Ever notice how easy it is to swing to extremes? To say “I’m done” or “I’ll do it all myself”? Whether in parenting, marriage, or managing our emotions, we often crave certainty, but end up bypassing wisdom. This post reflects on how living in the middle—the space of discernment—isn’t just hard. It’s transformative.
The Middle Is the Hardest Place to Be
(But It’s Where Growth Happens)
Aristotle called it the mean. Aquinas built on it. And if you’ve ever tried to parent a strong-willed child, hold your tongue in a heated moment, or decide whether to step in or let your teen learn from their own mistakes, you’ve felt the tension of the middle.
The middle is not passive.
It’s not indecision.
It’s the space where clarity begins to form—not from impulse, but from presence and patience.
The Easy Way Out: Either Extreme
In Aristotle’s ethics, virtue lives between excess and deficiency. Courage isn’t recklessness, nor is it fearfulness. It’s the right action at the right time—a balance only found through what he called practical wisdom.
Practical wisdom is a skill, not a mood. It doesn’t show up when you’re flooded or frantic. It shows up when you pause long enough to ask, What’s needed here? instead of What do I feel like doing?
How This Shows Up in Real Life
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In Parenting:
The authoritarian demands blind obedience. The permissive parent lets everything slide. But the wise parent is both strong and soft, firm in boundaries, generous in empathy. It’s often the thankless road of doing the right thing when it’s hardest, with no guaranteed results. -
In Marriage or Therapy:
As a therapist, I’ve learned I can’t blurt out the truth just because it’s true. Timing matters. So does tone. If I speak too soon, I risk shutting someone down. If I stay silent forever, I enable stuckness. The middle path is this: love enough to be honest, and wise enough to wait. - In Emotional Conflict:
When we’re overwhelmed, we tend to polarize: “That’s it. I’m done. She always does this. He never changes.”
But if we slow down, we can access something more thoughtful: the realization that repair matters more than being right. That staying is sometimes braver than leaving. That learning to try again—calmly, clearly—is its kind of strength.
Discernment: A Practice and a Gift
We love formulas because they feel safe. That’s why “What’s the best diet for me?” feels easier to ask than “Why do I hate my body?” One feels scientific. The other, uncomfortably honest.
But real discernment lives in the mess. It’s the ability to sit with discomfort long enough to notice what lies beneath the surface noise.
Sometimes the wisest response is not “yes” or “no”—but “not yet.” Or “not this.” Or even “yes, but gently.”
Discernment isn’t just instinct. It’s a skill we grow. And it’s also something that sometimes feels like grace—those quiet moments when clarity arrives not from effort, but from stillness.
Why the Middle Feels So Uncomfortable
Because it asks us to:
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Reflect instead of react
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Wait, when we crave quick fixes
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Stay humble even when we’re sure we’re right
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Be still instead of reaching for control
There’s no trophy for this kind of maturity. But what it gives in return—calm, dignity, and a deeper peace—can’t be found on either extreme.
What Helps?
- Permitting yourself to slow down the decision process
- Asking not just what feels good, but what is good
- Remembering that not everything needs a dramatic response
- Embracing silence as a valid, intelligent pause
Closing thought:
The middle is rarely glamorous. It’s quiet work. But it’s where we become the people we want to be—not reactive, not avoidant, but responsive and whole.