The Sacred Pause Before the New Beginning
There’s a sacred—and if I’m honest, somewhat unsettling—kind of silence that comes just before a woman begins again. It’s not empty, but full. Full of memory, meaning, and the weight of everything she’s finally ready to release.
And sometimes, in that silence, there’s even a longing for the familiar. For the uncomfortable comfort of “good enough.” Because at least in “good enough,” there are no unknowns. No big risks. No chances of messing it all up.
I remember sitting in that kind of quiet after a day spent wrestling with decisions I never imagined I’d have to make at this stage in life. Deep down, I knew I had outgrown the life I was clinging to. Not because it was unbearable—but because I was no longer willing to shrink to stay in it.
I was no longer willing to hide behind fear. Fear of my own power. Fear of being seen. Fear of being judged as ungrateful for walking away from a life that looked so good on paper.
That moment—raw, wide open, and standing at the crossroads of should and must—wasn’t the end. It was sacred space. The space before the shift. The clearing before the becoming. Before the reclamation.
“Deep down, I knew I had outgrown the life I was clinging to. Not because it was unbearable—but because I was no longer willing to shrink to stay in it.”
Photo by Volkan Olmez on Unsplash
What It Really Means to Create Sacred Space
Sacred space isn’t just candles and rituals (though it can be). It’s more about honoring the beautiful mess of the in-between… in the most sacred of places: yourself.
It’s crying without rushing to fix it. Sitting in silence without numbing. Allowing the tower moments to reveal what needs to be released. Giving yourself permission to pause before rushing toward the next version of you, the next relationship, or the next big thing—especially when it’s just a distraction from the inner work your soul is quietly calling you toward. It means letting the old parts of you speak—thanking them for how they helped you survive, even if they can’t come with you.
It’s the moment of culmination when your focus shifts—no longer clinging to the history, but finally asking: What is the cost of staying the same?
It’s trust work—in yourself, and in the Divine.
It’s tender, deliberate surrender.
And for midlife women—especially those of us who’ve spent decades tending to everyone else first—it is a radical act of self-devotion we’ve long been seeking outside of ourselves. It’s choosing not to fill the void just because it feels unfamiliar or boring—because now you understand:
The void is not the end. It’s where your rebirth begins.
Why the Pause Feels Uncomfortable (But Is Necessary)
In a world that glorifies constant motion, stillness feels rebellious. We’ve been taught that productivity equals worth. Even healing has become something to optimize and complete—just another item on a checklist. So when a woman slows down, it can feel like she’s doing something wrong.
But the discomfort isn’t a problem—it’s proof that you’re doing something courageous. The pause asks you to sit still long enough to hear what your life has been trying to whisper beneath the noise. In that stillness, clarity rises—not because you chased it, but because you finally created space for it. And in that space, you begin to notice just how much of your feminine power—your intuition, your creativity, your play—has been suppressed or silenced in service of survival.
I remember standing at a fork in the road. One path was familiar, wide, and well-lit—lined with resentment, quiet anger, and old hurt that I could no longer ignore or silence with “good enough.” The other was dark, narrow, uncertain… but lit with soft glimmers of soul truth.
This space—the tension between what was and what could be—might not feel ideal. But it’s sacred. It’s where your nervous system finally feels safe enough to exhale. Where grief is allowed to surface without shame. Where truth can land without being filtered through fear or ego. And that space? It’s not passive. It’s powerful.
Slowing Down Is Not Losing Time
Slowing down doesn’t mean you’re falling behind. It means you’re finally moving in alignment.
We’re taught that progress is linear and fast. But the most meaningful transformations often happen in the stillness, in the not knowing.
It’s where you start to recognize the difference between what you actually want and what you were told you should want.
Where you realize that slowing down isn’t self-indulgent—it’s self-honoring.
It’s not about doing nothing. It’s about no longer abandoning yourself in order to keep up.
This isn’t wasted time. It’s reclaimed time. A return to your own rhythm.
Photo by Sixteen Miles Out on Unsplash
Rewriting the Narrative of Starting Over
We’re often taught that starting over means going back to square one—as if everything we lived, learned, endured, or healed through somehow doesn’t count if we choose to pivot. But that’s a lie rooted in perfectionism and shame. The truth is, starting over in midlife doesn’t erase your past. It honors it. It says, “I’m taking what I know now, and I’m choosing differently.” That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.
It’s not about burning everything down or pretending it didn’t matter. It’s about carrying forward what still serves and releasing what doesn’t.
And yes, it can feel lonely. Vulnerable. Even embarrassing at times to admit that the things that once fit no longer do. But that shedding is a sacred part of the story—a sign that you’re evolving, not failing. It’s not about erasing who you were. It’s about making room for who you’re here to become.
Honoring the Grief That Comes With Growth
There’s a quiet grief that comes with choosing yourself. Not always loud or visible—but present in the ache of letting go of what almost worked.
You’re allowed to mourn the version of you who tried so hard to make it work. You’re allowed to feel sad about what could’ve been.
Grief in the sacred pause isn’t a sign you’ve made the wrong choice. It’s evidence that you’re alive, awake, and deeply connected to your inner world. You’re allowed to mourn the loss of “almosts” and “maybes.” You’re allowed to cry for the girl who didn’t know then what you know now.
Don’t bypass the ache just to get to the rebirth. The grief is part of the becoming. Grief and growth are sisters. Let them sit beside each other for a while. Let them tell you what they need you to know.
"Grief in the sacred pause isn’t a sign you’ve made the wrong choice. It’s evidence that you’re alive, awake, and deeply connected to your inner world."
Closing Thoughts
You don’t need a new identity, a perfect plan, or complete clarity to begin again.
You just need the sacred pause. A moment of stillness that honors where you’ve been and gently holds space for where you’re going.
This moment isn’t a problem to be solved. It’s a portal.
To clarity. To wholeness. To the woman you were always meant to be.
I’m taking the conversation even deeper in this week’s vlog episode—where I’m opening up about how rewriting the stories I told myself (and others told about me) completely shifted the trajectory of my life.
I stopped calling it a midlife crisis.
I stopped letting people gaslight me into guilt.
And I started calling it what it truly was: a reclamation.
👉🏽 Subscribe to my YouTube channel @becomingshonnonnicole so you don’t miss the upcoming episode. Turn on notifications so you’re the first to know when it drops!
