What Season Are You Standing In?

Every season of life asks something different of us.

Some seasons invite us to slow down. Others ask us to let go, begin again, or find the courage to step into something new. The challenge is that we often don't recognize the season we're in until we pause long enough to reflect.

In this episode of The Becoming Podcast, Carrie shares why this conversation marks the true beginning of the podcast and reflects on the journey that led here—from releasing the first three volumes of the Becoming series and creating the Becoming Garden to hosting the Summer Solstice Gathering and discovering what it means to step into a season of expression.

Along the way, she explores the relationship between Becoming and Foundations, shares the powerful metaphor that finally brought clarity to how they work together, and reflects on a personal realization that has transformed the way she sees both her work and herself.

This episode is also the beginning of a new tradition.

Each week, The Becoming Podcast will begin with a single question—not because there is one right answer, but because the questions we ask ourselves have the power to change the way we see our lives.

This week's question is:

What season are you standing in?

As you listen, consider your own answer.

You may discover that the season you're standing in has been quietly preparing you for what comes next.

In this episode you'll discover:

• Why completion can sometimes feel like loss—and why that's okay.
• The difference between Becoming and Foundations, and why both matter.
• How the stories we tell ourselves shape the lives we create.
• Why expression is less about being seen and more about living authentically.
• What it means to recognize and embrace the season you're living in today.

If this episode resonates with you, I'd love to hear from you. Share your reflections, leave a review, or pass this conversation along to someone who might need it.

Because becoming was never meant to be a journey we take alone.

Every question is an invitation. Every conversation is another step on the journey.

If you'd like to spend a little more time with today's reflection, visit TotalTransformation.life, where you'll find my companion blog, photos from today's story, and more resources to support your own practice of intentional living.

Until next time...

Keep becoming.

https://www.totaltransformation.life/blog

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:29

What season are you standing in? Hello, fellow travelers, and welcome to becoming. I'm Carrie Woodcock, and I'm so glad you're here. Every week, hmm, every week we'll begin with a single question. Not because I have the answer, but because I've learned that the quality of our lives is often shaped by the quality of the questions we're willing to ask. Today's question is simple. What season are you standing in? Throughout becoming, you'll often hear me talk about the seasons of life. I don't mean the seasons on the calendar. I mean the seasons of growth that we all experience. Some seasons ask us to become aware. Others invite us into alignment. Some call us to expression. And others open the door to expansion. None of them is better than another. They each have something to teach us. So let me ask you, what

