When Life Feels Like One Long Waiting Room

Right now, my life feels like it’s happening in slow motion.

The bills are still due. The board exam — the one that could finally open doors for me — sits in front of me like a locked gate I’ve tried to open before. Not once. Not twice. But twice in the same year… and each time, I walked away with the sting of being so close, yet not close enough.

A year has passed since then.

A year of breathing room, but also a year of working, saving, and quietly battling the frustration that the biggest thing holding me back isn’t my ability — it’s the money it costs to take the exam again. I know I’m cut out for this. I know I can pass. The question hasn’t been if I’ll do it, but when I’ll be able to afford to try again.

And here I am now, picking the books back up — heavier this time, not because of the pages, but because of the weight of the past two tries.

I thought I’d be further along by now.

I thought I’d have a career that felt solid, a bank account that didn’t live in constant anxiety, and maybe even a few dreams checked off the list. I love my current job — I’m grateful for it, and I mean that. It’s good work with good people. But it’s not where my soul wants to settle. It’s a stepping stone, not a home.

And yet… I’m tired.

Not just in my body, but in my heart. The kind of tired where even hope feels like lifting a weight you’re not sure you have the strength for anymore.

The in-between is the hardest place I’ve ever been.

It’s the space between knowing I’m made for more and not yet holding it. It’s living in a waiting room where the clock ticks, the days pass, and the door still doesn’t open. I can see the life I want — the work I want to do, the security I long for — but I can’t get there yet.

I know some people live here too.

You know the ache of wanting to be grateful for what you have while your heart aches for what you don’t. You know the way it feels to watch others walk into their dreams while you’re still trying to pass the same doorway.

But here’s the thing I’m slowly, stubbornly learning:

I’m not failing. I’m in a process.

A process that’s stretching me, reshaping me, humbling me, and yes — exhausting me. But not a process without purpose.

Sometimes God’s timing feels like He forgot to wind the clock. Sometimes I wonder if I missed a turn somewhere and I’m just circling the block while everyone else speeds ahead. But then I remember: His timing isn’t like mine. It’s more like planting. Seeds go into the ground and disappear for a season. Growth is happening — quietly, invisibly — until one day, it breaks the surface. And by then, the roots are deep enough to hold what’s coming.

And even though it’s been a year, I’m still not giving up.

This is more than a dream — it’s a dream that’s been shaped into a goal. And goals are meant to be worked toward, no matter how many times you’ve been knocked back.

I can’t force the harvest.

I can’t demand the door to open just because I’m tired of waiting.

What I can do is keep showing up — planting what I can, watering what I have, and trusting that something is growing even when all I see is dirt.

So today, I’ll study again.

I’ll work my shift with gratitude.

I’ll pay what bills I can and leave the rest in God’s hands.

I’ll let myself rest without calling it weakness.

And I’ll remind myself — over and over — that this waiting room is not my forever.

And maybe, just maybe, when the door finally opens, I’ll look back and see that God wasn’t just getting me to the next chapter… He was building me into the kind of person who could live it well.