This is the part no one teaches you how to love—the in-between. The space where one season has ended, but the next hasn’t quite begun.
Where you’ve shed the old skin, but the new one still feels foreign.
Where clarity whispers, but doesn’t yell.
Where the only thing certain is that you’ve outgrown what used to fit.
And yet… here I am. Not rushing it. Not numbing it. Just breathing inside the stretch.
I don’t know exactly where I’m headed. And for once, I’m not panicking about that. There’s a quiet power in surrender. A grace that shows up when you stop white-knuckling the timeline and start trusting divine timing instead.
This space... the middle... is sacred. It’s where the integration happens. The pause between the inhale and the exhale. It’s where I meet myself again, without the distractions, without the applause, without the labels.
And while the world may look at this moment and see ‘waiting’ I see becoming.
Something is unfolding. I can feel it. I just haven’t been asked to land yet.
So for now, I’ll stay here. In this beautiful tension.
With reverence for what was,
gratitude for what is,
and curiosity for what’s still on its way.
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