Standing at the Threshold

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season are you standing in today? As you listen, don't worry about finding the perfect answer. Just stay curious. Notice what comes up for you. And let's explore it together. One of the things I've learned over the last few years is that we often recognize the significance of a season only after we've lived through it. When we're in the middle of it, life usually feels busy. There are deadlines to meet, problems to solve, lists to check off, and responsibilities demanding our attention. We don't often have the perspective to see that we're standing in the middle of something that will one day become a defining chapter of our lives. Only when we pause to look back do we begin to see how perfectly so many of the pieces fit together. That's exactly where I find myself today. Two months ago, I recorded the very first episode of this podcast with my friend Amanda. At the time, I said that I wasn't officially launching the podcast yet. It wasn't because I wasn't excited about it. Quite the opposite, actually. I knew exactly where I wanted this podcast to go. I also knew I wasn't quite there yet. There were still books to finish, audiobooks to record, a website to build, a garden to create, a summer solstice gathering to plan. There was an entire vision that needed to come to life before I felt ready to begin this next conversation. Looking back now, I'm really grateful I waited. Because over the last few months, something happened that I couldn't have planned. The work itself began teaching me. Not just through writing the books, but through the people who started reading them. Through coaching conversations, through workshops, through moments that left all of us sitting in silence because something had just been understood that none of us had seen before. It felt as though becoming wasn't just something I was creating anymore. It had begun creating something within me. Then came the summer solstice gathering. If you've been following this journey, you know how much that evening meant to me. For years that gathering existed only as an idea. I could see it long before it existed. I imagined people walking through the garden. I imagined conversations under the lights. I imagined holding the books in my hands after years of writing them. I imagined what it might feel like to share something so personal with the people who had encouraged me along the way. And then one evening all of those things became real. The books were there, the garden was blooming, friends, family, people who had walked beside me for years, and some that were just discovering becoming for the first time. There was laughter, conversation, reflection, and connection. It was one of those evenings that somehow felt both ordinary and unforgettable at the same time. After everyone went home and life began settling back into its normal rhythm, I expected to feel relieved. Instead, I felt empty. Not empty in a hopeless way. More like the quiet feeling that comes after you've poured every ounce of yourself into something you've loved for a very long time. For the first couple of days, I almost felt sad. I couldn't quite understand it. Why would I feel sad after something so beautiful? Then it finally occurred to me. Of course I felt that way. I had given everything I had to that season, every early morning, every late night, every chapter, every revision, every flower planted in the garden, every detail of the gathering. And every piece of energy I had was poured into bringing that vision to life. That feeling wasn't disappointment. It was completion. I wasn't grieving because something had gone wrong. I was letting go because something had been fully lived. And almost as quickly as that realization came, another feeling began to take its place. Excitement. Not the kind of excitement that comes from finishing something. The kind that comes from realizing you're standing at the beginning of something new. For the first time in years, I wasn't looking toward a deadline. I wasn't racing to finish a manuscript before a release date. I wasn't wondering whether everything would come together in time. Instead, I found myself standing in a space I hadn't occupied in a long time. There was room to breathe, room to create, room to wonder. And I realized something else. This wasn't just the beginning of another book. It wasn't just the beginning of another season in the becoming series. It felt like the beginning of an entirely different relationship with this work. Because for years,

Beneath the Same Stars

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becoming had largely been something I was creating. But now for the first time, it becomes something I get to share. And I honestly can't think of a season I'd rather be standing in. There's been one image that I haven't been able to stop thinking about this week. It wasn't something I planned or created intentionally. It was simply one of those moments where life quietly puts two experiences side by side and allows you to see something you couldn't have seen before. About twelve years ago, long before any of this happened, I found myself outside one evening looking up at the stars. It was cold. The garden didn't exist yet. The books hadn't even been created. There was no podcast. I remember standing there, feeling very alone. Not lonely. Just alone with my thoughts. I believe that that was the moment the seeds for becoming were planted. There was a stillness, a solitude to that evening that I don't think I'll ever forget. I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't quite see yet. And it took about twelve years for me to figure it out. But now fast forward to just last weekend, the summer solstice gathering had arrived, and I found myself standing outside again, looking up at those same stars. But everything else had changed. There was a garden that was alive with growth. There were lights and tiki torches glowing. My books were sitting on the table. People were laughing. Friends and family filled the space. There were conversations happening everywhere I looked. People were sharing stories with one another, reflecting, connecting. For a few moments I stepped back from it all and simply watched. And I remember thinking, this is real. Not because the books had been published, or because the garden was finished, but because something much deeper had happened. An idea that had once lived entirely inside my own head had become something shared, something that belonged to a community. Those two evenings have stayed with me because they feel like two ends of the same bridge. On one side was solitude, and on the other side was connection. On one side was creating, and on the other side was sharing. On one side was preparing, and on the other side was expressing. If someone asked me to create a picture that represented the threshold between alignment and expression, I honestly don't think I could have imagined one more beautiful than the one life had created for me. Under those same stars, but standing in a completely different season. That image has stayed with me because I think that's what becoming has always been about. Not arriving somewhere, not suddenly becoming a different person, but allowing ourselves to grow through the seasons we're given. When I first began writing Becoming, I thought I was simply writing about intentional living. I thought I was trying to organize everything I had learned over the years about coaching, behavior change, wellness, and personal growth. But what I didn't realize at the time was that becoming wasn't only changing the people who would eventually read it. It was changing me. Over the last several months, especially while working with clients through foundations and then watching conversations naturally deepen into becoming, I've learned something that has reshaped how I understand this work. For a long time I believed that transformation happened because people learned better habits, better routines, better systems. And don't get me wrong, those things matter. They matter a lot, but I've realized they aren't what people connect with most deeply. People don't connect most deeply through productivity. They connect through shared humanity. Some of the most meaningful conversations I've had recently didn't happen because someone completed every habit tracker or checked every box. They happened because someone finally felt safe enough to tell the truth. To say something they'd been carrying quietly for years. To admit they didn't know who they were anymore. To recognize a belief they had never questioned. To realize that a story they had been living inside wasn't actually true. Those moments don't begin with advice. They begin with honesty. And watching those conversations unfold taught me something about my own work that I don't think I fully understood until now. For a while, people have asked me how becoming and foundations fit together. I've answered that question in a lot of different ways. But this week, I think I finally found the words I'd been searching for. For a long time, I thought foundations came first. After all, it's called foundations. It's the practical side of the work. Sleep, movement, nutrition, water, daily habits, journaling. Small intentional choices that gradually help us create a healthier life. But then I realized something. Before you ever pour the foundation for your home, you have to understand the land you're building on. You have to know what's beneath the surface. Is the ground stable? What stories has it been holding for years? Where are the places that need attention before you begin building? That's what becoming is. Becoming helps us understand the landscape of our own lives, our values, our beliefs, our identity, the stories we've been telling ourselves, the experiences that have quietly shaped the choices we make every single day. Only then does foundations become what it was always meant to be. Not a way to become someone different, but a way to build a life that reflects the person we're becoming. That realization changed everything for me. Because here's the truth. You can pour the strongest concrete in the world. But if you never look beneath the surface, the cracks won't start in the foundation. They'll start in the ground underneath it. And I think that's why these two pieces of my work belong together. Not because one's better than the other. Because one without the other is incomplete. Becoming gives meaning to our daily habits. Foundations gives our values somewhere

