When Everything Shifts: Emotions on the Surface of the Soul

There are times when emotions don’t just whisper—they rise, roar, and flood our entire being. These aren’t just recent stirrings. No, they’ve been building over time, gathering weight and depth like waves before a storm.

I can say, without hesitation, that I am experiencing one of the deepest transitions of my life. It’s touching not only personal edges but also existential themes, asking: Who am I becoming? Who am I without my diplomas, my job titles, the organizations I once served? Who am I beyond the roles I play—professional, daughter, mother, lover, partner, friend?

The Identity We Wear—and Who We Are Without It

These lifelong questions visit us all, again and again, like old friends with new faces. But when we’re moving through a major life transition, they no longer whisper—they demand answers.

For me, this moment has arrived through many doors at once: a move to a new country, the closing of chapters with companies I poured years of dedication into, and most recently, the death of a beloved extended family member.

These goodbyes—some professional, some deeply personal—feel like small and big deaths, each one requiring its own resilience and ritual of letting go.

Letting the Ground Fall Away

In this season of change, I often feel as though the ground is dissolving beneath my feet. The emotional waves come in many shades—fear, grief, anxiety. And yet, I try not to resist them.

There are mornings when I wake up with a heaviness on my chest. On those days, I breathe, I move my body, I change the space around me. Sometimes, even stepping into another room is enough to shift the energy.

Other times, meditation becomes a miracle—bringing me back to center. But more often than not, the healing comes from surrender.

Surrender to what is. Surrender to what may come. Surrender to the not-knowing.

Wisdom in the Midst of Uncertainty

Recently, I returned to the words of Pema Chödrön from When Things Fall Apart.

This passage stirred something deep within me: “To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man's-land, to experience each moment as completely new and fresh. To live is to be willing to die over and over again.” (Pema Chödrön, 2016, p.11)

These words felt like a reminder that the chaos I feel is not a detour, but the path itself.

There is courage in not turning away. In letting the heart break—not once, but many times—so it can stretch and expand into something more tender, more open, more alive.

If you find yourself in a season of deep transition—If the familiar feels distant, and the path ahead is unclear—If you’re letting go of roles, titles, relationships, or long-held dreams…

Take a breath. You’re not alone.

This space—between what was and what’s to come—can feel uncertain, even disorienting. But it’s also deeply human.

We all meet these moments. Moments when identity unravels. When the structures we built our lives on no longer hold. When we’re asked to loosen our grip and trust something we can’t yet see.

This is the sacred middle.Not a detour, not a failure—just the in-between.A space where something quiet and meaningful is taking shape beneath the surface.

So if you feel undone, unsure, or untethered—Remember: it’s okay to be here. Growth often begins in the dark, and becoming rarely comes with a map.

References:

Chödrön, Pema (2016). When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times. Boulder: Shambhala