves to the edge.
But nature offers a different model.
In the natural world, rest isn’t reserved for emergencies or exhaustion. It's integrated into every phase of life. Trees don’t leaf out all year. Flowers don’t bloom endlessly. Even in seasons of growth, there are quiet pauses—moments of recalibration, of unseen work happening below the surface.
Rest in a season of transition isn’t laziness. It’s not avoidance. It’s not failure. It’s part of the process of becoming.
There’s nothing wrong with needing to slow down when everything around us is shifting. In fact, it may be the most honest response we can offer ourselves. When we stop forcing ourselves to push through, we begin to notice what’s really happening inside us—what’s shifting, softening, or asking to be let go.
Rest allows us to metabolize change and return to ourselves before rushing into what comes next. It gives us the time to root more deeply, so that when the next season of growth arrives, we’re ready to move with clarity and intention.
reflection prompts
As you reflect on the present momet, I invite you to consider the following:
Where in your life are you between seasons—no longer in what was, but not quite in what’s next?
What expectations are you carrying about how you should be navigating this transition?
What would it look like to offer yourself permission to rest, not because you’re exhausted, but because you’re evolving?
What small practices help you stay grounded when the future feels uncertain
one final thought
Rest in transition isn’t a pause from your becoming—it’s part of your becoming.
It’s where you catch your breath.
Where you listen in.
Where you root, so you can rise again—on your own terms, in your own time.
Remember, rest isn’t a retreat. It’s a return.
In solidarity + gratitude,
Thanks for this, Dimple! I woke after a long meditation thinking, “Oh, I took too much time, there’s so much to do, blah blah blah.” Then I read your post. I think I needed both the meditation and the read.