The Discomfort of the In-Between

Between what was and what’s coming
Lately, I’ve been sensing a shift within myself.
I’ve spent quite some time now unpacking my own patterns: the triggers that throw me off balance, the stories I tell myself, the beliefs that once protected me but now hold me back.

More and more, I’m starting to see them clearly.
Not always right away and not without resistance, but I recognize them.
And I feel this urge to live differently. Not just in words, but in actual choices.
To live more honestly, more gently, and more in tune with what feels true.

I’ve also started speaking up more. To myself, to others.
But what this change is going to look like, how it will take form…
That’s still unclear.

And that’s exactly where I am right now:
In the space where the old no longer works,
but the new hasn’t yet revealed itself.
It’s not chaos. It’s not drama.
It’s more like a quiet pause. A waiting. A not-knowing.

And honestly? That’s not an easy place to be in.

The in-between as a place of its own
We’re used to wanting clarity, control, direction.
But some phases just won’t be rushed.

You may know what you’re done with: a certain dynamic, a way of living, a relationship with yourself.
But what comes next?
That part’s still blank.

We often call it “not knowing,” as if it’s a glitch in the system. Something to solve as soon as possible.
But what if this not-knowing isn’t a detour?
What if it’s a place in and of itself?

A space that’s slow, unclear, maybe even boring. But also honest, quiet, real.

The longer I allow myself to be here, the less panic I feel.
This isn’t a mistake.
It’s part of the process.

Why it’s so uncomfortable
We were raised in a culture that values performance, productivity and having answers.
There’s no real room for uncertainty or transition.

We tend to label doubt, emptiness or confusion as being stuck.
But what if that’s exactly where real transformation begins. Not from the mind, but from a deeper place?

And that kind of change doesn’t follow a timeline.
It asks for space, softness and above all: the willingness to not rush.

What helps me, when I remember, is simply allowing myself to not know, and letting that be okay.
Small rhythms like eating well, moving my body and getting rest give me a bit of grounding when everything else feels wobbly (which is no small feat with a young child).
Conversations where I don’t have to explain myself help too.
Leaving space in my calendar. Doing less, feeling more.
And mostly, resisting the urge to find answers before they’re ready to come.

Sometimes you just have to stay in the fog.
Not forever, but long enough to not betray yourself in your hurry to escape it.

Why not-knowing isn’t a flaw, but a functional phase
It’s tempting to treat the in-between as a problem. Something that blocks you from where you were and where you’re meant to be.

But when you zoom out and look at it through different lenses, like from neuroscience, culture and collective wisdom, you start to see that this space actually plays an essential role.

The discomfort isn’t a sign that you’re stuck.
It’s a sign that you’re changing.

The brain in transition
Our brains are wired for efficiency and repetition. They love the familiar: patterns, habits, automatic responses.

But when you start consciously breaking a pattern, something real happens.
The neural pathways that supported your old behavior begin to dissolve.

Neuropsychiatrist Norman Doidge, in his book The Brain That Changes Itself, explains how this process, known as neuroplasticity, creates space for new connections to form. But at first, those new pathways are fragile.

That’s why everything feels slower, more tiring, more confusing.
You’re not falling behind.
You’re literally rewiring.
It feels uncomfortable not because you're failing, but because you’re evolving.

The wisdom of the in-between
Across many Indigenous traditions, there’s deep knowledge around transition.
Whether it’s birth, grief, initiation or inner crisis, these traditions recognize the necessity of moving through phases where you’re “no one” for a while.
No longer who you were, not yet who you’ll become.

Among the Dagara people of Burkina Faso, for instance, this in-between phase is guided with intentional rituals. You step out of your former role, without stepping directly into a new one.
That formlessness is not a problem: it’s a vital part of transformation.

Sobonfu Somé, a writer and ritual keeper from that same tradition, writes in her book Falling Out of Grace about how crucial it is to pause in this in-between space. Not just for personal growth, but for the balance of soul and community.
She describes how the loss of ritual, and of letting meaning ripen slowly, is one of the deepest wounds in modern societies.

We’ve forgotten how to wait.
How to be with what isn’t clear yet.
But often, that’s where the real beginning hides.
Not as an idea, but as experience.

This too is part of the process
What I’m slowly starting to understand is this:
Not-knowing isn’t a break before transformation.
It is part of the transformation.

Something is happening, even if I can’t name or explain it yet.

It asks me to stay present, even when I don’t feel direction.
And maybe that’s one of the most meaningful things I can do right now.