According to Webster, liminal means in between or in transition. According to Sharon Eisenhauer the liminal is un-fucking-comfortable.

Melting into my current state of primordial goo has required the release of my former identities, former homes, most of my possessions and even much of my wardrobe. So much of who I am becoming no longer fits what it is I’m transitioning into. Gone are former associations, friends, and frames of mind. 

I’ve been releasing long-held beliefs about who I was and who my parents were. Definitions of what it means to be held, supported and taken care of have acquired a whole new understanding.

Last week I made a decision to let go of a significant segment of work that I’ve done off and on since I was 14 years old because it no longer fit who I am becoming. 

While I have added a few things like wrinkles, dark circles and more gray hair, I’ve also added insight, forgiveness and joy. Appreciation. Gratitude. And hopefully some wisdom.

I would never have chosen to stay where I was, but this period of gestation just before what I know is to be the birth of something glorious has me feeling so uncomfortable that I’m even nauseated at times. It’s been a kind of nausea that is different from what accompanies a flu. It’s in my throat. It’s a discomfort that I know portends a major shift in the works. Unlike morning sickness at the early stages of pregnancy, this nausea seems to be coming just before birth - and it’s not just in the morning.

I have an idea of what it may look like on the other side of the walls of this cocoon, but of course I can’t ever really know what this new reality will be until I’m living it.

I do know, without doubt, that all of this shedding and release is leading me to a brilliance and beauty I’ve never before experienced. It has meant the release of my former definition of my own physical beauty; but the beauty that is revealing itself has so many more layers, depth and vibrancy.

And while the opening I’m having to squeeze through in this moment feels way too skinny, I know that the muscle of faith it’s developing will be what allows me to thrive.

And, it’s so un-fucking-comfortable. Sometimes I feel as though I can barely breathe. But I know that breathing is precisely the prescription for this transition. Breathing and trust.

And since I’m the one who’s both giving birth and being birthed, it’s no wonder it feels like I’m being turned inside out.

This period of time feels like another of the very necessary contractions required to birth and be birthed.

I can see the light. May this be the final push.