The Space Between Becoming

The Space Between Becoming. There’s a particular discomfort that comes with being in-between.

You’re no longer who you used to be, but you’re not quite sure who you’re becoming either. It’s not always painful, but it is disorienting—like standing in a hallway where all the doors are half-open, and you’re not entirely sure which one leads forward.

It’s easy to talk about growth once you’ve arrived. Once you’ve made the leap, crossed the milestone, or figured out the lesson. But no one really prepares you for the middle—the quiet, awkward place where your routines no longer fit, your prayers sound more like whispers, and your confidence comes and goes like the tide.

This is the part where everything is shifting. The part that doesn’t make it to Instagram stories or polished newsletters. It’s made up of long silences, second guesses, and unspoken prayers. A space where faith becomes less about grand declarations and more about showing up, even when you’re unsure.

The in-between feels like being stretched. You’re growing in ways you can’t measure, healing in ways you didn’t know were needed. You begin to notice what no longer aligns. Conversations feel heavier. Spaces you once occupied now feel unfamiliar. Your spirit is calling you somewhere else, but the steps feel foggy.

You may feel like you’re losing momentum, but you’re actually building capacity. This is your becoming. It may not look like much from the outside, but internally, things are rearranging. Old patterns are being challenged. New truths are slowly taking root.

I’ve learned that this space demands tenderness. It doesn’t ask for perfection or performance—it asks for honesty. It asks you to stay with yourself, even when things feel blurry. It invites you to be present in your own becoming.

One of the most sacred lessons I’ve gathered in the in-between is that clarity often comes after trust, not before. We want the map before we move. But sometimes, the movement creates the map. And sometimes, all you have is a whisper, a nudge, a small peace about a next step. That’s enough.

This season teaches you how to listen. To slow down. To choose depth over speed. It strips away the noise so you can hear the voice that matters most—God’s, and your own. And that voice rarely shouts. It often comes softly, gently, in the quiet between distractions.

There is beauty in not knowing exactly where this is all leading, but trusting that it’s leading somewhere purposeful. You may not be able to articulate what’s changing, but you can feel it. And that’s real.

So if you find yourself in that stretch—in the moments that feel uncertain and unremarkable—I want to remind you: it counts. The in-between matters just as much as the breakthrough.

Let this be the season where you tend to yourself with grace. Where you say yes to the slow work of becoming. Where you stop needing every answer and start trusting the process.

You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re becoming.

Even here. Especially here.

This post is for anyone who’s felt lost in the process. You’re not alone. And you don’t need to rush. You’re already on your way.