Have you ever been in that space where you’ve achieved some goals and are even living the life you previously only dreamed of… Maybe you got the promotion or the raise, you lost the weight, moved into your dream home, or had the holiday of a lifetime. Fill in your own goals realised…
For a while it feels so great and you’re enjoying it, and then there comes some uneasiness that goes with the thought ‘What now?’
We are always expanding and growing, so that thought is entirely natural and to be anticipated. Please don’t make it wrong that you now want more. The uneasiness does not mean that you are being greedy to want more or that you should be grateful and settle for all the good you now have. If that’s where your mind goes, let me offer you this thought to work with: Be grateful for all the good in your life currently AND stay open to receiving all that is yet to come.
The real uneasiness I believe, comes from not really knowing what we want to be, do, have, or create next. The not knowing creates uncertainty and our nervous system hates uncertainty because it feels unsafe.
From my own experience, I celebrated 10 years in business at the end of 2025, it was a big milestone and captured so much growth, service and achievement. In many respects, I have achieved everything I set out to achieve when I first set up my own coaching and facilitation business. Thank you to each and every one of you who has been part of that journey with me.
At the same time, I became increasingly aware that some parts of my work are still emerging. I can feel the new direction. I can sense what is wanting to deepen. I can see certain threads becoming clearer through my coaching, through Soul Café, through the reshaping of the Vision Workshop, and through the gradual refinement of some of my own teachings and methodology.
And yet, at the very same time, I also cannot fully articulate exactly what all of it will become yet and that’s very uncomfortable! Part of me would love the certainty of a fully formed map, a neat explanation, a complete understanding of where all of this is leading and who I am becoming within it.
But transformation rarely unfolds that way.
More often, it asks us to walk with something before we can fully name it. And that can feel deeply uncomfortable at best and sometimes completely terrifying. As human beings, we are wired to seek certainty. Familiarity helps the nervous system feel safe. We like clarity, predictability, and coherence. We like knowing who we are, where we are going, and how to explain ourselves to other people along the way.
So, when we enter seasons of genuine growth, there can be a surprising amount of emotional disequilibrium. The old identity no longer fully fits. The ways we previously moved through the world begin to loosen. Certain ambitions no longer carry the same energy they once did. Old coping mechanisms become more visible but less effective. The structures and rhythms that once felt solid begin to shift beneath us.
And yet the new version of ourselves has not fully arrived either. We find ourselves somewhere in between. We’re not who we were and not yet fully who we are becoming. I think this is one of the least spoken about parts of transformation.
People often imagine growth as empowering, expansive, and confidence-building from beginning to end. Sometimes it is. But often there is also a quieter season that accompanies real change. A season of uncertainty. Ambiguity. Recalibration. A season where we can feel strangely disoriented even while something meaningful is unfolding.
And because this space feels uncomfortable, many of us instinctively try to escape it. We rush to define ourselves too quickly. We force answers before they are ready. We retreat back into old identities because they feel safer than uncertainty. We return to familiar patterns of productivity, overworking, overthinking, over-planning, or over-functioning simply because the familiar creates temporary relief.
Too often, we mistake the discomfort of emergence as evidence that something is wrong, when actually that discomfort is simply the nervous system encountering unfamiliar territory and you can work to regulate that – more on how to do that in my next blog!
✨ For today, I want to share with you a new perspective that can help you be in the in between space and use it well. Recently, I came across Sue Morter’s description of what she calls the “Void of Creation,” and something about it resonated deeply with me.
She speaks about the natural cycles of growth we move through as human beings. We create. We sustain. And eventually parts of our lives, identities, beliefs, or ways of being begin to fall away so that something new can emerge.
Between those cycles there is often a pause. A space where what was no longer fully fits, but what is coming next has not yet fully formed either.
And perhaps that is the very space so many of us struggle with most, what Sue calls it the Void.
The mind wants clarity and the nervous system wants certainty. Yet life often asks us to remain present in the void of the unknown long enough for something deeper to emerge.
The good news is that this is a natural and necessary part of our evolution.
There is something deeply important in that understanding. Because the mind often wants immediate definition, while life itself tends to work through emergence. Seeds do not burst through the soil the moment they are planted. There is a season beneath the surface where something is developing long before visible evidence appears.
And I think now that parts of our own becoming work the same way. Perhaps not every season is asking us to immediately know. Perhaps some seasons are asking us to remain present enough to listen and to notice and to stay connected to ourselves while something new quietly takes shape.
This does not mean becoming passive or directionless. It does not mean abandoning vision or ambition. But it may mean softening our demand for premature certainty. It may mean allowing ourselves to experiment without needing immediate mastery. It may mean noticing when fear is trying to pull us back toward identities we have already outgrown. It may mean staying connected to the body, to reflection, to community, to practices that help us remain grounded while the internal landscape rearranges itself.
Transformation rarely feels like standing confidently in certainty. More often, it feels like learning to remain present while the old self loosens, and the new self has not yet fully arrived. And perhaps there is wisdom in not rushing that process. Perhaps the version of you that does not yet exist is already quietly emerging beneath the surface.
Not fully formed. Not fully visible. But becoming, nonetheless.