Balance Isn't A Pose, It's A Practice

I was at the gym when my trainer handed me the kettlebell and said, “One leg.” She said it like it was simple, like it was just another move in the circuit. But I already knew what was coming.

My left leg is my dependable side. The moment I plant that foot, my body settles steady, familiar, strong. I lifted the kettlebell and everything felt under control. My thoughts almost nodded along: See? You’ve got this.

Then she said, “Switch.” I shifted onto my right leg, and my body told the truth. My ankle wobbled. My shoulders tightened like they could stabilize what my foundation couldn’t. That old urge rose up, the one that shows up in the gym and in life: Just push through. Don’t stop. Don’t look weak. Finish the rep.

But my trainer’s voice cut through it: “Stop. Reset.” She stepped closer, not to shame me, but to save me. “Think about what muscles you’re using to balance,” she said. “If you don’t, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Standing there on one leg, I felt the lesson land in my spirit: sometimes the goal isn’t lifting heavier, it’s learning how to stand steadier. Because my body did what it always does when it senses instability: it compensated. I gripped harder. I tensed up. I tried to carry the imbalance with pressure. Then I realized that’s exactly what I do outside the gym.

When life shifts me onto my “weaker side”, an unfamiliar season, a tender area, a place where I’m still growing, I don’t always slow down and strengthen. I often compensate. I rush. I prove. I perform. But you can’t bully your body into stability, and you can’t pressure your soul into peace.

My trainer kept coaching in small, steady corrections: “Drop your shoulders. Engage your core. Ground your foot. Breathe.” Breathe sounded too small to matter, until I did it. The moment I exhaled, everything shifted. My core woke up the deep muscles that don’t show off, but do the real work. The kettlebell didn’t get lighter, and my right leg didn’t suddenly become my left… but I became steadier.

I thought about pearls and how they aren’t formed in comfort. They’re built slowly, layer by layer, through irritation and time. Balance is like that. It isn’t something you achieve once. It’s something you practice: wobble, correct, breathe, strengthen.

And God reminded me: my wobble wasn’t a disgrace, it was information. An invitation to strengthen what is not steady in my life.

I couldn’t help but think about Jacob, wrestling all night and walking away with a limp, not because he failed, but because he encountered God in a way that changed him. Blessed, yet tender. Marked, yet moving forward. That became my wellness reminder: you can be growing and still have a weak side.

So I stopped rushing myself. I reset my footing. I engaged my core. I breathed. I lifted again, not with force, but with form. Now I carry this pearl with me: I don’t have to rush to prove I’m strong. I can pause to reset. God is strengthening my weak places, layer by layer, until my life learns how to stand steady under weight.

Prayer

Father, thank You for meeting me in the small moments, right in the middle of my wobble. Forgive me for the times I try to compensate with control, tension, or pride instead of slowing down and listening. Teach me to reset without shame. Help me to breathe, to release what’s tight, and to strengthen what’s weak with wisdom and patience. Like Jacob, let my struggle lead to surrender, and let even my limps become proof that I’ve encountered You. Build my stability layer by layer, spirit, mind, and body, so I can carry life’s weight safely and faithfully.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

“God is strengthening my weak places, layer by layer, until I can stand steady.”