Have you ever felt stuck — but couldn't point to why?
Not a work problem. Not a relationship problem. Not one specific thing you could name. Just a heaviness sitting in your chest, and you didn't know how long it had been there.
I've been there. And when I started writing poetry, I realized — this isn't a unique experience. It's a phase. And almost everyone goes through it.
We just never gave it a name.
Phase One: Roots
This is the hardest phase — because you don't yet know it's a phase.
It feels like waking up inside a cave. Dark. Quiet. You move, but the weight only gets heavier, not lighter. You ask: where is the light? But even that question feels exhausting.
A lot of people stop moving here. Not because they give up — but because they don't know which direction to move.
What's actually happening: you're putting down roots. Roots aren't visible from the outside. Roots aren't beautiful. They grow downward first, into the darkness, before the tree can stand.
This isn't regression. This is foundation.
Phase Two: Growth
This phase is more confusing than the first — because things look fine on the outside, but something inside still isn't finished.
You start moving again. There are good moments, bright moments. People say you seem better. You almost believe them.
But time doesn't stand still. It keeps moving, and you realize — you're not quite ready to keep pretending everything is comfortable. Something is growing, and growth isn't always clean.
Sometimes growing means letting go. Sometimes it means separating from an older version of yourself. Sometimes it means admitting you need more time than you thought.
That's not weakness. That's the process.
Phase Three: Sky
This isn't the phase where everything is perfect. This isn't a happy ending.
Sky is the phase where you can see further — not because the problems disappeared, but because you've climbed high enough to see that they're part of a larger landscape.
Here you start to feel grateful. Not a forced gratitude — but the kind that grows slowly, like realizing that everything heavy from before shaped who you are now.
And here you understand: this journey never really ends. You just keep walking, with different weight, with slightly more wisdom.
Why naming these phases matters
Because when you know you're in the Roots phase — you won't think you're broken.
When you know you're in the Growth phase — you won't rush to arrive.
And when you finally reach Sky — you'll look back and understand why all of it needed to happen.
These three phases are the backbone of my first poetry book, Stillness That Walks. Twenty-four poems, three parts, one journey that offers no answers — only company.
If you're in one of these phases right now, maybe there's a line in there that feels like yours.
cahyanudien.site/stillness-that-walks
Cahyanudien Aziz Saputra is the founder of FlagoDNA, a self-taught app developer. He lives in quiet — writing code, assembling logic, arranging meaning. Many people use what he builds. No one knows how many nights he spent in silence. This book is one of the ways he finally spoke.
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