It’s one of those days when the weather is heavy with the constant readiness of rain, the air is syrupy and thick.
We lived in Central America when our children were smaller and it reminds me of the transitional time between rainy season and the dry months.
One minute the sky is deep grey and low, like you could touch the clouds with your outstretched fingertips. The next there’s a loud bone-shaking roar of thunder and rain of such intensity that it feels like the house will wash away with its force.
Finally, the sun splits through the clouds exposing the blue sky above, seemingly from nowhere, making steam rise from the road like a magician’s puff of smoke. Light bounces off the fat round rain droplets that decorate everything in sight and the world glitters.
I’ve been thinking a lot about transitions recently. How we navigate them and what it is to be in that liminal space between. It’s where I feel like I am right now - in the midst of a flurry of transitions, that bit just before the sun breaks through the clouds.
My youngest has just finished primary school. My last baby is growing up and it feels like a big milestone. Admittedly more for me than him. He’s completely ready to be at the same school as his older brother. It’s as if he’s always been trying to catch up on the years between them. He’s always been taller, bigger than his peers, like his very bones have held a longing to be more grown-up.
Meanwhile, my eldest is moving into his exam year, he’s now taller than me with a voice as deep as his dad’s. I can barely tell them apart when I hear them talking in the kitchen. It makes my heart ache over the passing of time and I feel accutely aware of the one long transition that is parenthood.
At the same time Summer marks the close of my client work for this season. A wrapping up of walking alongside bloody lovely humans as they navigate their own transitions. The difficult bits, the joyful bits and everything that lands between. It feels like such a privilege to do the work that I do, witnessing the life force of the human spirit and that oh-so-natural desire to change and grow.
As I write this I’m not even sure I know what I want to say about transitions. I know that where I am in this place doesn’t feel ‘bad’ but there is a deep tenderness here.
If I’m carrying on the metaphor of the rainy season transition I know there’s enjoyment to be had in this moment in between things. Where the rain is intense and loud and the invitation is to hunker down and watch as it passes by.
This is the moment where we gather our resources and consider what we need to expand into the inevitable changes that transitions bring. Allowing our visions to morph into totally new structures in our hearts, revisiting our beliefs and bravery to hold the weight of what we’re transitioning towards
We need this liminal space. Maybe because this is where we explore what it means to grow our capacity, to expand towards the new thing that sits on the horizon. Quiet space to find new or old ways to bolster our resilience and discover the tools we need in our backpack for what comes next.
As I write this down I notice I’m filled with a palpable calmness, an ‘everything will be okness’ and the felt sense of trust that has taken a long time to cultivate. While this trust isn’t always front and centre in every moment, it sits in my belly, heavy and round and there when I need it.
It’s that understanding that the sun will return, that soon the brightness will break through the clouds and cover everything in glitterball starlight. It gives me the patience to wait things out and watch the rain for a while longer.
I hope that if you’re reading this in the midst of your very own transitions you can find places to rest and be with what is. That somehow you can tap into the well of trust in your body and feel the steadiness of knowing the sun will come. I like the idea of us waiting together, all of us gathering our resources for the next chapter.
With love,
Sara x
PS - if you’d like to pop yourself on the waitlist for coaching with me in late Summer or transitioning into Autumn you can do that by clicking the link below or if you want to have a chat over a cuppa you can click HERE
P.P.S - If you enjoyed this post you might want to read my 2 part series on reclaiming resilience - you can find the link to ‘part 1’ in the post below :)
Beautiful words that feel so supportive to where I am right now. Thank you 🙏
‘A deep tenderness’ yes, that is exactly it. All shall be well but sometimes the waiting can be a real burden, a trial of resilience, when the store is fairly light already. Thank you for the words that help to hold me in this time.