Not Broken, Just Becoming: How to Sit With the In-Between

There are seasons where everything pauses. Not because you’re lost. Not because you’ve failed. But because something deeper is shifting — quietly, invisibly, beneath the surface of your life.

These are the in-between seasons.

You’re not who you used to be. But you’re not yet who you’re becoming. And in that space, it can feel like you’re unraveling.

But you’re not.

You’re molting. Shedding. Preparing. And preparation is rarely beautiful while it’s happening. It’s messy. It’s quiet. It’s uncertain. There’s no obvious plot. No highlight reel. Just a stillness that others may not understand — but your soul recognizes.

There’s an ache in this space. A restlessness. A quiet grief for the version of you that no longer fits. And yet, there’s also something sacred about it. Like being in the womb of your next becoming. A softness. A mystery. A waiting.

It’s hard to explain this kind of transformation to anyone who hasn’t lived through it. There’s no clear timeline, no checklist to follow. You just wake up one day and realize: the things that used to thrill you don’t. The roles you used to perform feel uncomfortable. The goals you once chased feel heavy in your hands.

And so you linger in that in-between. Wanting direction. Longing for clarity. But the only thing being asked of you is presence. Stillness. A willingness to sit in the fog and trust that something is growing there.

I write this for the ones who are there now.

The ones who feel like they’re drifting, but don’t have the words yet. The ones who feel tired for no reason. The ones who are usually the strong ones, but don’t have answers right now.

You’re not behind. You’re not broken.

You’re becoming.

This is the moment not to fix yourself. Not to rush your clarity. Not to demand resolution.

This is the moment to sit with what is. To breathe into the ache. To hold space for the new self that hasn’t yet spoken. To allow yourself to soften without collapsing. To say no when your energy says no, even if your mind says maybe.

Because she will come.

The one you are becoming — she will speak. She will rise. She always does.

But only when she feels safe. Only when you’ve cleared enough space. Only when you’ve honored the stillness.

The in-between is not a punishment. It is preparation. It is protection. It is the sacred fog before revelation.

Let it be tender. Let it be slow. Let it be unremarkable, if it needs to be.

Let it be enough.

Because one day you will look back and see that this was the moment you stopped performing and started listening. That this was the pause that allowed the new story to begin. And that who you became had everything to do with how gently you sat with who you were.