I wasn’t sure if I was to write this now, or wait until I was on the other side so that not only could I show you the process, but the happy ending too. And though I’ve done that with all my other essays on this blog, I’m being reminded that spirituality is not about getting to the other side. It’s about who you choose to show up as during the process.

I also do not like to share my stories while I’m in the middle of a transformation, but it seems I’m being guided to write this essay, and so I will share my current story of being in the in-between.

The liminal space.

The Liminal Space

First, let me explain to you what the liminal space is before I start my story.

In Latin, it’s called limen, meaning threshold. It’s a space you may find yourself in, where you are no longer in the old, but not quite at the new. Your old structures have crumbled, and yet your new ones have not yet appeared.

It’s a space of unknown, resistance, and transformation (if you allow it). And this is where I’m currently at. I imagine it’s like purgatory, where one has left their earthly life but has not yet crossed over to heaven. Instead, they’re sat in the waiting room, waiting to walk across the threshold, and to do that, they must align with their new form.

Now walk with me. Let me take you back to where I made the agreement to be in the unbecoming to be the becoming.

The Agreement

“Unfortunately, Sage, we’re unable to grant you your flexible working request. It doesn’t meet the business needs,” says my ex-manager.

I am so disappointed with this outcome. “Ok, thanks for your time, Benush.”

We end the Teams meeting, and tears immediately fill my eyes. I can no longer keep going like this, in a job I am only in to get paid. There is no fulfilment, no joy, and I feel drained every day.

You wouldn’t know it, because I am excelling here. They have me host workshops for this current campaign nationwide. I’m also the go-to person when my team are having problems with their work, but this job is easy. I don’t understand how people find this job challenging.

I reject promotions and opportunities that are brought my way because this place is not where I see myself. Whilst others see this as a stepping stone, I am scared to end up here for the rest of my life. To me, this is a dead-end job; to my colleagues, this is the golden wrapper found in Mr Wonka’s chocolate bars.

I change my status on Teams to “away,” climb into bed, pull the duvet over me until it’s snuggled all the way up to my chin, slide my body into the foetus position, and cry. I cry loudly. I feel privileged that I have the space to do so, as both my children are out, so I have my home to myself today, and crying loudly is not something I get to do often. It sounds weird, but I like hearing the sounds I make when I cry. It’s weirdly therapeutic because I can’t control the sound I make, not like when you’re speaking, where you control the words you use, the pronunciation, and your tone. The only thing I can control when crying is how loud I am. It’s fascinating.

I find the louder I am, the better the release and the quicker I get to clarity.

I’ve been crying now for a few minutes, and I’m coming to the end of this release. I turn over and face the window and say, “Thank you, Universe, for this job being remote, because even though they rejected my request, I had the space to be at home and release the disappointment. I didn’t have to carry it with me all day and wait until I got home. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I then remembered what my spirit guides had said to me in my meditation earlier that morning: “You’re not to worry about the outcome of today’s meeting. We will support whatever you decide to do.”

I realise they were warning me, and I feel good that my next steps are supported. I think about what I need: a job that will support me while I carve out a career as a writer. So I make peace with the rejection, make a plan to search for a new job, and this time it’ll be part-time.

A week has gone by, and I’ve applied for a few jobs, but the last few days, I’ve not felt guided to apply, so I didn’t. The jobs didn’t feel right, or there weren’t any that met my requirements. I’m surrendering to this process, but at the back of my mind, I’m worried that I may be stuck at my current job, and where will that leave me?

I go into my meditation like I do every morning, but this time it’s different. A woman is sitting beside me, and her head is that of a bird, and in front of her are two abacuses. She points to the first one, with all its rows and beads intact. She then turns to me and says, “Sage, you have two options. The first one is you can stagger into it,” still pointing at the first abacus.

“Or you can jump straight into it,” this time she points to the second abacus. This abacus has two rows with a few beads at the bottom and then only one row with beads at the top. There are no rows or beads in between. Just a massive gap. “But you must decide, Sage. You must speak out.”

The meditation ends, and I know exactly what I’m going to choose. 

I run into the kitchen, grab my cleaning supplies, and as I turn past the clock on the wall, I see it’s 08:08, and although I haven’t spoken my choice, I’ve already decided upon it, and I know that 08:08 is my spiritual team confirming my choice is in motion. I go to my altar and quickly clean it. I light the candles, thank my spiritual team, and say my choice out loud. “I’ve decided to jump, God.”

And then I go into some kind of trance. I’m aware that I’m speaking life over myself—I’m channelling. Tears are falling down my face because I feel love. It’s overflowing, and with this love, I’m being blessed.

The next two weeks, my daily meditations become a place of deep energy work. New spirit guides show up in my meditations, each one representing my chakras, and we get to work on recalibrating my nervous system to prepare me for the liminal space. I was exhausted during this process and started to dread the meditations.

At the time, I didn’t know anything about the liminal space. I thought I’d jump and all my dreams would be there waiting for me. How naive I was.

