Thresholds of Change

Becoming Who We Are, One Shift at a Time

Our next Winter Gathering is scheduled for Monday, November 24, 3:30 Mountain time. We will begin with a meditation to bring us present to ourselves and one another. Then we’ll chat about challenges we face as we experience change in our lives. Message me here if you’d like to join me. Cost is $10.

Change is inevitable. It’s also a constant in our lives, whether we like it or not. Much of our dislike of change is rooted in fear, fear of loss, fear of death. I recently read a quote that said “any disruption to our identity and routine can feel like a death process.” This change and disruption, even if it happens to be good (like marriage or motherhood), “requires us to reintegrate who we know ourselves to be and establish new ways of living.”¹

Lately I’ve been thinking about how many small deaths we experience over a lifetime. Not the kind that make headlines, but the quieter ones. The shifts in identity, the endings of routines, the slow dissolving of the way we once knew ourselves.

These mini-deaths happen all the time.

• When a friendship changes.

• When a child grows up.

• When our bodies age or ache in new ways.

• When we move homes or change jobs or step into a new season without quite knowing how to belong there yet.

Some of these changes are wanted. Some are not. But all of them ask something of us. They ask us to let go of a version of ourselves we’ve grown familiar with, to loosen our grip on the story we’ve been telling about who we are.

And if we’re honest, even the smallest letting-go hurts.

I’ve lived through big changes, but it’s the everyday disruptions that often catch me off guard. A moment of tenderness I didn’t see coming. The quiet of an empty room. The simple awareness that I’m outgrowing an old way of being. These moments aren’t tragic; they’re simply indicators that life is moving, that I’m evolving, that something in me is shifting shape.

And sometimes these small shifts gather enough momentum that the body notices before the mind does. A sigh I didn’t know I was holding. A desire to pause. A sense of spaciousness or restlessness that lets me know something is rearranging inside. It’s a gentle nudge. A reminder that something new is asking for my attention.

My house has finally sold after nine months of waiting for someone to love it as I have loved it. It has been a sanctuary for me, a place of recovery. I’m excited to move into an apartment down the hill, still in walking distance of my kids, but I will miss looking out my back windows to see if their car is home or if the garage door is open. It’s a small loss, but still a loss.

When we think of change, we often rush to the reinvention part. We want to be brave, resilient, forward-moving. But before reinvention comes recognition. Before the new version of ourselves can arrive, the old one has to be honored, thanked, and released.

These mini-deaths are not failures. They are thresholds, quiet invitations to pause and ask:
What part of me is ending?
What new part of me is taking shape?
And how can I be gentle with myself as I cross this doorway?

If you’re in a season of transition, large or small, I hope you’ll give yourself permission to feel what’s shifting. To acknowledge the small deaths and the tender beginnings. To let yourself grieve the familiar, even if you’re stepping into something beautiful.

Every ending is also a beginning. Every disruption is a doorway. Every change—wanted or not—is a chance to meet the next version of yourself with compassion.

As I sit with these thoughts, I’m reminded that change doesn’t ask us to be heroic. It asks us to stay present. To notice what’s falling away and what’s quietly taking form beneath the surface. If you’re navigating a shift of your own, I hope you’ll give yourself a soft place to land. A moment to breathe. A little space to honor the life you’ve lived and the life you’re growing into. We’re all learning how to let go and begin again, one small doorway at a time.

1. Quote by Cheri Dostal Ryba