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The Season That Teaches Us Don’t Skip the In‑Between: Spring, Loss, and the Work of Becoming

Spring’s Invitation: Don’t Skip the “In‑Between”

How ritual and community help us honor endings so beginnings can take root
There’s something about this time of year that quietly insists: life begins again.
You can see it in the landscape—the branches that looked brittle weeks ago soften with buds; the ground that was locked in frost loosens; the light lingers a little longer at the edge of day. Even if you’re not someone who follows a religious calendar, the season itself feels like a threshold. A turning.
And thresholds have a way of asking more of us than we expect.
Because beneath every “new beginning” is a truth we don’t always want to face:
something ends first.
Not in a dramatic way, necessarily. Sometimes it’s subtle—an old identity you’ve outgrown, a relationship that can’t return to what it was, a version of yourself that carried you through one chapter but can’t carry you through the next. Sometimes it’s unmistakable—an illness, a death, a diagnosis, a loss that redraws the map of your life overnight.
We love the idea of renewal. We’re less enthusiastic about the part that comes before it: the waiting, the unraveling, the not‑knowing.
But that “in‑between” is where meaning often forms.

Why We Need Ritual When Life Changes

When people talk about “ritual,” they often think of formal religion. But ritual is bigger than that. Ritual is what humans do when ordinary language isn’t enough.
Ritual gives shape to what’s shapeless: grief, transition, uncertainty, love.
In work around death and dying, this is especially clear. When someone dies, the living don’t just lose a person—they lose routines, roles, a sense of future, a shared reality. Many cultures create intentional practices to mark the date of death and its anniversaries, not because grief has an expiration date, but because remembering needs a container. [inelda.org]
One of the most helpful lines I’ve ever encountered about ceremony is this: “A ceremony offers people an opportunity to release the past, be still in the present, and set intentions for the future.”
That’s not only true after a death. It’s true after any ending. [inelda.org]
And it’s one reason seasonal transitions matter. They’re a built‑in reminder that we’re always moving from one state of being into another—even when we can’t yet name what’s next.

The “In‑Between” Is a Real Place

Anthropologist Arnold van Gennep described rites of passage as a movement through stages—leaving what was, entering a liminal “in-between,” and then being welcomed into what’s next. In mourning, he wrote, the living and the deceased form a “special group,” positioned between worlds. [inelda.org]
Whether or not you relate to that language literally, the emotional truth lands:
grief and change create a liminal space.
You’re not who you were, but you’re not yet who you’re becoming.
Modern life doesn’t always honor liminal space. We’re encouraged to “bounce back,” “move on,” “stay positive,” “level up.” We want transformation without disruption—renewal without the mess.
But liminal space is not a problem to solve.
It’s a place to inhabit.
And often, the most compassionate thing we can do—especially for ourselves—is to stop trying to fast‑forward through it.

When We Rush, We Misread Our Own Grief

One of the quiet pressures in our culture is the idea that we should arrive at “acceptance” quickly. But grief doesn’t move in a straight line—and neither does the mind.
Sometimes, what looks like denial is actually the psyche protecting itself. As one grief educator put it, denial can be a healthy, protective response that gives us time to adjust to a reality that would otherwise be too overwhelming all at once. [inelda.org]
There are also softer forms: focusing on what’s manageable, compartmentalizing, choosing when and with whom you discuss the hard parts. Those aren’t failures. They’re strategies—ways we pace what we can bear. [inelda.org]
So if you’re in a season of change and you feel like you’re not “doing it right,” consider this:
Maybe you’re not stuck.
Maybe you’re staying with what’s true for as long as it needs.

A Gentle Spring Practice: Make Room for What’s Ending

If spring is a metaphor for rebirth, it’s also a reminder that rebirth has prerequisites: compost, decay, letting go.
Here’s a simple, nonreligious ritual you can try this week. You can do it alone, with a partner, or with family.

The “Compost & Bud” Ritual (10 minutes)

1) Choose two small containers (two bowls, two cups, or two notes on paper).
Label one: COMPOST. Label the other: BUDS.
2) Compost (what’s ending):
Write down one thing you are ready to release—or one thing that is already ending, even if you didn’t choose it.
Examples: a role, a habit, a belief, a pace of life, a relationship with certainty, an expectation of how things “should” be.
3) Buds (what’s emerging):
Write down one thing you want to nourish. Keep it small and honest.
Examples: patience, tenderness, courage, a new boundary, a slower rhythm, asking for help, telling the truth.
4) Witness it:
Read both lists out loud—yes, even if it feels awkward. (Awkward is often the doorway.)
Then say one line:
“I don’t have to rush the middle. I can be here.”
5) Close with one action:
Choose one tiny action that supports the “buds” list in the next 24 hours. Keep it realistic.
That’s it. A small ceremony—release, presence, intention. [inelda.org]

A Question to Carry

Here’s the contemplation I’d offer, inspired by the passage you shared:
If you could move your life forward into something truer—without going back—what would it look like?
And what might need to end (or be laid down) for that to be possible?
You don’t have to answer quickly. In fact, you probably shouldn’t.
Some questions are meant to ripen in the dark.

In the Spirit of the Holiday Season

Whether you’re marking this season with family traditions, a quiet walk, a meal around a crowded table, or a moment alone on the porch—consider giving yourself permission to honor the whole arc:
  • the ending
  • the waiting
  • the beginning
Because renewal isn’t a bypass.

It’s a transformation.
 
And transformation asks us to be present—not just for what’s blooming, but for what had to fall away so the bloom could happen.

 

Marc D Malamud

Transitioning Doula

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