Where I Went Wrong with Transitions

I have gone through my fair share of changes.

Two were massively challenging for me: ending a serious relationship while having left my career (a double whammy), and then starting over involuntarily.

In short: both were start-overs from scratch. First time chosen, second time round, not.

Yes. I’ve started over twice.

Let me tell you something: it hurts.

One hurt through heartache and what psychology would call an ego death. That left me fragile, and even if I didn’t look it, I felt much like the contents of a pupa. The icky goo in a cocoon before the butterfly had emerged.

The second time, I had walked the path before, I knew the territory, and the “what not to do.” But there was another level to rebuilding that I hadn’t yet met: the rush to fix.

First time round, I wallowed; partly because COVID didn’t give much chance for anything else, at least in my state.

Second time, I started chasing results. Action-driven to make something happen. Not missing a single opportunity. Not this time.

Now, to the secure, established observer, it may be obvious that these two extremes are not the answer.

But the established observer may have never met the mental and emotional anguish of starting over, and how the drive from pain can be a helper or a hinderer, but not necessarily an aligner.

Starting over, and the vulnerability of a life that doesn’t fit - an identity gap where one has ended, before the new one takes form - is a prime time for misalignment.

For rushing in, or for drowning, and making decisions that don’t serve your long-term goal or deepest desires.

It’s a tender period that needs support. That needs witnessing. That needs time.

Rushing to fix things won’t fix anything. And if it’s an anything like my experience, it may create more to unfix later down the line.

Drowning in regret or uncertainty can leave you struggling for air.

Where I went wrong with transitions… I learned the hard way that moving from one chapter of life to another is more than action or inaction. In my first restart, I let heartache paralyse me. In my second, I tried to force outcomes too quickly.

Both were missteps in the delicate art of transitioning-an art that requires patience, intention, and compassion for yourself