The Stability Paradox: When Staying is Risk and Growth is Safety

Sometimes the terrifying choice is the one that transforms you. India, 2009.

Part 3 of 7 in The Stability-Growth Paradox Series

Sometimes the safest-looking choice is the most dangerous one you'll ever make.

For years, I had a perfectly reasonable excuse for not dreaming too big:

"I can't because we'll have to move."
"I can't because the kids need me."
"I can't because my husband's career comes first."

And some of that was true. Military life does require sacrifice. Kids do need their mother. Marriage does involve supporting your spouse's career.

But here's what I didn't want to admit: I was using those very real constraints as cover for something else entirely.

Fear.

Not fear of failure. Fear of wanting. Fear of reaching for something that felt too big, too selfish, too risky. It was so much easier to stay where I was—comfortable, useful, needed—than to ask the terrifying question: What do I actually want for myself?

Staying felt safe. Dreaming felt dangerous.

But here's the paradox I didn't see then: Staying small was the riskiest thing I could have done.

Because while I was "safely" avoiding risk, something else was happening—slowly, invisibly, gradually: I was building resentment. Against my husband. Against the military. Against my life. Against myself.

And resentment doesn't just sit quietly. It erodes everything.

The Illusion of Safety

We tell ourselves stories about why staying is the wise choice:

"This job isn't perfect, but at least it's stable."
"This relationship isn't great, but it's familiar."
"I'm not growing here, but I'm not failing either."
"I'll wait until the timing is better."

And sometimes staying is the right choice—when you're consolidating, integrating, building roots, recovering from upheaval.

But other times? Staying is just fear dressed up as prudence.

Here's how you know the difference:

Stability that grounds you:

• Resonates with your soul

• Revitalizes you

• Creates a foundation for future growth

• Feels like rest, integration, building strength

• Aligns with your values even when it's hard

Stability that traps you:

• Feels "comfortable" but slowly deadening

• Requires no challenge, no stretch, no growth

• Built on avoiding discomfort rather than honoring wisdom

• Maintained by excuses, not convictions

• Creates resentment over time

The trap of false stability is this: You think you're standing still, but you're not. You're either moving forward or sliding backward. You just can't see the slide because it's so gradual.

A relationship doesn't just stay "not great"—it slowly deteriorates.
A career doesn't just plateau—skills atrophy, passion fades, opportunities close.
An identity built on old roles doesn't just remain static—it becomes increasingly fragile as life changes around you.

What feels like safety is often just slow erosion.

When Growth IS the Stable Choice

Fast forward to 2007.

My husband received orders to New Delhi, India. For two years. With four kids—ages 6, 8, 10, and 12.

Every rational part of me screamed: This is insane.

We'd be halfway around the world from family. The kids would have to change schools again. I'd be navigating a completely foreign culture, unfamiliar systems, everything harder than it needed to be.

But here's what I knew in my bones: Staying would have been the riskier choice.

Not financially. Not logistically. But for my soul. For my marriage. For my kids' formation. For who I was becoming.

If we'd stayed—if I'd insisted on the "safe" path—I would have been choosing comfort over growth. Familiarity over possibility. The known over the extraordinary.

And I would have taught my kids that the right response to challenge is retreat. That the world is too scary to explore. That the cost of adventure is too high.

So we went.

And those two years in India? They were some of the most transformative of my life.

Not easy. Not comfortable. But alive. Expanding. Growth at a pace I didn't know was possible.

I learned to navigate chaos with grace. To find beauty in the unfamiliar. To build community from scratch. To let go of control and trust the process. To see my kids become global citizens with perspectives I could never have taught them at home.

I was transformed—not despite the difficulty, but because of it.

That terrifying leap toward growth? It was the most stable thing I could have done for my soul.

The Real Risk

Here's what I've learned after 20 moves, 30 years of military life, and launching my own business at 52:

The biggest risk isn't taking the leap. It's staying too long in a place that no longer fits.

Because here's the thing about growth: When your soul is ready to expand and you keep trying to fit into the old container, something breaks.

Maybe it's your health. Maybe it's your relationships. Maybe it's your sense of self. Maybe it's just your joy, your passion, your aliveness—slowly leaking away until you wake up one day and don't recognize the person in the mirror.

Growth doesn't always feel stable in the moment. It's uncertain. Uncomfortable. Sometimes terrifying.

