The Woman Beneath the Roots
- Julie Quizon
- 1 day ago
- 3 min read
The Woman Beneath the Roots
Becoming Before Blooming
For years, I thought the story was about the dreams.
The businesses.
The websites.
The projects.
The products.
The ideas waiting patiently on shelves.
I thought the story was about what I hadn't accomplished yet.
What I hadn't launched yet.
What I hadn't finished yet.
But lately I have started wondering if I was looking at the wrong thing entirely.
Because while I was watching the seeds, something else was happening underground.
I was changing.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Season by season.
The kind of growth that is difficult to see while it is happening.
When I look back now, I realize there isn't just one version of my story.
There are many.
There is the young woman in the Philippines.
The girl with big dreams and a sensitive heart.
The girl who often felt deeply but didn't always have language for what she was feeling.
The girl who learned early that life could be beautiful and difficult at the same time.
Then there was the nursing student.
The woman who sacrificed.
Studied.
Worked.
Persevered.
The woman who failed her licensing exam and chose to try again.
The woman who learned resilience before she learned confidence.
Then there was the entrepreneur.
The woman who refused to let disappointment define her.
The woman who reinvented herself.
Went back to school.
Built a skincare clinic.
Created opportunities where none existed.
The woman who learned that creativity can be a form of survival.
Then there was the woman carrying invisible grief.
The woman navigating fertility challenges.
The woman who experienced loss.
The woman learning that strength and heartbreak can coexist.
The woman discovering that some wounds do not announce themselves loudly.
They simply become part of your landscape.
Then came motherhood.
A transformation so profound that it rearranged the architecture of my heart.
The arrival of Vela changed everything.
Not because she completed me.
Because she revealed parts of me I had never met before.
A fiercer love.
A deeper compassion.
A greater sense of purpose.
A new understanding of legacy.
Then came the years of learning.
The years of asking questions.
The years of exploring healing, psychology, wellness, sensitivity, creativity, spirituality, and human behavior.
The years that looked quiet from the outside.
But were anything but quiet on the inside.
Those years taught me something important.
Healing is not becoming someone new.
Healing is remembering who you are.
And perhaps that is why I feel different now.
Not because I have finally figured everything out.
Not because all the dreams have come true.
Not because every project is finished.
I feel different because I trust myself more.
The younger versions of me were always searching.
Searching for answers.
Searching for certainty.
Searching for proof.
Searching for permission.
The woman I am becoming is searching less.
Listening more.
Trusting more.
Allowing more.
For a long time I believed success would finally make me feel safe.
Now I wonder if safety was never waiting at the finish line.
Maybe safety is learning to trust myself regardless of the outcome.
Maybe safety is knowing that whatever happens next, I will find my way through it.
Because I always have.
Every chapter of my life proves it.
Every season proves it.
Every version of me proves it.
The girl.
The nurse.
The entrepreneur.
The SKINIOLOGIST.
The mother.
The therapist.
The musician.
The mystic.
The dreamer.
They all survived.
They all adapted.
They all kept going.
And perhaps the woman beneath the roots is simply the sum of all those seasons.
Not a finished version.
Not a final version.
A living version.
Still growing.
Still learning.
Still becoming.
As I write these words, I realize something that makes me smile.
For years I thought I was waiting for my life to begin.
Waiting for the right business.
The right opportunity.
The right timing.
The right circumstances.
The right version of me.
What if life has been happening all along?
What if the becoming was the point?
What if the roots were never preparing me for the story?
What if the roots were the story?
And if that is true, then perhaps there is only one question left.
Not:
"What am I building?"
But:
"Who am I becoming?"
Because something tells me the answer to that question changes everything.
To be continued...
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