If It Comes Too Soon, You Won't Be Ready
I’ve been in the in-between for a while now. I walked away from the work I had been doing for most of my adult life. My work as a psychic hasn’t even begun to close the gap yet, but the path ahead of me and my vision for myself are clear as day. Yet I find myself in this liminal space and desperately trying not to be here.
There’s a deep part of me that wants to skip this part.
I think most of us feel that way when we’re in between.
We treat the in-between, the space between deciding and having, like a problem. The moment after one thing ended and before the next thing showed up in the way we intended it to. As though empty time is something to push through, optimize, or at least narrate compellingly on the internet while we wait it out.
But the in-between isn’t empty time. It’s the actual work. It’s where everything you’ve been moving toward is forming, and it requires you to be present with it instead of skipping to the part where you understand it and have what you desire.
Grief shows up here. It’s not always loud, but often the quiet feeling that something has ended that you haven’t fully said goodbye to yet. The version of you who was still figuring it out. The relationship that was, even if you’re the one who left. The dream you outgrew before the new one fully formed.
You can’t outrun grief by getting busy. You can’t out-plan it, and really, if you try to schedule it for a more convenient time, it just metabolizes more slowly.
The thing I keep coming back to: if it comes too soon, you won’t be ready.
I think about this with the women I work with, and the women I’ve been. The ones standing in the gap, trying to force their way through, to drag the next chapter forward by sheer force of will. Of course, we want it to come faster, to be done with the ache of not-yet.
But the not-yet is doing something.
It’s making room for the version of you who can actually hold what’s coming.
You don’t need to put on a show or act like you’re handling it. You don’t need to post about the lesson before you’ve actually let yourself feel the loss and integrate it. You just need to show up for yourself the way you’d want someone you love to show up for you, which is to say, not with a productivity plan.
You’re embodied more than you think, and you’re not behind. You’re not failing the timeline, you’re in it.
The liminal space isn’t a waiting room. It’s the doorway.
So I’m doing what I know I need to do: feel it. I let grief and fear come up when they come up. I lie on the floor and scream and cry when I need to. I write to understand where I am in it all, and I leave myself voice notes on therapeutic coffee runs in my truck.
I’m not trying to perform a readiness I don’t feel.
I trust that the seed I planted when I made my decision and took the leap knows what it’s doing.