But aligned growth is more stable than false comfort because it's building something that lasts: capacity, resilience, wisdom, identity that can withstand anything.

Comfort keeps you small. Growth makes you antifragile.

How to Know the Difference

So how do you discern when to stay and when to go? When comfort is wisdom and when it's fear?

Here's the framework I use:

Ask: Does This Resonate or Just Feel Comfortable?

Resonance is a full-body yes. It might be hard, but it feels right in your bones. It aligns with your values. It calls to your future self. It energizes you even when it exhausts you.

Comfort is just... easy. No friction. No challenge. No risk. And often—if you're honest—no life.

Resonance revitalizes. Comfort numbs.

Ask: Is This Fear or Wisdom?

Fear says: "What if it doesn't work? What if I fail? What if I'm not enough?"
Wisdom says: "This isn't aligned. The timing isn't right. I need to honor this season."

Fear contracts. Wisdom discerns.

Fear is reactive. Wisdom is grounded.

Fear avoids all discomfort. Wisdom chooses its hard.

Ask: What's the Cost of Staying?

Not just the obvious costs—money, time, opportunity.

The hidden costs:

• Resentment that builds when you ignore your soul's call

• Atrophy that happens when you stop growing

• Regret that accumulates when you choose safety over alignment

• The slow erosion of aliveness that comes from playing it too safe for too long

Then ask: What's the cost of going?

Discomfort? Uncertainty? Having to grow?

Put those two lists side by side. Really look at them.

Which cost can you live with?

Ask: Is This Busyness or Growth?

Not all movement is growth.

Aligned growth:

• Resonates with your soul

• Revitalizes you (even when it's hard)

• Stretches you toward who you're becoming

• Creates capacity, resilience, depth

• Lights you up from the inside

Restless avoidance disguised as growth:

• Distracts you from what really matters

• Exhausts without energizing

• Keeps you busy but not purposeful

• Seeks external validation more than internal alignment

• Feels like running FROM something rather than moving TOWARD

True growth might terrify you, but it also excites you. False growth just keeps you too busy to feel.

The Courage to Choose Your Hard

Here's the truth: Both staying and going are hard.

Staying requires accepting limits, practicing patience, building slowly.
Going requires courage, uncertainty, leaving the familiar.

You don't get to choose between hard and easy. You only get to choose which hard you're willing to live with.

The question isn't "What's safe?" The question is: "What does my soul need right now—and do I have the courage to honor that, even when it's terrifying?"

For me in 2007, my soul needed India. It needed expansion, challenge, transformation. Staying would have been the comfortable choice—and the most dangerous one.

For me in the years before that, I used the excuse of military life to avoid what my soul actually needed—which was to dream, to want, to reach for something of my own. Staying filled my comfort need but ignored my soul need. And that avoidance slowly built the resentment that would eventually force me to change anyway.

Both were lessons. Both shaped me. But only one was chosen with courage.

Standing at Your Own Crossroads

Maybe you're standing at a crossroads right now.

A job that's stable but soul-crushing.
A relationship that's familiar but no longer fits.
A version of yourself that worked for a season but feels too small now.
A dream that terrifies you but won't leave you alone.

And you're trying to decide: Stay or go? Stability or growth?

Here's what I want you to know: Sometimes the stable choice is the terrifying one.

Sometimes growth—with all its uncertainty and discomfort—is the most stable thing you can do for your soul.

Not because it's easy. Not because it's comfortable. But because it's aligned.

And in the long run, alignment is the only real stability there is.

Your Turn

Take a few minutes with these questions:

Where in your life are you choosing comfort over resonance?
(What are you staying in because it's familiar, not because it's aligned?)

What growth is your soul ready for that terrifies you?
(What leap are you avoiding—and what's the real cost of not taking it?)

If you were to choose the "dangerous" path of growth, what would it look like?
(Be specific. What's one step you could take this week?)

What would your future self—five years from now—want you to do right now?
(Not what's comfortable. What's aligned.)

Write them down. Sit with the answers. Let them tell you what your soul already knows.

Because sometimes the safest thing you can do is the thing that scares you most.

And sometimes the most dangerous thing is staying exactly where you are.

Next in the series: Building on Shifting Ground – Creating Structure When Everything Feels Unstable

What about you? Have you ever stayed somewhere too long because it felt "safe"? Or taken a terrifying leap that turned out to be the most stable choice you could make? I'd love to hear your story.