The Liminal Space
When waiting is the hardest part
The word liminal means being in an “intermediate state, phase or condition,” according to my Merriam Webster app. It is from the Latin limen or threshold. It is the experience of being between one thing and the other.
If I’m the one choosing to step over the threshold and move from one space into another the sensation can be exhilarating, or filled with trepidation.
But if the transition is out of my hands, if I have done everything I can and now just have to await the outcome, it can be agonizing. It’s not just the election. It’s waiting for the results of a medical test, an exam, a legal verdict, a custody hearing. It’s being stuck in the hallway, one door slammed behind you and the next one not opened yet. Waiting. It can be hell.
I have a tendency to try to rush through, to time travel forward to the moment I know the answer, and pretend I’m through the liminal space. I’ll imagine the terrible outcome first, the worst-case scenario, and then plan for how I’ll survive. Again.
Then I’ll tentatively prod at an imagined outcome that is more positive. Because I struggle with hope, the naked edge of intense longing that may be thwarted. Again. Hope is a blade. I handle it carefully.
Twice in the last year, people who I love had a health issue. And we waited, those of us that love them, for answers. In one case it was a matter of hours, in another it took weeks.
I know that space. I’ve waited for answers from doctors before. My son’s first MRI after his brain injury was bad. The neurosurgeon pointed out the white spots, that was bad.
They did another MRI about a year later. When they showed me the image, I didn’t understand what I was looking at. The first MRI had white spots, but the bowl of his skull was full of brain. In the second one, so much of his brain had died off that the bowl of his cranium was half empty, as if someone had place a small head of cauliflower in a huge bowl and it was surrounded by empty space. That answer was worse than the worst-case scenario because I didn’t, before then, realize how bad it could get, that half a brain could disappear.
Decades later, we waited for other results, to confirm what the doctors suggested was most likely a dire outcome. But the tests revealed the opposite. To the surprise of the medical experts, it was not dire, it was an unusual but unharmful anomaly.
After weeks of waiting in that agonizing liminal space, I got off the phone and wept. I sobbed. The threshold was behind me and the news was good.
Having been on both sides, here are some practical things that helped me understand why my feelings can get disproportionately intense and how to get through.
1. Your trauma amplifies the pain of the liminal space. The trauma of my experiences with my son and our broken healthcare system caused me greater worry recently when my loved one was getting tests for a chronic medical issue.
2. We get to have big feelings. The fact that those feelings may or may not be a correct reflection of the ultimate outcome doesn’t mean they aren’t valid for us in the moment. We may be crying out of rage or relief at some point in the future, but that doesn’t mean our feelings now, in this moment, aren’t important.
3. Connect, reflect, soothe. You know what makes you feel better. Do those things. Step away or dive deep, get exercise or sit on the couch, escape or plan, figure out what is helpful and do more of it. I write, I talk with my friends, I exercise, and I watch mindless television. This is a good time for community if you have it.
4. What works for someone else may not work for you. Stay off the shame train. If someone scolds you for doomscrolling, but the videos of a hot blacksmith putting horseshoes on adorable ponies makes you feel better, scroll away.
5. Have compassion for yourself. You are suffering in this liminal space because you care. Whatever it is you are waiting on matters to you. You have love, affection, stakes, intention, bonds. You are engaged with others, or your community in a way that matters to you and to them and that is important and valuable.
Whatever happens, don’t let anyone rush you through the door. If it turns out badly for you or those you love, grieve it. You don’t have to speed into acceptance, or gratitude, or plan your next action, not right now. Feel the fuck out of your feelings. This will not be the last liminal space in your life. But, this time, I wish us all the rush of relief.