The Spiritual ‘Waiting Room’: How to Trust Yourself Through the Void, the Echoes, and the Shift

A reflection for anyone standing between chapters

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The Quiet After the Shift

While I knew and still know it will be a long hard road, the optimism of the possibilities — and I acknowledge that having that optimism is what helped me take the leap into the unknown. I didn’t have a set of expectations for what would come with this new level up. I just knew it had to be done, and that those first steps had to be made.

And maybe you know that feeling too — that strange quiet that comes right after a leap, the kind of quiet that opens the door for fear to creep in.
Maybe for you, it’s a plan detouring or dissolving.
Maybe it’s the sudden stillness after a big emotional or spiritual shift.

If that’s your moment right now, hold steady.
Breathe deep.
Drop into your heart.
Imagine the feeling you want to experience at the end of this process… and work backward from there.

Because it’s in the nothingness — the “no proof yet” phase — that turning back to old comfort zones feels the most tempting.

I didn’t expect to feel the feelings so deeply, or to bounce back so quickly, only to be hit with another wave. But that’s been my rhythm: crash, rise, breathe… repeat.

The quiet feels heavy. Deafening, even.
It carries impatience — because I know how far I can go and will go — and that makes it harder to appreciate this as the pause before and between.
A time to reflect without revisiting.
A time to see how far I’ve come and sketch a vision for where I can go.

The discomfort is everywhere — mind, body, emotions.
My body is processing what safety means.
My mind is rewiring for a new normal.
My emotions are finally allowed to be felt with full strength, held with acceptance and forgiveness.

What surprised me most is how swiftly the Universe, God, my unseen team respond when I pray for signs that I’m not alone — signs that I’m still on the right track. Because even the most resilient and faithful among us face doubt. And it’s in those moments that the real test emerges:
How much are you willing to love yourself back into center?

This process has brought me closer to myself than I ever expected.
I am learning to love myself on levels I didn’t know were possible.

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Where do you feel impatience — and where do you feel possibility?

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The Emotional Echoes — When Old Wounds Surface Because There’s Finally Space

When the dust settled, the emotions came in waves — fear, doubt, moments of existential despair.
I felt unsafe to relax.
I felt the urgency to do more, create more, be more.

Old wounds resurfaced too:
The fear that no matter how hard I work, it might never be enough.
The feeling that I’m inadequate to guide or share because of the current state of my circumstances.

And yet, all of that is part of the becoming.

I didn’t make sense of the emotions — because every time I tried, they made sense, and in making sense the loop spiraled even more. So instead, I cried. I screamed when I needed to. Then I breathed, moved my body, looked at the sky, walked among the trees, made my way to the lake.

What resurfaced wasn’t a single wound — it was residue.
Echoes.
The remnants of all the experiences I’ve lived.

If I had to name the core of it, it would be:
Self-worth.
Confidence in myself.
Trust that I can lead my own life.
Trust that mistakes aren’t failures — they’re the curriculum.

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What echoes are asking to be acknowledged?

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The Nervous System Plateau — Integration, Not Inspiration

My body had its own process:
Muscle cramps.
Jaw tightening.
Shoulders up to my ears.
More thirst, less hunger.
A general sense of being slightly “off.”

My mind and body were out of sync, and staying aware of that required extra effort. It felt like integration — not progress, not inspiration — just a slow recalibration.

What made this phase both overwhelming and manageable was the lack of external input.
Without outside noise, the emotions were clearer, but so was the pressure to validate them myself.
And at a certain point I had to say:

“There’s nothing I can do about this part right now. Dissecting it is hurting me. I’m not doing that anymore.”

Integration felt like being in a hallway with no doors.

Peace was real — just not comfortable yet.

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What signals is your nervous system sending you?

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Anchoring Yourself — Grounding Practices That Actually Help

I leaned on simple grounding:
The 5-4-3-2-1 technique.
Washing my hands.
Drinking water.
Running water on my face.
Showers.
Looking at the sky.
Rocking side to side to feel the weight shift.
Walking.
And the butterfly hug — one hand on each upper arm, crossing over the chest, alternating taps to reconnect with safety.

Naming sensations helped interrupt spirals.
It brought my attention back to the physical body, not the mental storm.

Avoidance and grounding aren’t the same.
Avoidance feels like minimizing a tab to open something more pleasant.
Grounding feels like keeping the tab open but looking up long enough to return to as close to a neutral state as possible — then revisiting when you’re ready.

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What grounding practices bring your awareness back into your body?

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The Identity Pause — Who Am I Now That the Old Me Is Gone?

Parts of my identity feel unfamiliar now — especially “daughter” and “sister.”

Behaviors that no longer fit include responding to manipulation attempts and reaching out on socially expected occasions.

New traits are emerging, though I can’t name them fully yet — except that I’m reaching into my wellness toolbox like I did early in recovery.

I’m not grieving my old self — I’m accepting her.
Accepting the lengths I went to in order to fit into an environment where my light was seen as a threat.
Accepting how often I lowered my standards to feel comfortable staying where I was never meant to remain.

I am proud of myself for not staying in spirals.
For not escaping reality.
For loving myself through all of this — even when it’s been hard.

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What parts of your identity feel unfamiliar now?

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The Gap Between Levels — When Nothing Happens (but Everything Is Shifting)

The waiting room phase is the hardest for me.

Writing and journaling help — because writing filters my thoughts through a lens of truth:
Would I say this to someone I love?
Would I accept anyone else talking to themselves the way I was thinking about myself?

The gap is uncomfortable because… duh.
It’s the unknown.
The waiting.
The “oh shit, what’s going to happen next?”

But inner shifts became so visible here.
I saw how much I’d been watering down my dreams, ambitions, belief in myself — because it was easier than admitting the people around me didn’t believe I could have or do more.

Even though my circumstances are less than ideal… there is so much room for growth.

And there’s a difference between realizing the gap is necessary and accepting its necessity.
Only in acceptance could I release control of timing and surrender to the gooification — the chrysalis state.

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What are you discovering about yourself in your waiting room?

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Gentle Self-Trust — The Only Thing That Actually Gets You Through It

What helps me trust myself in the gap is the reminder:
I am here now.
I have already overcome everything I once thought I wouldn’t survive.

So why wouldn’t I make it through this too?

The proof is in my life:
I am still here.
Still substance free for two years.
Still meditating.
Still writing.
Still showing up.
Still tending to my responsibilities.

The quiet wisdom of this moment is simple:
To appreciate the light, we sometimes have to be in the dark.

To anyone in this same phase — I’m misty-eyed even writing this — you’re not alone.
There are so many of us here, reaching for hope, for light, for anything that says, “It won’t be like this forever.”

Your trying matters.
Your steps matter.
Your presence matters.

Keep going.
Things will change — or you’ll get stronger. Or both.
Either way, that strength is the prize.

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What proof can you collect from your own life that you can handle this?

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Author’s Note

Writing this piece felt like sifting through myself in real time. If you’re in your own in-between, I hope this met you gently, the way a friend sits beside you and says, “You’re not alone. The next chapter is already on its way.”

And know this too:
Being a guide isn’t about perfection. It’s about walking honestly, with an open heart, and offering your light while you do. If my words met you, it’s because our paths are in conversation.

If you feel called to deepen this work with energetic or intuitive support, my offerings are always there when your heart says yes.

With love,
— Hadija (HigherHeartWarriorChannel)

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