It’s the 1st of September. Spring Day, officially — the day we’re all supposed to be pulling out the florals, maybe a Hawaiian shirt if you’re that person at the office, and letting the sun do the rest.
Except… it hasn’t looked like that in years. Not really. For more than five Septembers now, spring on the calendar and spring in the actual sky have barely been on speaking terms. I still find myself checking the date more than the weather to know what season we’re in.
And here’s the thing I stand for, the thing I want you to walk away with today: just because something doesn’t look like what it’s called, doesn’t mean it isn’t real, or that it isn’t coming.
Why does that matter to you, right now, today?
Because I’d bet money that somewhere in your life, you’re standing in a season that doesn’t match its name either. Maybe you were let go after ten, fifteen, twenty years of loyal service, and everyone keeps calling it a “fresh start” — but it doesn’t feel fresh. It feels like weather that won’t behave. Maybe you’re the one who left a marriage, or the one who got left, and people keep saying “you’re free now,” but freedom doesn’t feel like sunshine yet, it feels like standing in a garden that hasn’t decided what it’s doing. Maybe your hormones are rewriting the rules of your own body and nobody warned you, or your last child just packed a car and drove off to a life that doesn’t need you at the centre of it anymore — and the house is quiet in a way “empty nest” never quite prepares you for.
Whatever your version is, here’s what I’ve noticed, again and again, both in my own life and in the clients I sit across from: the gap between what-was and what’s-next rarely looks like either one. It’s not the ending, and it’s not the new chapter yet. It’s just… the gap. Cloudy, a bit cold for the calendar, blossoms taking their sweet time.
Let me elaborate, because this isn’t just a nice sentiment — I’ve lived it.
In 2005, I was supposed to be planning a wedding. Instead, I was planning a very different kind of goodbye. I left the country not long after, started over somewhere new, and for a while, that felt like my “spring.” Then in 2011, a decision that had nothing to do with me personally — a diplomatic disagreement between two countries — closed the door on that whole life in 48 hours. No warning. No return ticket back to how things were. I came home, sent out roughly 180 job applications, sat through 25 interviews, and heard nothing but silence for four months.
That gap did not feel like spring. It felt like the sky lied to me about the season.
But it was still spring underneath. It just took its own time showing up. And by 2016, 2017 — after I’d done the healing, the qualifying, the research into everything from trauma therapy to female hormones that eventually became my book — the blossoms did come. Late, weathered, a little more resilient than they might have been if they’d bloomed on schedule.
But they came.
Here’s the evidence, if you want proof beyond just my story:
Every client I’ve worked with — whether the transition was a retrenchment letter, a divorce decree, a hormonal shift nobody prepared them for, or a house that went quiet overnight — describes the same in-between. Not devastated forever. Not thriving yet. Just… in it. And every single one of them who let themselves actually be in the gap, instead of rushing to force it to look like spring before it was ready, came out the other side steadier than the ones who tried to skip straight to “new chapter” energy. Wholeness first. Then the right next step follows. It’s not a tagline for me — it’s the pattern I keep watching play out.
So let’s land the plane.
If today doesn’t feel like Spring Day is supposed to feel — if you’re in a season with no blossoms, wondering if you missed spring altogether — you didn’t. You’re just in the gap. And the gap isn’t nothing. It isn’t wasted time. It’s where the roots are doing their quiet, invisible work before anything above ground is ready to show it.
Be present in it. