My son was asleep on my chest when this hit me

I used to measure progress by noise...

The house was quiet.

My son had finally fallen asleep on my chest, and I didn’t dare move. Not even to scratch my nose.

We’d had a long morning… one of those “I might cry before the baby does” mornings.

I sat still. Really still.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, still wearing the same hoodie from the night before because I’d chosen to pull an all-nighter. My tea was cold. My phone was somewhere on the coffee table, vibrating with my 6 a.m. alarm. But I couldn’t reach it… or wouldn’t.

And in that stillness, this weird memory hit me… 24-year-old me.

Sitting at a desk with my hands on my head, eyes heavy from hours of worry. My laptop open, my brain scrambled. I wasn’t watching a movie or writing a strategy. I was just… spiraling. Wondering if I’d completely messed up my life.

I remember that version of me so clearly.

Broke. Confused. Frustrated.

Trying to convince myself that all this pressure was “part of the process.” But secretly wondering:

“What if this is just failure disguised as figuring it out?”

I thought I was stuck back then.
But now I see it clearly:
I wasn’t stuck, I was rooting.

---

I used to think progress looked like fireworks.

Big launches. Loud claps. Momentum.

I thought being successful would feel like standing in the middle of a stage, hearing your name echo in rooms that used to ignore you.

But now?

Now I think progress looks more like a nap on your chest.
More like your wife catching four hours of sleep after nursing all night.
More like doing the unglamorous work every day and no one noticing, except maybe your child, who feels safe enough to sleep on your heartbeat.

That kind of success doesn’t make the highlight reel.
But it makes a life.

---

At 24, I thought I was too late.
At 30, I realise I was just planting seeds.

And most of them needed time underground… in silence… before anything could grow.

If you're in your 20s right now and it feels like you're behind…
Please hear me: you’re not behind.
You’re just not fully bloomed yet.

This season you’re in might not look like much from the outside.
It might feel quiet, repetitive, like nothing’s happening…
But trust me, something is. You are.

You’re learning how to show up.
How to be patient.
How to be consistent when it’s boring, and gentle with yourself when it’s hard.

You’re growing roots.
And one day, those roots will hold up something beautiful.

---

So no, I don’t have it all figured out.

I still have bad days.
I still forget things.
I still eat cold rice standing over the kitchen sink.
I still argue with my calendar.

But I no longer think I’m failing just because things are quiet.

Measuring progress by noise is forgetting that the most sacred things grow in secret.

I’ve stopped measuring my worth by how loud my life sounds.

I’ve started measuring it by peace.
By love.
By presence.

And sometimes… by whether I can hold a sleeping baby without sneezing.

---

If you’re reading this and feeling stuck, I hope you remember this:

Stillness isn’t failure.
Unseen doesn’t mean unworthy.
And quiet seasons aren’t wasted, they’re where you become.

You’re not stuck.
You’re rooting.

And roots don’t make a sound when they grow.

---

It’s funny how life works, isn’t it?

I used to measure progress by things that echoed:
– the followers,
– the DMs,
– the “You’re killing it bro.”

But now I see that some of the most important moments in my life were quiet.
Lonely. Unseen.

Like sitting at a desk at 2 a.m. wondering if I’d made a huge mistake.
Or wiping baby drool off my shirt while whispering to myself,
“You’re doing better than you think.”

Here’s the thing no one tells you:
You don’t outgrow self-doubt. You just learn how to talk to it with more kindness.
You don’t suddenly “figure life out.” You just become more okay with not having all the answers.

If you’re in a loud season… chasing, building, trying to prove something… I get it.
But if you’re in a quiet one, like I was that day…
Don’t rush out of it.

That stillness might be the exact place where something inside you is shifting.

So here’s to random reflections while nap-trapped on a Tuesday.
To growth that’s boring.
To progress that no one claps for.
To you… becoming someone even 24-year-old you wouldn’t believe.

---

Still figuring life out,
Dim