The Story I Was Living Inside

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to live every single day. And somehow, standing beneath those same stars on two very different evenings, I realized I wasn't just seeing the next season of my work more clearly. I was seeing my own life more clearly too. One of the most meaningful conversations I've had over the past few months happened during one of my becoming discussions. We were talking about the stories we live inside. Not the stories that happened to us, but the stories we begin telling ourselves because of what happened. The quiet beliefs that become so familiar we stop questioning them. As everyone was sharing, I found myself recognizing one of my own. It wasn't something I had consciously believed. It wasn't something I would have said out loud if someone had asked me. But once I saw it, I couldn't unsee it. Somewhere along the way, I had begun living as though I was destined to be a runner-up. Not someone who failed, not someone who never accomplished anything, just someone who would get close. Someone who would almost make it. When I finally recognized that belief, I started looking back over my life through that lens. And honestly, it explained more than I expected. How many opportunities had I stepped back from because I assumed someone else was more qualified? How many ideas had I held on to for too long because I doubted whether they were really worth sharing? How many times had I pulled back just as the momentum was beginning to build? Not because anyone else was holding me back, but because of a story I didn't even realize I was living inside. That's the power of awareness. Awareness doesn't immediately change your life. It changes what you're able to see. And once you see something clearly, you can't unknow it. That's what becoming aware was all about for me. Learning to recognize the patterns, the beliefs, the expectations, and assumptions that had quietly been shaping my life for years. Not so I could judge myself or blame my past, but simply so I could understand myself more honestly. Then came alignment. Once I became aware of that story, I had a choice. Would I continue making decisions from that old belief? Or would I begin acting from a different place? Alignment isn't about becoming perfect. But it is about choosing over and over again to let your actions reflect what you know to be true instead of what you've always believed. Sometimes that meant speaking up when I would have stayed quiet. Sometimes it meant saying yes to opportunities that felt intimidating. Sometimes it meant continuing to write even when I wondered if anyone would ever read the words. Little by little those choices began creating a different reality. And then something happened that I didn't expect. As I began releasing Becoming Into the World, the books, the garden, the gathering, this podcast, the conversation, I kept waiting for that familiar voice of self-doubt to show up. The one that usually whispered, Who do you think you are? Someone else could do this better. Don't get your hopes up. This probably won't work anyway. But this time it didn't. That doesn't mean I've suddenly become fearless. I still don't know exactly where all of this is going. I still have moments where I wonder what the next season will look like. I still don't have every answer. But something is different. Because now I know where that old voice came from. I recognize it. I understand it. And once you've brought something into the light, it loses so much of its power. That may be one of the greatest gifts awareness has given me. Not certainty, but freedom. Freedom to notice those old stories without automatically believing them. Freedom to choose differently. Freedom to move forward without waiting until every fear disappears. As I've been reflecting on all this over the last few weeks, I've realized something else. This season of expression feels different because it isn't built on proving anything. I'm not writing this next book, hoping it will convince people that I have something valuable to say. I'm writing it because I already know why it matters. I'm not starting this podcast because I think I have all the answers. I'm starting it because I believe the conversations are worth having. I'm not creating workshops because I think I've arrived. I'm creating them because I want to create spaces where people can discover their own truth, just as I continue discovering mine. For the first time in my life, it feels as though my work isn't being driven by the need to prove myself. It's being guided by something much quieter. Curiosity, purpose, gratitude. And maybe that's one of the clearest signs that I'm standing exactly where I need to be. Not because I finally reach a destination, but because I'm no longer fighting the current. But now it feels different. It's as though the current has finally caught hold of me. Not carrying me somewhere I never intended to go, but carrying me toward the place I was always meant to arrive. I don't know exactly where this season of expression will lead. And honestly, I don't want to know. Part of the beauty of becoming is allowing each season to reveal itself in its own time. What