Once the two weeks were up, I handed in my notice. My last day was to be 31st December. My guides supported me in creating my portfolio to showcase my writing. I pitched to publications, and they agreed to publish my essays, and I couldn’t believe it. My dream was coming true.

After the Jump

The 1st January arrived, and I woke up with a grin spread right across my face. This was the first day of my new life. No more managers, no more showing up to work that’s not aligned, just me showing up in a way that serves my highest being of self.

I look in my bank account, and there is no child maintenance. Hmmm, that’s ok, he’ll probably pay it later. But then a week goes by, and not only does it remain unpaid, but he is also ignoring my emails.

Where I would feel panic and anxiety, there is none. It’s just calm, and I’m at peace. I think about where I’m at and who I am, and I choose the highest version of myself. I refuse to chase, and instead, I contact child maintenance services and instruct them to do the work for me.

I transfer some of my savings into my main account, and I stick to the plan. January is my time of rest; I’m not going to start chasing money. I’ll be fine. I meet my deadlines and send in my essays to editors; feedback is great, invoices are sent—payment will be received in February. I think whatever maintenance is missed will be covered by my writing payments.

February arrives, and I get to work. I write essays for my blog, letters for my private newsletter, and I start my visibility strategy for LinkedIn. Child maintenance is still missing, but now my publication payments are also delayed. This now starts to feel off. What’s happening here? What am I not seeing?

The Unbecoming

Money is now being stretched, and I’m thinking about what I could do now to make some extra cash. I finally put my bike up for sale. It’s been on my to-do list for ages, but the thought of not having money gets the job done.

I then go onto ChatGPT and give it a breakdown of my business and my current situation, and request that it brainstorm some money-making activities, but nothing fits. I refuse to do anything just for money. And I have to sit and stop.

Chasing the bag is no longer who I am. Even if it means eating beans on toast for a week or so, I refuse. In that moment, I want my business to grow slowly and steadily. I want my work to be a legacy, something people come back to because it works. I want a body of work that doesn’t need me to be present in order for it to transform those who need it. This kind of work cannot be contained in a course or an aesthetically pleasing Canva document.

I laugh and say, “Who is this woman who refuses to be moved even in uncertainty and possible imminent danger?”

She is me. She is who I am becoming, and I realise that I’m going to sit and wait to see what lights me up because the new me does not make logical decisions. Her decisions are made from her sacral and implemented through her brain. She is also intentionally slow and refuses to rush.

She is the complete opposite of how I’ve been manoeuvring my whole life. My brain is frustrated, screaming, “What are you doing?”

But I enjoy moving in this way. It feels right, and although the old structures are crumbling away, which has led to sources of money drying up, it is also clearing away the instability of those sources so that steady, forever-flowing sources can take their place.

Read here: Why SMART Goals Don’t Always Work And When To Trust Your Intuition Instead

Sitting and Waiting

Sitting and waiting for me looks like doing activities that I already enjoy doing, and activities that I’ve not yet started but have been inspired to give a go.

I continue writing my newsletters and essays, and I decide to show off Leaning Into the Unknown on LinkedIn and Pinterest in a way that feels right to me, and I thrive because these are aligned actions, which result in me showing up consistently.

This is how I’ve chosen to sit and wait, whilst nothing appears to be happening on the surface, I feel that this is going to work. In fact, I know it’s going to work. I can’t explain how I know; I just know.

In this sitting and waiting, my sacral lights up, and I get inspired by my own skills. Who knew I had pattern recognition and I could sell this skill? Someone shows me the strategy of doing cold outreach, but it feels off. It doesn’t quite fit me because it’s rooted in grind and hustle, so I decide to trust myself and amend the strategy to reflect my values: intentionally slow, personable, integrity, impact, and transformation.

I test it out and send out the first batch. I then track the data—1 in 3 results in a call being booked. My results are better than most people doing this because I made it my own, and I send far fewer emails. I’ve literally done the opposite of what the gurus state online, and it’s working.

Living in the In-between

I find it challenging to break away from being results-driven. The old me moves quickly to implement and only does an action if it brings in immediate results, no matter if she enjoys it or not. She is results-driven only, and right now, what I want is taking its sweet time to show up. Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe I’m doing this all wrong.

Everyone is so quiet around me—my guides, ancestors, and even God. I know why they’re quiet; I have to trust this space. The wisdom has to come from me, but this is brutal. I just need someone to tell me what to do or tell me I’m on the right path. Am I on the right path?

I could call my old manager and ask her for my job back; I know she’ll give it back to me. Towards the end of my time at my old job, they had rolled out a system I created so that people would work efficiently, so I know she would say yes. But that would bring me back to square one. Yes, I’ll have money, but it’ll be capped, I’ll be drained, and I’ll have no time to focus on my writing.

So I drop the idea, and instead of pushing through the doubts, I lean into them. I give them what they want, and knowing I can’t show up working in this way, I take the rest of the day off. I go onto LinkedIn to check my notifications, and I see a comment under my post: “Sage, I love your writing, I relate to it so much.”

And that’s the sign right there. That’s all I need. The doubts stop, I smile, and say, “I’m on the right path. I’m on the right path.”