The Sacred Falling Apart of Transformation
Transformation is not neat or easy.
It requires things to crumble. It brings uncertainty—because by definition, transformation asks us to believe in the possibility of something we’ve never experienced before.
When we’re on the edge of big changes—individually or collectively—our systems can feel overwhelmed. Everything can feel chaotic, ungrounded, as if the rug has been pulled out from under us.
For highly sensitive people, this overwhelm can be even more pronounced. Our nervous systems are often more attuned to nuance and disruption, which can make transformation feel both deeply personal and profoundly intense.
We’re asked to change the ways we think, act, relate, and show up in the world—often while also navigating the fear, grief, anger, anxiety, and overwhelm that naturally arise in times of deep transformation.
Sometimes we choose the path of change. But more often, it’s thrust upon us.
We lose someone we love.
We experience trauma.
We step into a new identity—parent, caretaker, partner, survivor.
Our wounds are activated in intimacy.
We witness political shifts that threaten our safety or values.
Transformation asks us to let go of internal and external structures that may have offered us a fragile sense of safety.
Internally, we may have built walls around the most tender parts of ourselves—walls meant to protect, but that also keep connection, desire, and possibility out.
We may have created belief systems about who we are or how the world works—systems that no longer serve us as we grow, love, and awaken to new realities.
This is where somatic therapy can be a powerful companion. It helps us attune to the body’s wisdom, reconnect with safety in the present moment, and gently unwind the patterns shaped by past trauma.
Externally, many of our systems and institutions were built to provide care, but only did so unevenly. They left too many behind, asking individuals to overwork and overcompensate for what community care should have held.
Now, those systems are unraveling before our eyes. They were never perfect—but they were familiar. Their dismantling brings fear, grief, and uncertainty.
This is the liminal space.
We are no longer where we were, but not yet where we’re going.
It’s uncomfortable. Disorienting. Necessary.
Transformation calls us to trust that something new is possible. To believe that the mess serves a purpose in long-term healing and evolution.
It asks us to surrender—to recognize that we are not in control of everything, but that showing up with courage, compassion, and presence in the fire of transformation can lead to something more whole, more just, more beautiful than we could have imagined.
