We need to talk about something that happens far too often: dismissing what people have lived through.

"That didn't happen." "You're remembering it wrong." "You're being too sensitive." "You're making things up."

These words do more than dismiss. They suppress. They tell someone that their reality, their pain, their truth doesn't deserve space in the world.

When you're in transition, you enter what we call "the neutral zone", a place between who you've been and who you're becoming. The old is gone but the new isn't operational yet. There's so much resistance and doubt holding you back. You might feel fear, pressure, depression. It can feel really intense. So disorienting you don't know which way is up.

I've been thinking about this question a lot lately. Not in an abstract, philosophical way, but in the everyday, practical sense. Because here's what I believe: we all have our own unique answer to what makes life meaningful. But there are some fundamental principles we naturally gravitate toward, almost like life itself guides us there.

I ask people all the time: "Who are you?"

And they give me a list.

"I'm a CEO." "I'm a mother." "I'm an investment banker." "I'm a restaurateur." "I'm a father, a brother, a friend."

These aren't answers. They're borrowed identities. Roles you've worn for so long, you forgot they aren't actually you.

Most people can't answer this question because they've been living in someone else's skin. An identity they absorbed, adopted, inherited to survive. It worked. It got you here. But it was never yours.

So let me ask again, in three different ways.

The Stoic philosopher Seneca wrote that difficulties strengthen the mind as labor strengthens the body. He was right, but I'd take it further: you need a strong body to support a strong mind when life delivers its inevitable blows.

Early 2023, everything collapsed at once. We lost our business. Lost our house. My ex-partner fell into a critical depression. And I had two young daughters depending on me to hold it all together.

Dr. Oleg Konovalov says that chaos robs you of agency. Think about that. When everything feels out of control, when you're constantly reacting instead of choosing, when you're firefighting instead of building, you lose the ability to direct your own life. You're not making decisions anymore. You're just surviving.

We often think transformation happens through big leaps, a new role, a bold decision, a shift in direction. But real change begins in quieter moments: a pause, a breath, a truth you can no longer ignore.

Over years of working with founders, leaders, and professionals in transition, I began noticing a rhythm, a natural cycle that transformation tends to follow.

The lifequake, the actual change, can be voluntary or involuntary. Getting laid off, divorce, death of a loved one (involuntary). Choosing to leave a job, ending a relationship, or relocating (voluntarily). But here's what people don't understand: the transition period that follows a change is always psychological. It's the internal process of adapting, questioning your identity, exploring new possibilities, and gradually building a new sense of self.

Reclaiming your voice is not a singular moment: It’s a daily rhythm. Soul-led leaders often carry wisdom that resists measurement. It doesn’t live in bullet points or shiny slides. It emerges from experience. From devotion. From sitting in discomfort long enough to listen past it. Their wisdom is rarely loud, but it’s undeniable. And often… it’s hidden. Waiting. For permission. For proof. For safety. Read the post to learn more about how to rediscover your authentic voice. 

There’s a moment that lives between who you were and who you’re becoming. It doesn’t come with a pitch deck or a launch plan. It doesn’t respond to productivity hacks or brand strategy. Instead, it comes as a pause you didn’t plan for. The space between what used to make sense and what no longer does. One part of you knows you can’t go back. And the other hasn’t yet figured out what forward means. What’s falling away in your life right now, even if you can’t fully explain it? Learn more about how to navigate this neutral in-between zone from who you were to who you were always meant to be.

Growth doesn’t live in the cushioned middle. It lives at the edge, that trembling line between what you know and what you’ve never dared to touch. It’s where the ground feels unsteady, the air feels thin, and the heat of change wraps around you like fire meeting steel. When you’re at the edge, every instinct tells you to retreat. But the realm of possibilities doesn’t exist behind you. It exists forward, past the hesitation, through the discomfort. Transformation is rarely tidy. It’s often messy, raw, and deeply uncomfortable. Let’s walk through this together in this post.