Last week, three different clients said the same thing: "I feel like I'm falling apart."
One had just welcomed a baby while navigating a cross-country move. Another watched her marriage end as she stepped into a demanding new career. The third found herself caring for an aging parent while trying to hold her own family together. Each story was different, but the feeling was the same—complete overwhelm.
Life has this cruel sense of humor. It rarely serves up changes one at a time. Instead, you get the full combo meal: new baby arrives just as your relationship hits rocky ground, job loss coincides with an identity crisis, or a big move leaves you isolated right when you need support most. It's like the universe decides to renovate your entire life without asking permission first.
Why Everything Hurts Right Now
When life changes dramatically, the pain goes deeper than just adjusting to new circumstances. You're grieving the person you used to be—the career woman who had it all together, the wife in a stable marriage, the healthy person who never worried about medical bills. "Who am I if I'm not that person anymore?" becomes the 3 AM question that won't let you sleep.
You had plans, didn't you? Life was supposed to follow a certain trajectory. Then everything shifted, and now you're making it up as you go. Even positive changes carry hidden grief. Got that promotion? Great, but you're mourning your simpler life. New baby? Wonderful, but you're grieving your independence. Try explaining that to people who keep congratulating you.
The decisions never stop either. A new job means a thousand micro-choices about how to present yourself, where to eat lunch, which battles to fight. Moving cities? You're relearning everything from where to buy groceries to which routes avoid traffic. Meanwhile, your support system—those precious people who kept you grounded—might be hundreds of miles away or too wrapped up in their own lives to help.
The Messy Middle Nobody Talks About
There's this space between "what was" and "what will be" that feels like floating in limbo. You're not who you used to be, but you're not yet who you're becoming. It's disorienting, like being suspended between two worlds with no solid ground beneath your feet. Some days it feels like free fall. Others, like you're lost at sea without a compass.
This is normal. You're not falling apart—you're in transition. But knowing that doesn't make it easier when you're white-knuckling through each day.
What Actually Helps (Beyond "Just Breathe")
First, accept the mess. Your life looks like a construction zone because it literally is one. You're building something new from the rubble of what was. Stop expecting it to be tidy. Construction sites never are.
Lower that bar way down. "Thriving" isn't the goal right now—surviving is enough. Did everyone eat today? Victory. Did you shower? Gold star. Did you make it through without completely losing it? You're winning. This isn't the time for ambitious self-improvement projects.
Find one thing—just one—that stays the same. Maybe it's your morning coffee ritual, an evening walk, or Sunday calls with your mom. This single thread of continuity can anchor you when everything else feels chaotic.
Write down what you're grieving. "I miss my old neighborhood where I knew everyone." "I miss feeling competent at my job." "I miss knowing what tomorrow would look like." Acknowledging these losses isn't wallowing—it's the first step toward moving forward.
The Surprising Gifts Hidden in the Chaos
Transitions hurt, but they also clarify. When everything's up in the air, you suddenly see what really matters. The noise falls away, and your true priorities emerge with startling clarity. You discover strength you didn't know existed, reserves that only appear when you're pushed to your limits.
Old patterns that no longer serve you start to crumble. Without your usual routines and roles, you're free to try new ways of being. Crisis has a way of revealing your real friends too—the ones who show up with takeout and tissues, no questions asked. And slowly, you realize you're becoming someone you couldn't have imagined before all this started.
Your Daily Survival Guide
Start small. Pick one tiny routine to maintain each day—maybe it's making your bed or taking a five-minute walk. Any movement counts, even if it's just dancing to one song in your kitchen. Connection matters too; a simple text to a friend counts as social interaction. Celebrate one accomplishment daily, no matter how small. And please, go to bed earlier than you think you need to.
Weekly, try to add in something that feeds your soul. Maybe it's therapy, a support group, or just an hour in nature. Schedule one proper social interaction, even if you don't feel like it. Take time to plan for the week ahead—not to control everything, but to feel slightly less blindsided. And do something, anything, that feels like self-care.
Monthly, zoom out a bit. How are you actually doing? What needs adjusting? Celebrate the small wins—you've made it another month. Check in with the people who've been constants through all this change. And let yourself dream a little about where this might all be leading.
The Real Timeline (Not the Instagram Version)
The first three months will feel like total chaos. Everything seems wrong, and you'll wonder if you've made a terrible mistake. Months four through six bring glimpses of a new normal—brief moments where things feel almost okay. By months seven through nine, you'll start settling into new patterns. And somewhere around the year mark, you'll look around and think, "How did I get here? And actually... it's kind of okay."
Give yourself at least a year. Real change takes time.
When to Wave the White Flag
Get professional help if you can't manage basic daily tasks, if you're using alcohol or other substances to cope, if you've completely withdrawn from everyone, or if you're having thoughts of escape or self-harm. If despair has settled in like fog that won't lift, or if the stress is making you physically sick, it's time to reach out. There's no shame in needing support through this.
The Bridge You're Crossing
Here's a different way to think about it: You're not lost. You're on a bridge. Behind you lies the familiar shore of your old life. Ahead waits unknown territory. The bridge feels unstable because it's suspended between worlds, swaying with each step. But bridges aren't meant to be lived on—they're meant to be crossed.
Keep walking. The other side exists, even when fog obscures the view.
What People Don't Tell You About the Other Side
Those who've made it through major transitions often say things like, "I'm more myself than I've ever been," or "I wouldn't go back, even if I could." They talk about trusting themselves in ways they never did before, about feeling capable of handling whatever comes next. The growth, they say, was worth the pain.
But they had to walk through the messy middle first. Just like you're doing now.
Your Permission Slip
You have permission to feel all of it—the grief, the fear, the unexpected moments of excitement. You can change your mind, ask for help, move at your own pace. You're allowed to grieve what was while still being curious about what's coming. You don't need to have answers. You just need to trust the process, one uncertain step at a time.
Transitions are messy, non-linear, and transformative. They're temporary but necessary, difficult but survivable. You're not falling apart. You're falling into place. The pieces just haven't settled yet.
At Bloom, we specialize in walking with people through life's biggest transitions. Because nobody should cross these bridges alone. The chaos you're experiencing is temporary. The growth is permanent. And the person you're becoming? They're worth every uncertain step of this journey.
Dr. Jana Rundle
Licensed Clinical Psychologist
