The Liminal Space – Unfolding or Unraveling?

Why both may be true—and why that may be a good thing.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this new, almost liminal space between Old Self and New Self… The Self of yesterday and the self of today.

And I keep wondering…

Is there integration here? Is there overlap? Or is it just a choice—one or the other?

Does one version of me have to disappear completely for the other to rise? And if the new one rises… does the old one go away entirely?

Even asking those questions can feel confusing to the point of overwhelm. And when that happens, I notice I still go into shutdown.

But what I’m beginning to understand is this:

While this new space feels different—more grounded, more peaceful—it also feels more solitary. More quiet. More… alone.

Which is interesting, because the connection I was looking for—to my true self—is absolutely here. More than I could have ever imagined.  It’s even intensely joyful at times.

And yet…

I think I expected something different.

Something like the ending of Sleepless in Seattle… or a Macy’s parade. Confetti. Brass bands. A grand reveal that everything had changed.

But it’s not like that at all.

It doesn’t feel anything like I thought it would.

Which, when I really sit with it… makes sense.

Because how could I have ever known what safety, groundedness, or wholeness would feel like… if I had never truly experienced them before?

I thought I had, I thought I knew what connection, safety, and happiness was.  So when I take this newfound sense of self into the places in my “old life” where I once found happiness, well,  that’s where it gets even more disorienting.

I look at personal relationships, old patterns of behavior, the ways I used to move through my days, things that used to give me a sense of joy— and I barely recognize anything anymore. Like a series of square pegs, most things just… don’t fit.

And that’s when the old filters come rushing back in:

I’m not doing anything right. There’s something wrong with me. I’m completely alone… and not in a good way.

Which can make the pull toward solitude feel heavy… almost like a burden.  Like isolation.

And yet— that word, isolation, used to carry a very different charge for me.

Because this doesn’t feel like being cast out. It doesn’t feel like collapse. It doesn’t feel like depression.

There is purpose here. There is direction. There is something moving through me that feels deeply rooted in exploration… and in truth.

And honestly?

I’ve never been happier spending time this way.

In the stillness. In the quiet.

Especially when I’m out in nature, there’s a connection to my surroundings that feels entirely new— or maybe… finally accessible.

Something that was always there, but somehow unavailable to me in the Old Self.

Maybe because of the mind. Maybe because of old paradigms. Maybe because I didn’t yet know how to be with it.

But here’s what I’m seeing now:

There is overlap between Old Self and New Self.

And I get to choose.

I get to choose what stays and integrates… and what is ready to disintegrate.

Nothing has to be forced out for something new to come in. Nothing has to disappear before something else is allowed to exist.

They can both be here.

Held in awareness.

Without judgment.

Just… bathing in the gentle gaze of witnessing presence.

And from there, I decide— what I move forward with, and what I lovingly leave behind.

What’s here now, is something much simpler:

Stability.

Knowingness.

Groundedness.

I still love the people and things in my life.

But I’m choosing me first.

Because I need my own attention right now.

I’m learning how to give myself what I’ve never known… what I’ve never had.

There’s no need to push against or push away something outside of me. There is only the quiet, unwavering pull to return to what has always been within me.

And that takes space.

It takes time.

It takes presence.

And there’s no big band for that.

No grand crescendo. No hero’s homecoming.

There’s just…

Peace.

Not because everything is perfect. Not because nothing uncomfortable exists.

But because I am okay with what is here.

And for now—

that is more than enough.