The Sacred Art of the In-Between
There's a moment that doesn't get enough credit.
Over the years, my girlfriend Soozie has helped me respect this space more and more. This moment lives between the exhale and the next inhale. Between closing one door and opening another. Between the version of you that carried the old story and the version that doesn't need it anymore. In the past, I would rush past this. Many of us do. We're so trained to do, decide, and declare that we sprint through life without even noticing we're standing in a sacred place.
Let’s talk about that place. The in-between. For most of my life, this space did not feel safe.
If I can check it off, I can do.
Meditate for an hour? Yes. Take action to create change? Absolutely. Pivot on a dime, show up and get it done? That's always been my territory. My friends would hate/love it when I would help them cleanse their space, because there was no in-between. When I asked, “Do you still want it?” If they paused, the item got tossed or donated. We got it done. Some are still traumatized, but we got it done and they still love me.
But sit in the blah? Reflect without an agenda? Just... be in the not-yet? Ah, hell Nah!
The in-between would feel like failure dressed up as stillness. Like I was wasting time, losing momentum, falling behind some invisible schedule I'd written for myself. I could meditate — that felt purposeful, structured, productive even. It brought me instant, measurable results. I could take action — that felt powerful. But that gross middle space, where nothing was happening and nothing was decided and everything was just... waiting? I didn't have a word for it. I just knew I didn't like it there.
What this work has taught me is that the in-between is not optional.
I don't say that to frighten you. I say it because it freed me.
When I stopped treating the pause as a problem and started treating it as part of the process, everything shifted. I discovered that that space is where I release what no longer belongs to me. It's where my real inspiration lives. Not the manufactured kind I could hustle up on a deadline, but the deep, true, this-is-mine kind that shows up when I finally get quiet enough to feel it.
Here's what I've learned about my own rhythm: if I push too hard for too long, I don't just get tired, I lose access to my energy. And if I pause too long (which, honestly, rarely happens), I lose the inner spark that moves me forward.
The in-between is the sacred space between those two. It's not nothing. It's everything. It's where I learned to honor myself. I physically feel my energy shift.
Spring has a way of making this visible.
Have you noticed how trees don't go from bare branches to full leaves overnight? There's this glorious, messy middle. The buds that aren't quite open, branches half-dressed, mornings that can't decide if they're winter or summer.
We think something is wrong with us when we feel that way. We call it "being stuck." We ask, why can't I just move forward already?
But as the poets say, the tree doesn't apologize for its timing. The caterpillar doesn't hustle through the chrysalis. It dissolves completely before it reforms. We are allowed to dissolve a little.
What does the in-between actually need from us?
Presence. Show up for the discomfort of not-knowing without immediately trying to fix it. Sit in the question a little longer. Let it open you rather than close you down.
Trust in your gut, not your head. Your mind will try to logic you out of the liminal space. It will say, pick something, commit, perform certainty. But your body knows better. What does your gut say when you get still? Not the anxious buzz, but the deeper hum beneath it. That's the signal worth following.
Gentleness. You are not a machine with a production schedule. You are a human being in the middle of becoming. That deserves tenderness and grace.
A practice for this month:
Ask yourself: What am I in the middle of right now?
Don't rush to answer. Let the answer find you. It might be a feeling before it's a word. It might be an image, a memory, a single sentence that lands in your chest.
When I did this for myself, I saw this precious younger version of me sitting in a field of wildflowers with Tasmanian devil energy flowing around me. And I did this to myself. I did this because once again I put my value in the doing and not in the being.
Then ask: What would it mean to stop fighting this and trust my own timing?
You don't have to answer that one out loud. Just let the question do its work.
When I asked this question, I saw myself in the field of wildflowers, lying down, looking up at the sky, taking in the moment, breathing, unfolding, and allowing everything to come to me. (Yes, this is how the law of attraction works. Ha.)
These moments will physically move your energy, so please take a moment.
The in-between taught me there's another way. It taught me that my pace is not my problem. The in-between is not the waiting room. It is the work. We are right on time.
So if we are in that messy middle right now, let’s not make it a problem. Let’s not try to skip ahead or clean it up too quickly. Something is shifting, something is clearing, something is coming together, even if it does not look like it yet. We are not late, we are not stuck, we are just in the middle of becoming. And that gets to be enough for now. And… EXHALE
Much Love,
Dena
