Living in the In-Between

Dear sweet friend,

This one is for the parent living in the in-between.

You can map out a summer abroad together and feel the joy and the ache braided so tightly you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.

I got emotional this week. Really emotional.

We booked spring break. We started planning the summer trip, the one where we will spend time abroad together. And somewhere between the excitement and the planning, I remembered: this is it. This is our last summer to pause before the world asks both of us to keep going.

I am in the in-between. And if you are parenting in this season, I think you might be too.

The Only Thing That Stayed Consistent Was the Chaos

When I look back on the last few years, not one chapter has been predictable.

Selling a company. Starting a new one. Going back to school. Writing a book. Trademarking a framework. Raising a daughter who is preparing to leave for college. Starting over in my forties while helping an eighteen-year-old figure out who she is becoming.

The only thing that stayed consistent was the chaos. And somewhere inside all of it, I have been finding my voice while learning to let her find hers.

That is the tension I want to talk about today, because I do not think I am alone in it.

The Pull of the In-Between

There is a name for this space. It is called ambiguous loss, the grief that comes when someone you love is still here, but the relationship as you have known it is changing. No funeral. No clear ending. Just a slow shift that no one hands you a roadmap for.

This is what it feels like:

• Wanting to hold on, knowing I have to let go.
• Being her mom, becoming her friend.
• Wanting to advise, learning when to stay quiet.
• Enjoying the moment, grieving that it is changing.

Right now, every day with my daughter feels like a gift I am learning to unwrap slowly. I notice what I used to rush past. The way she laughs. The questions she asks. The way she is becoming the woman she was designed to be, right in front of me.

And I am learning this too: watching your child step into her purpose does not make you smaller. It makes you different. It asks you to discover who you are when the role that shaped your days begins to evolve.

Why You Feel Fine, Then You Don't

If you have felt emotionally "all over the place" in this season, there is a reason, and it is not that you are dramatic.

Your nervous system registers change as change. Even good change carries weight. Even exciting change asks your body to adapt.

So you can feel happy over breakfast and hollow by lunch. You can feel connected at dinner and unexpectedly emotional at bedtime. You are not unstable. You are adjusting.

And when you are grieving something before it happens, your body can respond as if a loss is already here. That is anticipatory grief. It is love with a timer on it. It is your heart trying to prepare you for a shift it knows is coming.

So if you cry while planning something beautiful, hear me: you are not broken. You are attached.

Tools for Staying Present in the In-Between

I am not going to tell you to just pray harder or think positive. You deserve real support for your body and your soul. Here are a few simple tools that help me stay present instead of rushing past this season.

Physiological Sigh

Take two short inhales through your nose, then one long exhale through your mouth. Do it two or three times. It signals safety to your body fast, especially when tears show up out of nowhere.

Bilateral Movement

Alternate taps on your knees, go for a slow walk and focus on left foot then right foot, or hold something cool in one hand, then the other. Alternating left and right helps emotion move through you instead of lodging in your chest.

Co-regulation

Your nervous system settles through safe connection. A hug. A shared laugh. Sitting next to someone who does not need to fix you. Presence calms what pressure cannot.

Name What Is True

Say it out loud: I am grieving and grateful at the same time. Both are real. Putting language to your experience helps your body stop treating the feeling like an emergency.

Anchor to Right Now

When your mind time travels, return to the room. Name five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste. Simple, grounding, effective.

This Is Our Last Summer to Pause

I keep coming back to that sentence.

She is becoming the woman she was designed to be. And I am stepping into my next chapter too. We are not losing each other. We are being reshaped at the same time.

Still, I would be lying if I said I was not grieving the version of us that is ending. The version where she is under my roof every morning. The version where our rhythms overlap without effort. The version where I feel needed in ways I have built my entire adult life around.

That version is fading. A new one is forming. I just have to let it.

A Letter to the Parent in the In-Between

If you are here too, in this sacred space where the days feel both too long and too fast, I want you to hear me.

You are not falling apart. You are being reshaped. You are not losing your child. You are gaining a new kind of relationship. You are not behind. You are in transition.

Let yourself feel the joy without rushing past the grief. Let yourself grieve without dimming the joy. They are not opposites. They are roommates, and they have always been allowed to coexist.

This is the season of the in-between. And it is holy ground.

Walk slowly. Listen deeply. Live lavishly, even here. Especially here.