on change

Some changes are just a lot. Sometimes it feels like all at once, you realise several things have shifted (or are shifting) at the same time, and you’re not entirely sure how to orient yourself.

I’ve been in one of those lately.

The thing nobody really talks about with change is the loneliness of it. Not the loneliness of being alone, but the loneliness of being mid-process. Being in the midst of something that hasn’t resolved yet. You’re not on the other side yet where you can say here’s what I learned, or here’s how it made me stronger. You’re just in it. And being in it feels oddly isolating, because you want to get OUT, or maybe be a bit further along than you presently are. (I’m finding it hard to articulate what I exactly mean.)

So you internalise.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately — about how much we absorb before we even realize we’re absorbing. How the mind builds these little holding chambers for things that feel too heavy or too complicated or too uncertain to bring out into the light. It's not avoidance exactly. It's more like waiting. Waiting until you understand it well enough to share it. Until you trust someone enough to try.

But the waiting has a lot of weight. (No pun intended.)

Something else I’ve noticed is when a lot changes at once, your sense of self gets a tad softer?

Not in a bad way, but in a very disorienting one. The things that used to feel like solid definitions of who you are — what you do, how you show up, the people you're close to. They start to feel more like questions than answers. And questions are uncomfortable to live with. (Maybe it is plain ol’ overthinking.)

I don’t think that softness is weakness. I think it might actually be the point. The version of you that comes through a season like this is built from different material than the one who entered it. But while you're in the middle, that's a hard thing to hold onto.

What has helped, even a little:

Letting things be unfinished. Not every feeling needs to be resolved before you're allowed to move through your day. Some things just need to be acknowledged — yes, this is here, yes, it matters — and then gently set down until later.

Trusting the pace. Change that comes all at once doesn't process all at once. The mind and body have their own timeline, and fighting it tends to cost more than it saves.

Finding small constants. When a lot is shifting, the small things that stay the same become quietly important. This could be a routine. Or a song. These are anchors.

Being careful with yourself about trust. When you’re in a vulnerable season, it can feel like you should know who your people are. But trust is something you extend carefully and slowly, and not knowing yet is part of the process.

I’m still in the middle of this, which is partly why it feels important to write about it now. Not from the other side, not wrapped up neatly, but from being in the middle of it. Because I think that’s actually where most of us are, most of the time. Somewhere in the middle of something; waiting for clarity.

If that's where you are too: you are not behind. You are not failing at change. You are just in it.