An Invitation to the Journey

SPEAKER_00 21:58

I do know is this. I've never felt more aligned with my work. I've never felt more grateful to be doing it. And I've never been more excited to discover what unfolds next. As I stand in the beginning of this season, I realized something that I couldn't have understood a year ago. For a long time I thought the books were the destination. Finish the manuscript, publish the book, record the audiobook, cross the finish line. But now I can see the books were never really the destination. They were the invitation. An invitation into conversations, into reflection, into community, and into living more intentionally. The more people I meet, the more convinced I become that what we're really longing for isn't another self-improvement program. We don't necessarily need another productivity system or another morning routine or another checklist that promises to change our lives. Those things have their place. I believe in habits, I believe in routines. I built an entire coaching program around helping people create them. But over the past several months, I've realized something beautiful. People don't connect most deeply through productivity. They connect through shared humanity. They connect through honesty, through vulnerability, through hearing someone else's story and suddenly recognizing pieces of themselves within it. I've watched it happen over and over again. Someone shares something they've carried quietly for years. And another person says, I've felt that too. And in that moment, neither of them feels quite so alone anymore. That's the kind of space I want to continue creating. That's why I'm so excited about what comes next. One of the reasons I waited until now to officially begin this podcast is because I wanted all of those pieces to be in place first. I wanted becoming to exist not just as an idea, but as something people could actually experience. Now the books are here. The audiobooks are available. The Becoming Garden has become a place where people can gather. The first three volumes have laid the foundation for everything that comes next. And now, now I get to share it with you. I think that's the part that excites me more than anything else. For years, this work happened quietly. It happened in journals. It happened at my kitchen table. It happened during early mornings and late nights when no one else could see what was taking shape. Now those private reflections become public conversations. Now the ideas leave the page. Now they become workshops, podcast episodes, gatherings, coaching conversations, relationships, and community. For years becoming was something I was creating. Now it becomes something we get to explore together. Over the coming months, my hope is to release a new podcast episode each week. Some will be reflections like today's conversation. Others will explore different themes from the becoming framework in greater depth. Some will include conversations with guests whose experiences have shaped their own journeys in meaningful ways. We'll talk about identity, relationships, purpose, health, grief, joy, creativity, resilience, the stories we carry, the beliefs we inherit, the ways we change, and the ways we sometimes resist changing. We'll ask questions together. We'll sit with ideas that don't always have easy answers. We'll make room for curiosity. Because I don't think the goal is to have life completely figured out. I think the goal is to become more awake to the life we're already living. I'm also excited to begin offering in-person workshops and gatherings. Not because I want to teach more, but because I want to listen more. One of the greatest lessons from the Summer Solstice Gathering and from the coaching conversations that followed is that meaningful transformation happens in relationship. When people feel safe enough to tell the truth, something changes. Not because someone gives them the perfect answer, but because they finally realize they don't have to carry their story alone. I want to create more spaces where that can happen. Spaces where people can slow down, reflect, ask better questions, listen deeply, learn from one another, and discover that they are far less alone than they imagined. As I write becoming expressive, I have a feeling that's exactly what this season is about. Not becoming louder or more visible for the sake of being seen, but having the courage to bring what is true within us into relationship with the world around us. To stop hiding the parts of ourselves that might become someone else's permission to begin. I honestly don't know exactly what this season will become. And that's one of the things I love the most about it. For the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I have to control the outcome. I don't feel like I have to force every detail into place. I simply want to stay present, to keep listening, to keep creating, and to keep following where this work seems to want to go. Because the more I try to control it, the smaller it becomes. The more loosely I hold it, the more beautifully it seems to unfold. And if there's one thing I've learned over the past few years, it's this. The best parts of this journey have almost never been the ones I planned. They've been the ones I was willing to receive. That's how the seasons of becoming unfolded. That's how the garden came to life. That's how some of the most meaningful conversations I've ever had

