The Space Between Endings and Beginnings: Finding Calm in Life’s Transitions

Photo by Micah & Sammie Chaffin on Unsplash‍ ‍

In the last month, there have been a lot of changes in my life.
Well, more than changes - a few things have come to an end.
An ongoing personal issue that had dragged on for nearly six years, a working relationship, and a cherished friendship.

While I couldn’t be happier about the issue finally getting resolved, the other two were harder to navigate, especially because I had to choose whether to take action or not. Sometimes, we know what the “right” thing for us is, but taking that step can still be difficult. Fear, a sense of safety, or holding onto something we value, even when it no longer aligns with our life or where we’re headed, can all keep us stuck.

William Bridges, in his book Transitions, says that while change is what happens on the outside (a new job, role, city, or family situation), it’s the psychological transition that truly matters. Sometimes the transition comes first: we need to let go of the old before we can take up the new - not just outwardly, but inwardly, where our connections to people, places, and things define who we are. At other times, change happens first, outside our control, and the inner transition follows later. And only then do we begin to feel settled.

I had been feeling unsettled for a while. Whenever I thought of making a change, discomfort would surface. I was familiar with what was, and uncertain of what lay ahead if I let go. My work partner had become something of an anchor for me, but at the same time, it felt like they were also holding me back from the direction I wanted to move toward.

The direction itself was only broadly clear; I didn’t know exactly where I would go or how I would get there. That ambiguity kept me from letting go for a long time. I had to prepare myself psychologically for the ending.

This process usually begins with feelings of dissatisfaction, disengagement, or misalignment. Yet, the unknown future makes us question ourselves - Are we sure? Is this truly misalignment, or just a passing whim?
And then, one day, staying begins to feel scarier or more difficult than moving on. That’s when you know you’re ready for change.

But it doesn’t end there.

Bridges describes three stages of a transition: “First there is an ending, then a beginning, and an important empty or fallow time in between. That is the order of things in nature.”

Fallow time refers to the period between crops when the land is left unplanted. In today’s world of constant productivity and efficiency, this fallow time is the hardest. It’s distressing to live in this gap - to not be doing, producing, moving forward or sometimes even taking a step back. This discomfort can even make us question if ending things was a mistake.

Many of my clients going through career transitions struggle most with this loss of identity, the sense of self that came from their work. Even when we know we couldn’t have stayed, we experience the emptiness as an absence - of purpose, relatedness, or meaning. And so, we rush to fill the void.

We find ourselves going back, in new ways, to old patterns… trying to replace what’s missing. I caught myself doing that too, restlessly thinking about how to replace the working relationship I’d just ended.

At such times, Bridges invites us to appreciate this in-between phase. The fallow period has a purpose: it allows us to recover our vitality and prepare for the next season of growth.

I’m reminded of a quote from the Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön:

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.”

Her words may sound intense, but the essence is this: it’s only in the pause, in the nothingness, that something new can emerge.

It’s the anxiety of the unknown that makes us want to move faster.
When worry grips us, everything speeds up. Our thoughts race ahead to imagined futures (What if I’ve made a career mistake? What if I never earn as much again? What if I lose this connection forever?). Our breathing becomes shallow, our actions hurried - as if we could outrun our fears.
(And maybe even now you’re reading this post quickly, but why?)

Anxiety feeds on speed.
So the opposite is also true, we can starve anxiety by slowing down.
By allowing ourselves to rest in the emptiness rather than struggle to escape it. If we can remember that the old has to wear off before we gain a fresh perspective, we might begin to see anxiety as part of the process, not a problem to fix.

So while I’m watching my own anxiety unfold, I’m choosing to stay open. To notice what new opportunities inspire me, without rushing to act just to escape discomfort.

There’s no escaping the fallow time.
But how we respond to our anxiety changes everything about how we experience it.

An invitation for you:
If you’re considering a change, even if you’re not ready yet, slow down.
Even small acts of slowness, like a few deep breaths, can create space between you and your anxiety.

While tackling the personal issue I mentioned earlier, I often turned to two minutes of box breathing to calm myself.
Perhaps it will offer you a moment of pause too.

If you’re navigating transitions and want support through your fallow period, I'd be glad to walk alongside.

Click here to explore how we can work together.