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There are seasons in your life when you simply don’t recognize yourself.
You’re no longer who you used to be,
but you’re not yet who you’re becoming.
You’re in an in-between space.
Strange, uncomfortable at times…
Carl Jung wrote that “we are born many times within one lifetime.”
And in every rebirth, there’s a space between the dying and the becoming.
That space is transition.
The identity we were given—the one that no longer fits.
Long before you discover who you are,
the world has already decided something for you.
“She’s the party girl.”
“She’s the one who never says no.”
“She’s the one that drinks a lot.”
“She’s the one who never gets angry.”
And the moment you step outside that script… you unsettle people.
You break the narrative.
You lose applause.
And you realize that the identity others chose for you
became too small years ago.
Dr. Gabor Maté says that the identity we show the world
is often not authenticity—
it’s adaptation.
And there comes a day when that adaptation starts to hurt.
That’s when the shedding begins.
That’s where transition starts.
When you no longer fit into the old…
but you don’t yet know how to inhabit the new.
Psychology calls it a moratorium:
a state where the old identity loosens,
and the new one hasn’t formed yet.
You’re not who you were.
You’re not “the next version” either.
And that internal emptiness feels like chaos,
when in reality, it’s creation.
Neuroscience explains it through neuroplasticity:
when you’re changing, your brain literally breaks down old pathways
to build new ones.
In that process, you feel unsteady, confused, suspended.
Not because something is wrong—
but because something new is assembling inside you.
Patanjali called it parinama:
the state of transformation,
the inner alchemy between what you release
and what hasn’t yet been born.
The spiral: returning to yourself from a higher place.
We aren’t linear.
We are spirals.
You revisit themes you thought you’d already outgrown—
but now you see them from another altitude.
You revisit your shadows—
but with more light.
You revisit your resistance—
but with more awareness.
The spiral doesn’t repeat.
It reveals.
Psychologist Tara Brach says each cycle is an invitation
to “return to the heart with less fear.”
And it’s true: every turn rearranges you.
What once overwhelmed you now teaches you.
What once hurt you now informs you.
What once defined you now loosens.
You’re not coming back to the same place—
you’re coming back as someone else.
The silent grieving of outgrowing versions of yourself.
Growing also means mourning the parts of you that once kept you alive.
The one who drank too much might’ve survived many hard nights.
The party girl might’ve just wanted to belong.
The people-pleaser might’ve feared losing love.
Letting go of identities hurts
because you’re not shedding a mask—
you’re shedding survival strategies.
Ram Dass wrote,
“When you understand who you were, you can stop being it.”
That is transition.
When your growth makes others uncomfortable.
Sometimes the world doesn’t know what to do with your evolution.
It wants you back in your old shape.
Back in the boxes you’ve outgrown.
It reminds you of who you were,
so you won’t become who you can be.
But yoga philosophy speaks of viveka:
discernment—
the ability to recognize which version of you has become too small
and which one is asking for space to exist.
Your growth isn’t a betrayal.
It’s loyalty to yourself.
Your nervous system also changes identity.
Who you are isn’t only in your mind.
It lives in your body.
When you shed an old identity,
your nervous system stops anticipating the same patterns.
That’s why you feel vulnerable.
Unsteady.
Exposed.
It’s not weakness.
It’s reorganization.
Stephen Porges, creator of the Polyvagal Theory, says:
“When you change the way you relate to yourself,
your nervous system learns a new pathway to safety.”
And that takes time.
Transition is relearning.
Fear as the signal that something is shifting.
Joe Dispenza says,
“The place where you feel resistance is exactly where you stop being who you were…
so you can become who you are.”
Resistance isn’t the obstacle—
it’s the doorway.
That’s why transition feels so uncomfortable:
you don’t yet know who you’ll be on the other side.
But you already know you can’t go back.
Questions begin reshaping your identity…
Who am I without my labels?
Who am I without my defenses?
Who am I when I stop doing what I’ve always done?
Who am I when my old habits no longer hold me?
Who am I when I stop being the version that kept others comfortable?
And the most transformative one:
Who am I now?
Questions like these aren’t meant to be answered instantly.
They’re meant to open space—
so the real answer can arrive.
The new identity forming inside you, even if you can’t see it yet.
What feels confusing today
will one day feel coherent.
What feels like an ending today
will become a beginning.
What feels like chaos today
will turn into structure.
What feels empty today
will become space for something true.
Identity doesn’t appear when you decide who you are—
it appears when you start acting like someone who is waking up.
Little by little.
In a spiral.
Without rushing.
If you’re in that place where you’re no longer who you were
but not yet who you’ll become,
don’t judge yourself.
You’re in the most important part of the journey—
where old layers fall away
and new ones haven’t fully formed.
Where uncertainty is a sign, not a threat.
Where inner quiet is preparation, not emptiness.
Where not fitting in is evolution, not failure.
You’re in transition.
In a spiral.
On your way back to yourself—
from a higher place.
Which version of you is beginning to be born right now?
