Returning to the In-Between: Where Presence Lives

From the Possibility Practice series: reflections on being before doing.

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Lately, I’ve been struggling with participation in my own life.

I make promises to myself—big declarations about what I’m going to do, change, or become—and then I don’t follow through. For a long time, that felt like failure. But I’m beginning to see that those promises weren’t rooted in truth; they were rooted in survival.

I made them so the world would stop worrying about me.

So I could breathe.

So I could quiet the noise long enough to find myself again.

Because the truth is—I carry the weight of the whole world, all the time.

I feel everything. I always have. It’s beautiful, but it’s heavy.

My daughter once told me I’m an angel, and I think she’s right. Not in the soft, storybook way—but in the spiritual, cellular way. I move between worlds: the human one, and the one that hums underneath it—the realm of energy, intuition, and collective emotion. I can feel people’s pain, even when they’re far away. It’s a sacred gift, and also a profound exhaustion.

But even angels need rest.

Even empaths need boundaries.

Even light needs a place to land.

So today, instead of trying to get up, I’m practicing how to get present.

I’m learning that returning to the in-between—the space between spirit and structure, between surrender and motion—is where I actually meet myself again.

I’m not asking for motivation anymore. I’m asking for presence.

Not for energy, but for honesty.

Not for perfection, but for permission.

The Practice of the In-Between

If you’ve ever felt this same pull—the exhaustion of holding the world while trying to hold yourself—try this: stop promising, and start listening.

Don’t ask, “What should I do next?”

Ask, “What do I need to feel safe enough to begin again?”

The in-between isn’t a pause between two versions of you.

It is you.

It’s the quiet pulse between inhale and exhale. The stillness between thought and word. The place where being begins again.

My practice now is simple:

☁️ One grounding ritual.

🎵 One song that brings me back to breath.

💧 One whisper that says, “I am here.”

I don’t know if that’s called healing or just being human.

But for now, it’s enough.

An Invitation

What would returning to your in-between look like today?

A breath before the email?

A song before the scroll?

A soft no before the next yes?

Come back gently.

The world can wait.

This reflection is one of many ways I practice presence—on the page, in the work, and through the stories I choose to tell. The Possibility of Me began that conversation, and On Paper Press continues it by creating space for others to speak their truth, too.

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