There’s a stretch of time between what was and what will be. A foggy, formless space without shape, structure or routine. Upon graduating from my MA, Chancellor Dawn French described it aptly in the musical term ‘fermata’: a pause, held longer than usual for expressive effect. In anthropology, this pause is referred to as the liminal space; a threshold between the transformation of identities, the crossing between life’s many chapters. Neither here nor there, it’s a space many of us find ourselves in as we traverse the winding roads of life. We can feel unsettled and vulnerable in this untethered calm.

The liminal space often settles over us after significant endings and before beginnings. This could be the limbo between leaving a job and starting a new one, the loss of a loved one or the long inhale between seasons. It’s a place that can feel uneasy, yet it’s where real transformation often brews.

Defining ‘Liminal’

Derived from the Latin limen, meaning threshold, liminal spaces are in-between zones where our identity, environment or expectations shift. Anthropologist Victor Turner defined it as the middle phase of a rite of passage: the disorienting period of ambiguity before integrating into a new state of being.

In modern life, liminality shows up less in ceremonies and more in moments of waiting, wandering and wondering. While it can feel like an emotional no man’s land, there’s power in this pause.

A Space for Growth

Our impulse is often to try and escape discomfort. This tendency can leave us stuck in patterns, relationships and jobs that no longer serve who we are becoming. But after shedding an old layer of self, liminal spaces invite reflection, expansion and quiet transformation. They make room for reinvention, stripping us of familiar roles or rhythms and inviting us to ask of ourselves what now? What do I want to keep, and what do I want to leave behind?

The liminal space is also a key moment of reorientation. Growth doesn’t always have a forward momentum. So often, much like hidden seeds in the dead of winter, it happens in stillness. The liminal space invites us to pause and look inward before stepping forward.

“Identity often takes shape in these in-between states. They help us figure out who we’re becoming.”

- Erik Erikson

Embracing Change

Rather than solve the moment, living in the liminal allows us to embrace discomfort, sitting with it long enough to listen, learn and recalibrate. As we navigate this chapter, there are several ways to make peace with the pause:

• Name it. Recognising you’re in a liminal space can ease anxiety. It makes the feeling less personal and more universal.

• Ritualise your routine. Tiny acts such as making tea, journaling, and morning walks provide a sense structure when everything else feels unmoored.

• Reflect without rushing. Ask yourself ‘What is this space teaching me? What feels ready to fall away?’

• Lean into slowness. Busyness might be tempting, but presence is far more powerful.

• Allow your discomfort to be your data. Identifying areas of friction is feedback to redirect somewhere new.
  

In her book Tiny Experiments, neuroscientist Anne-Laure Le Cunff encourages testing small shifts to spark bigger changes. Within liminal living, this method becomes a lifeline, creating space for movement without forcing a leap.

In the Steep

The liminal space can feel like a waiting room, but it’s more like a greenhouse. It holds potential. It softens us, slowing us down just enough to listen and grow. It asks not just who we’re becoming, but how we want to arrive.