in and out

the liminal self

i go in and out

into flow and gratitude

and out of it again

into grief and hopelessness

there are days when i wake up and feel like i’m in tune with the rhythm of life - like the breath i take belongs to something larger than me. i act in the version of woman i hope to become - wake up early, pray, lay my bed and keep my space tidy. listen to self-help podcasts. i don’t doom scroll. i eat well. i take walks. i reach out to people. i honour my time. i speak kindly to myself. i don’t shrink. and when those days come, i feel proud of myself. not because i’ve earned joy, but because i sense i’m living from an anchored place.

but then there are days like today.

when i do all the same things, but none of them lands. the prayer feels mechanical. the bed looks perfect, but the mind feels cluttered. the voices that once lifted me now blur into noise. it’s not grief exactly, and it’s not sadness either. it’s more like something buzzing under my skin - an unease that won’t name itself.

it feels like anxiety, but not the loud, spiraling kind. just a quiet, persistent unease. like my body is bracing for something, even when my mind has no idea what it’s afraid of. maybe that’s what grief looks like sometimes - when it hasn’t landed yet. or maybe it’s just the echo of carrying too much for too long.

and then comes the guilt. it feels as if i’m betraying all the good things in my life by feeling this way, because on paper, everything is fine. because i should be grateful. because i know better.

but knowing isn’t the same as feeling.

and i’ve learned that when i try to out - think/analyze my feelings, i just bury them deeper, only for them to return louder and more distorted. so today, i’m choosing not to force clarity or chase relief. i’m choosing to sit with what’s here. to let it belong, not because i like it, but because denying it never made it leave.

what shifted, you might ask?

nothing big. no lightbulb. no sudden breakthrough. just a moment(barely a pause, actually) when i realized i was tired of fighting myself. tired of trying to decode every feeling, fix every dip, explain every shift.

so i stopped.

and it’s not with resolution, to be honest. just… with presence. i let the silence come. let the tightness come without naming it. and somehow, in that permission, my body softened. just a little.

not joy, not peace. but less resistance.

and then, a quiet, subtle voice somewhere in me said: there’s no deadline for happiness.

a line that simply meant removing the pressure to achieve joy instantly. and that felt enough. not a cure. not a promise, but a reminder that even the still, uncertain moments count as living.

even when i don’t feel like myself, something remains untouched. there’s a part of me that still notices the way light peeks through. a part of me that still cares enough to write this. a part of me that still believes, maybe not loudly but quietly - that i’m still becoming.

even with the unease i feel, i know there are constants. that my heart still beats. that i still care. that showing up, even limping, still counts.

today, gratitude didn’t show up as joy. it showed up as breath. as knowing i’m still allowed to write even when i don’t have a breakthrough to share. and like i always say: maybe, just maybe, that moment is enough.

what feeling have you been carrying that you haven’t had the words for yet?

for whoever feels in-between:

you’re not behind.

you’re not broken.

you’re here

that’s enough

some days,

breathing is becoming.