The Season You're Standing In

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found me. So as we step into this next season together, that's exactly how I hope to continue. With curiosity, gratitude, and wonder. And with the willingness to let this journey become whatever it's meant to be. As I've been reflecting on everything that's happened over the past few months, I keep coming back to one simple thought. Every one of us is standing in a season. Sometimes we know exactly what season we're in, but other times we only recognize it when we look back. Maybe you're in a season of beginning. Everything feels uncertain. You're carrying an idea that won't leave you alone, but you aren't quite sure what to do with it yet. Maybe you're in a season of awareness. You're beginning to notice patterns that you've never really seen before. Beliefs you've been carrying, habits you've been repeating, stories you've been living inside without ever questioning whether they're true. Or maybe you're in a season of alignment. You've done the deeper work of becoming aware, and now you're trying to bring your own life into integrity with what you've discovered. You're making different choices, you're having difficult conversations, setting healthier boundaries, learning to trust yourself again. Or maybe, just maybe, you're standing where I find myself today, at the threshold of expression. Feeling that quiet pull towards something you know you're meant to share. It may not be a book or it may not be a podcast. It may never involve standing in front of another person. Expression looks different for all of us. Sometimes it's a conversation we've been avoiding. Sometimes it's creating something beautiful. Sometimes it's changing careers. Sometimes it's allowing ourselves to be loved. Sometimes it's simply telling the truth for the first time. Whatever expression looks like for you, I hope you don't rush through this season. I hope you stay curious. I hope you pay attention. I hope you notice the small moments that quietly change you. One of the biggest lessons becoming has taught me is that transformation doesn't arrive all at once. It happens in conversations, in ordinary mornings or quiet walks, while writing in a journal, while sitting with a friend over coffee, or while looking up at the stars. It happens in moments that don't necessarily feel extraordinary while we're living them. And yet somehow, when we look back, we realize they changed everything. That's why I love reflective journaling so much. It's not because writing magically solves our problems. It's because it slows us down long enough to hear ourselves. It creates space to notice what has always been there, to recognize the stories we're living inside, to celebrate the growth we might have otherwise overlooked, to remember that every season has something to teach us. As I prepare to begin writing, becoming expressive, I find myself entering this season with a feeling I haven't experienced quite like this before. This feeling of wonder, not certainty or control, but wonder. Because I honestly don't know exactly where this journey's going. I don't know what conversations we'll have. I don't know who I'll meet along the way. And I don't know how this work will continue to evolve. And for the first time, I'm okay with that. Actually, I'm more than okay with that. I'm excited by it because I've come to trust that every season reveals exactly what it needs to reveal when we're ready to receive it. The work is no longer about forcing an outcome. It's about participating fully in the process, paying attention, following what feels deeply true, holding the vision loosely enough that it has room to become something even more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. And maybe that's the invitation I want to leave you with today. Don't rush to the next season. Don't compare your beginning to someone else's middle. Don't assume that where you are today is where you'll always be. Simply ask yourself, what season am I standing in? What is this season trying to teach me? And what might become possible if I trusted it just a little bit more? I don't know the answers to those questions for you. I'm still discovering my own. But perhaps that's the point. Becoming

