All beginnings actually start with an ending. It’s the ending that makes room for something new…
The end of a job is what makes room to find a new job, or even an entirely new career.
Becoming a parent starts with the end of childfree independence.
Winter has to end before Spring can begin.
A caterpillar has to stop being a caterpillar before it can become a butterfly.
But what do we do when something has ended and we don't know what comes next? Those are the liminal moments, in-between spaces, the (sometimes messy) middle.
In my own life, I find these moments to be simultaneously so deeply uncomfortable AND exciting. It’s the pause where I can dream about what’s next (or, let’s be real, freak out and feel afraid about what’s coming next).
This past year has given me a couple different opportunities to be in such places.
In June, I stopped teaching my weekly yoga classes at Limber Yoga and Wellness. I've been teaching there for 4 years, pretty much every Saturday morning. This ending was bittersweet because I love teaching yoga, I love the yoga studio community. The people there are such beautiful souls. But for months my body and heart were telling me I needed a break. I needed more space in my week for rest. So I listened to that longing from my heart and body, and stopped teaching, without knowing what comes next. I know I'll return to teaching at some point, because sharing the practice of yoga with others is deeply meaningful to me, but I don't how, when, or where. And I find that to be both uncomfortable and exciting.
I also got divorced last year and my 12 year relationship with my partner came to a close (talk about a huge ending!). I moved out of my house and into a new one. I grieved the end of that relationship, but also connected more deeply with family and friends. And it inspired me to start divorce support groups for other women experiencing this transition. In this transition, I had the opportunity to learn more about myself, my heart, my desires, and using my voice than I ever would have expected. And I’m still asking myself,
What do I want next?
How do I want to spend my time?
Who am I becoming?
Although divorce and taking a break from teaching yoga are vastly different experiences, they've both asked the same thing of me: to let go before I knew what would come next.
Sometimes we rush through this in-between because uncertainty feels unbearable. I get it, believe me. Sometimes the waiting feels almost itchy to me, like I want to crawl out of my skin and take action, any action. And rather than sit in this discomfort, we often choose something, anything rather than sit with not knowing. But that urgency doesn’t always lead us where we truly want to go.
I recently learned that those who are able to stay in the uncomfortable, messy liminal space, who can tolerate that discomfort, and really spend time to understand what they want next, report being happier with the choices they make, the new beginning they choose, compared to those who rush into something new. (Check out this podcast if you want to learn more.)
And because I think about things through an earth-based, seasonal, witchy perspective, I imagine these liminal moments to be like Winter. Every plant that is not evergreen has died. Animals have migrated or hibernated or hunkered down in the cold. It’s dark and quiet.
Living in Seattle, I know how uncomfortable many of us find these cold, rainy months. How we long for sundrenched days. We want the “Big Dark” to end so we can experience Summer again. But there’s beauty in the dark, cold, quiet of Winter. It offers us a time to rest and pause.
Curl up by a fire and read.
Stop and feel the rain and wind on your face.
Take a nap.
Some of the discomfort of these liminal, in-between spaces is that we’ve been told we have to be constantly productive, always growing, improving, moving on, “getting over it.”
That’s bullshit.
This has us exhausted and burnt out. It keeps us from giving ourselves the the time and space to really figure out what we actually want to come next.
Nature never asks winter to look like spring. Winter doesn’t apologize for dormancy. Nothing is “behind schedule.” Winter isn’t failure. It’s part of the cycle. It’s the moment after the exhale and before the inhale. The moment after an ending and before a beginning. Nature reminds me that nothing blooms all year. Every living thing has seasons of rest.
So the question I’ve been asking myself is, how do I support myself here, sitting in the unknown?
I’ve been grieving what ended. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry. Last month, I called a friend and asked her to just be with me on the phone while I cried (may we all have friends, willing to sit with us in our grief without trying to “fix” it). I don’t believe grief is something we “heal” from, we expand to hold it. I picture my heart with stretch marks on it, growing to hold both loss and love.
I’m doing things that bring me joy and spending time in my body. Dancing, attending yoga classes (it’s fun to learn from others!), spending time with friends, wearing clothes that make me feel calm and beautiful, reading books, traveling, trying new things. My body often knows what my mind hasn’t figured out yet. Joy, fun, and pleasure aren’t frivolous in seasons of uncertainty, they’re how I remind myself that life is still good, even while I'm waiting.
I’m spending time in nature. Sometimes I just need to hug a tree. To look at the mountains, stars, and sea and realize I’m just a little part of a much larger whole. To experience awe and gratitude for all the beauty and magnificence around me. I learned recently that this is the “small-self effect.” Experiencing awe at the vastness, power, and beauty of nature right-sizes us and puts our fears in perspective.
And I’m prioritizing community. Human connections. Less AI, more real people. And this is because our relationships are what actually make us resilient. It’s less about some inner grittiness and strength (that myth of the rugged individual is also bullshit), and more about having safe, secure people in our lives whose arms we can fall into when we don’t have the strength to hold ourselves up anymore.
If you’re looking for community like this, I have two opportunities this Fall to connect with other humans:
If you’re looking to explore your creativity, I have an online Healing Through Creativity group starting on September 1st at 7 pm.
If you are going through a divorce, I have an in-person divorce support group for women starting on October 15th at 7:30 pm in West Seattle.
Every major transition in my life has taught me that I can survive uncertainty. I can grieve. I can adapt. I can be held. I can build something beautiful from the breakdown. And I know you can too. Remembering this gives me courage to let this season unfold instead of trying to rush through it.
And if you’d like some one-on-one support, I have therapy spots available. You can learn more about that on my website.
Sending moments of awe, compassion, human connection, and joy to anyone in the messy middle,
Natalie Spangenberg, MA, LMFT, RYT200
Licensed Marriage & Family Therapist, Yoga Teacher, and Messy Human
That WooWoo Therapist