When Nothing Feels Settled

Notes from the uncomfortable in-between

Liminal spaces are in-between times. The transitions. The phases where you’re no longer who you were, but not yet who you’re becoming. You know you can’t go back, but you don’t yet know where you’re headed.

It’s a very disorienting place to be.

Sometimes, entering this space is a choice. Other times, it’s not. For a long time, I did everything I could to avoid it. I clung to unaligned people and outgrown situations just to escape the ache of uncertainty.

The first time I fell into an in-between wasn’t by choice. It happened against my will, and it upended everything I thought I knew about who I was and what I wanted. But being there made it clear: the only way out was to become a version of myself that felt more honest than anything I’d been yet.

And I did. And in doing so, I learned I could endure deep discomfort and come out better on the other side.

These days, I don’t fear the liminal space as I once did. If anything, I’d rather leap into it and see what I’m made of than sit still and watch my life decay.

Right now, I’m fully in it. And while I know I can handle it, that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I crave permanence. I want things to feel settled and consistent. But that’s not what this season is offering.

Everything about my life right now feels temporary. And the more I fight that truth, the harder it is to move toward something more aligned than what I left behind.

Apple—my puppy—is very much a part of this liminal chapter. He’s wild, high-maintenance, and demands more from me than I often feel I have to give. But I know that how I show up for him now will shape who he becomes. It’s a long game, and we’re just at the beginning.

My career is also shifting. For years, I felt solid in my identity as a dating-focused comic artist. My work resonated, it was shareable, and I found a rhythm that felt dependable.

But over the past few years, that path has felt increasingly off. I’ve been creatively restless: tossing spaghetti, hoping it sticks, and wondering what I even enjoy throwing.

Ironically, the liminal space I just entered is bringing me closer to solving that years-long puzzle. The discomfort is forcing a deeper honesty about what actually feels good to create.

Even my body is changing. After years spent in illness, survival mode, and self-neglect, I’m finally learning how to care for it…and actually mean it.

The truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever felt good in my body. Not as a kid, not as a teenager, not even in moments when it may have looked that way from the outside.

That’s what makes this process feel so unfamiliar. I’m taking baby steps each day to build habits that prioritize my health and to learn what it means to feel at home in myself.

It’s slow, awkward, and often frustrating. But for the first time, it feels possible.

The in-between doesn’t move like a social media feed. You can’t swipe to the next moment of clarity, and there’s no quick payoff for putting in the work. Like puppy training, getting where you want to go is slow, repetitive, often frustrating. This is the season where I plant what I hope to harvest later.

It is a time to double down on habit and faith…even when it feels like nothing is happening Especially when it feels like nothing is happening.

On days when I wake up frustrated, I remind myself that change doesn’t show up because I demand it to. And it also won’t come through numbing or avoidance. It’s built through small, consistent actions that reflect the future I’m trying to create.

Thanks for being here with me through this chapter. If you’re in a liminal space too, I hope you know you’re not alone.

xoVC