Until Next Time

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was never about reaching a destination. It's about remaining open to the possibility that life is still unfolding, that we are still unfolding, and that perhaps the most beautiful chapters are the ones we haven't lived yet. As we come to the end of today's conversation, I find myself smiling because this episode turned out to be something very different than I originally imagined. When I first sat down to think about what I wanted to share, I thought I would simply give an update, talk about the summer solstice gathering, share what was coming next, tell you about the books and the podcast and the workshops, but instead, this week invited me into a much deeper reflection. It invited me to pause long enough to recognize that I haven't simply finished a project. I've completed a season. And in doing so, I've also discovered something about myself. I've discovered that becoming is no longer just a framework I teach. It's the way I'm learning to live. It's helped me understand my own stories. It's helped me recognize the beliefs that were quietly shaping my life. It's helped me build habits that reflect the person I'm becoming instead of trying to become someone else. And now it's inviting me into the courage of expression. Not because I've arrived, but because I finally understand that we don't have to arrive before we begin sharing our lives with one another. If there's one thing I hope you take away from today's conversation, it's this. Not because you know exactly where it will lead, but because you don't. Some of the most meaningful moments of my own journey have come from taking one step without knowing where the path would eventually end. I certainly didn't know that a journal entry would become five books. I didn't know that five books would become a garden, and I didn't know that a garden would become a gathering. And I didn't know that one gathering would lead me here, sitting behind this microphone, sharing this conversation with you. None of those things could have been planned from the beginning. They revealed themselves one season at a time. And maybe that's how life has always worked. We aren't meant to see the whole path. We're meant to become the kind of people who trust ourselves enough to take the next step. As I enter into this season of expression, that's exactly what I want to do. I want to keep listening, I want to keep learning. I want to keep asking better questions. I want to keep creating spaces where people can come together, tell the truth, and discover that they're not alone. I want to continue writing while the words are still teaching me. I want to continue coaching while my clients continue teaching me. And I want to continue having these conversations with all of you because one of the greatest joys of this season is that I no longer have to experience it by myself. I get to share it. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading the books. Thank you for listening. Thank you for your emails, your messages, your encouragement, your questions, and your willingness to explore this journey alongside me. Whether you've been here from the very beginning or today is the first time our paths have crossed, I'm grateful you're here. I have a feeling this season is going to teach us all a great deal. And I honestly can't wait to discover what unfolds. Until next time, take a little time this week to notice the season you're standing in. Pay attention to what life might be asking of you. Be gentle with yourself. Stay curious, and above all, keep becoming. Before I let you go, I want to leave you with one small invitation. If today's conversation resonated with you, I'd love for you to continue the journey with me. One of the things I've realized over the past few months is that becoming was never meant to be something we experience alone. It's a conversation. It's a community, and I'm excited to continue exploring it together. If you're not already a part of my email community, I'm currently offering complimentary copies of the Becoming Audiobook to everyone who subscribes. You can find the link to my website, totaltransformation.life, in the show notes. My hope isn't simply that you'll listen to another book. My hope is that you'll hear something that helps you better understand your own story and the season you're standing in. If you do listen, I'd love to hear what resonates with you. Send me an email, reply to one of my newsletters, leave a review of the podcast or the audiobook, or simply share this episode with someone who might need to hear it. That's how becoming has grown from the very beginning. Not through advertising or algorithms, but through people who found something meaningful and decided to pass it along. Thank you for helping this community continue to grow in that same way. When we began today, I asked you a question. What season are you standing in? Maybe your answer hasn't changed over the last 45 minutes. Or maybe you've begun seeing your season a little differently. For me, I know where I'm standing. I'm standing in expression. Not because I've arrived, but because this is the season life is inviting me into. Until next time, keep becoming.