The Moment Growth Feels Like Betrayal Instead of Progress
If you’re reading this, you might be where I am.
In the space between who you were and who you’re becoming. After something ended, but before anything fully begins.
I recently learned there’s a name for this place.
The liminal space.
I knew I was in it. I just didn’t know it had a name.
The word liminal comes from the Latin word for threshold. A crossing point. A place of transition.
And that matters, because liminal spaces are meant to be passed through, not inhabited.
Most people don’t like this space. It feels unstable. Directionless. Heavy.
Some people get desperate here. They start making choices from fear because doing something feels better than sitting in uncertainty.
That’s where I’ve felt myself lately.
Not because I don’t know what I want. I know exactly what I want.
What’s unsettling is that the version of me who got here doesn’t feel like enough to carry me forward.
And that hurts.
Because she’s been loyal. She’s been consistent.
She’s been there when no one else was.
It feels wrong to suggest she can’t come with me.
What I’m realizing is that this space isn’t asking me to erase her.
It’s asking me to raise the bar.
That distinction matters.
When I frame it that way, it doesn’t feel like betrayal. It feels like expansion.
The problem is that change doesn’t happen all at once. And I want it now.
There’s a childlike impatience in that. Like everyone else is inside the grown-up party and I’m still waiting at the door.
I wanted this piece to be about clarity. Instead, it’s about honesty.
My doubt lives in my body right now. Tight shoulders. Heavy chest. Foggy energy.
There’s doubt about whether I can do it. Doubt about whether I’m allowed to have it.
And at the same time, there’s faith.
Faith that the desire didn’t show up by accident.
Faith that the life I imagine is possible because I can already feel it.
I read something recently that said to move through the liminal space, you have to stop demanding certainty and start practicing trust.
That word keeps coming back for me.
Trust.
Some days I trust myself deeply.
Other days feel heavy and insecure.
But I have realized that, liminal spaces don’t offer reassurance.
They ask for presence.
Someone compared this space to the wilderness in the Bible.
Dry. Barren. Quiet.
You look around and see nothing life-giving.
But that doesn’t mean nothing is happening.
When you’re in the wilderness, you can’t see out. That doesn’t mean the end isn’t close, it just means you don’t know where it is yet.
Maybe surviving this space isn’t about forcing answers. Maybe it’s about conserving energy.
Listening to your body. Trusting small nudges instead of demanding big clarity.
I have always said I’m not built for the wilderness.
At best, I’m a glamper.
But that’s probably the point of this season
It isn’t asking me to be comfortable. It’s asking me to stay. To tough it out. To get a bit dirty.
If you’re here too, try sitting with these questions. Not to fix anything. Just to listen.
What are you trying to rush past because it feels uncomfortable?
What part of you are you afraid won’t be enough for what’s next?
What would it look like to let that version expand instead of disappear?
What kind of trust are you being asked to practice right now?
Maybe you don’t need absolute clarity yet.
Maybe you can move forward without certainty.
I’m just trying to stay present long enough to hear what this space is trying to teach me.
And that might be enough for today.
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