Liminal Spaces and Life Transitions: Finding Your Way Through

Introduction

I first came across the term liminal spaces a few years ago through a friend. At the time, I wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but it stayed with me. It was one of those phrases that felt both strange and familiar, as though I had been living it without having a name for it. When I later began reading more, I realised how much the concept resonated with the work I do in counselling - and how often people find themselves caught in the middle of these in-between places in life.

What are liminal spaces?

At its simplest, a liminal space is a threshold. The word liminal comes from the Latin limen, meaning “threshold” or “doorway”. In physical terms, it might be a corridor, a stairwell, an airport lounge, or even the quiet stillness of a waiting room. These are places that are not destinations in themselves but passages between one thing and another.

There is something uncanny about these spaces. They can feel strangely empty, as though time is suspended and the usual rules don’t quite apply. They remind us that we are not yet where we want to be, yet no longer where we once were. The familiarity of what came before has gone, but what comes next has not yet arrived.

The sound and feel of the word

Beyond its definition, the word liminal has always felt evocative to me. It sounds soft, like something that moves gently and doesn’t quite settle. I often imagine a veil or a mist - something that hides what lies behind it, hinting at what might be revealed but keeping it out of reach for now.

It brings to mind the sense of being suspended: not lost exactly, but not yet found either. A place where the usual markers are blurred, and you are invited to linger without clear direction. There is both unease and possibility in that pause, which is why the metaphor has stayed with me so strongly.

Life transitions as liminal spaces

So much of the work I do in counselling is about supporting people through their own liminal spaces. Life transitions often carry that same quality of the in-between. You might no longer be living the life you once knew, yet you haven’t quite stepped into what comes next.

This could be the end of a career you’ve invested years in, the breakdown of a relationship that once felt certain, or the adjustment to childlessness when life has not followed the path you hoped for. It could be retirement, illness, relocation, or becoming an empty nester. These moments create thresholds. You can feel the ground has shifted, yet you don’t have a clear path ahead.

Like a long corridor or a misty landscape, transitions can feel unsettling. They can also feel deeply lonely, especially when others around you expect certainty or a quick return to “normal”. You may find yourself caught between the pressure to move forward and the quiet reality that you are still finding your footing.

The unseen grief of transitions

Often, these liminal moments carry a kind of grief that is not easily recognised by others. People might see the surface change - a move, a new role, a divorce - but not the deeper losses that come with it: the loss of identity, of belonging, of an imagined future. This grief can be disenfranchised, meaning it is rarely acknowledged or validated.

When grief is unseen, it can feel even heavier. You might doubt whether your feelings are valid, or feel pressure to minimise them. And yet, beneath the surface, the experience is profound. The liminal space is often where this grief lives, quietly but powerfully shaping how we see ourselves and what comes next.

The invitation of the in-between

And yet, liminal spaces can also hold possibility. They are not easy, but they do invite reflection. Without the rush of a defined next step, there can be a chance to pause, to notice what has been lost, and to begin sensing what might want to emerge.

It is not about rushing through the threshold, but allowing yourself to be in it - even when it feels uncomfortable. Just as the corridor connects one room to another, your own in-between moments are part of a larger story.

The invitation of the liminal is often quiet. It might ask you to reconsider what you truly value, or to question roles and identities that no longer fit. It might give space for new ideas, or even for a new pace of life, to surface gently.

Counselling as a companion in liminal space

One of the hardest parts of liminal moments is that they can feel isolating. Others may not understand why you haven’t “moved on” yet, or why you can’t simply step into the next chapter. This is where counselling can provide a steady and supportive presence.

In the counselling room, there is space to sit with the uncertainty. You don’t need to have the answers. You don’t need to rush. You can speak about what feels misty and unsettling without the pressure of fixing it straight away.

Counselling honours the liminal rather than trying to hurry it along. Together, we can give voice to the unseen grief, explore what has shifted, and begin to notice the seeds of what might eventually take root. Therapy doesn’t push you through the doorway. It sits with you on the threshold, helping you breathe in the pause until you are ready to take the next step.

Living with thresholds

Of course, liminal spaces are not limited to big life changes. Sometimes they show up in smaller ways - waiting for news after an interview, moving through pregnancy, standing on the edge of retirement. They can even be felt emotionally: the day after something has ended, before you’ve begun to imagine what tomorrow might look like.

Learning to tolerate these thresholds, rather than resisting them, can be a powerful practice. They remind us that change is rarely neat or immediate. Growth often takes place quietly, in the pauses, before it becomes visible in the world.

In closing

Liminal spaces are not comfortable places to be. They are uncertain, shifting, and often lonely. But they are also part of life, and they can carry quiet invitations for reflection, re-evaluation, and eventual transformation.

If you find yourself standing at a threshold, unsure of what comes next, know that you do not have to be there alone. Counselling can offer the steadiness, the reflection, and the gentleness you need as you navigate the in-between.

About the author:

Samantha Cooke is an integrative counsellor based in Ascot, Berkshire. She supports adults (18+) who are adjusting to life’s unexpected changes - from relationship losses and family estrangement to childlessness or retirement. Samantha offers a calm and supportive space where clients can explore their emotions, rediscover stability, and move forward with renewed confidence.

Contact Samantha here: CONTACT | Samantha Cooke