Seeing Clearly, One Pattern at a Time

The other day, out on my walk, I paused on a small bridge and looked down at the creek below me.

The surface was frozen solid and, at first glance, looked still and unmoving.

But then I noticed something important.

Beneath the ice, the water was flowing, quietly making its way toward the river.

Nature is full of patterns we can count on.

Here in Canada, winter always comes. The ground freezes, and trees stand bare.

And then, without fail, spring begins its slow thaw. Trees bud again.

Daffodils are among the first to bloom.

The tide goes out, and then it comes back in.

The sun rises. The sun sets.

Patterns surround us, even when we don’t consciously notice them.

Relationships have patterns, too, especially difficult ones.

When you live inside a painful marriage, patterns are hard to see.

Not because you’re unaware, but because you’re too close to it.

Living in survival mode, you’re just getting through the next moment— braced, alert, waiting for the next shift you can’t name.

You’re not stepping back to see the whole picture right now.

Every hurt feels isolated.

Every conversation feels like maybe this one is different.

But over time, something begins to repeat.

Have you ever had the quiet sense that you’ve been here before?

Same conflict. Same confusion. And yet, somehow, it never resolves.

That’s often the first sign of a pattern.

Patterns aren’t always loud.

They don’t always look dramatic, although they can.

Sometimes it looks like a little closeness that makes you hopeful,

and then he pulls away again.

Sometimes promises sound sincere, but don’t hold.

And sometimes it’s that same confusion returning, no matter how much effort you give.

Over time, the cycle begins to feel familiar, even if you can’t yet name it.

Awareness is simply the beginning of seeing clearly.

In difficult marriages, things don’t fall apart randomly; they follow a cycle that slowly wears you down.

It may begin with a stretch of calm.

Things feel lighter, like the air has cleared just enough to breathe again.

More normal. Maybe even hopeful.

You might think, maybe this time really is different.

Then comes the subtle shift.

Nothing too obvious yet — just a feeling.

A tightening in your chest or a tension in the air.

You pay closer attention. You might tiptoe a little more.

Be extra careful. Extra kind and accommodating.

And then… something changes.

Sometimes it’s an explosion. Sometimes silence.

Withdrawal. Moodiness. Coldness. Irritability.

A wall you can’t break through.

He isolates. Becomes distant. Sour. Mean. Or emotionally disappears.

And you’re left standing there, trying to understand what just happened.

Whether it’s days or weeks, that distance begins to soften. He resurfaces.

The edge dulls a little. The tension eases, and the atmosphere lifts.

The relief is real.

You breathe again and think, okay, we’re back.

But eventually, that same uneasiness returns, easy to miss at first,

like the quiet after something has passed through and left its mark.

The tension builds.

The worry creeps in. And you feel yourself bracing again.

And you realize — you’ve been here before.

Your body knows.

And here’s the important part. Noticing a pattern doesn’t mean you have to confront it.

It doesn’t mean you have to explain it or fix it.

Awareness doesn’t ask anything of you yet.

It’s simply the moment you realize this isn’t all on you.

Just like that frozen creek, what looks still on the surface may already be shifting underneath.

Seeing clearly is often the first sign that the fog is starting to lift. It’s the moment you stop pushing the truth away.

Does this sound familiar at all? If you’re nodding right now, I see you.

Seeing clearly isn’t the end of anything. It’s the beginning of steadiness.

If this stirred something in you, you might want to sit with it for a moment.

You don’t have to name the pattern yet — just notice what you recognized.

There’s no rush here. Awareness has its own pace.

And steadiness begins by giving yourself permission to see what’s already showing up.

Scripture reminds us that honest reflection is not about blame, but about returning to what is true.

“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!” Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)

Still Her, The Journey Home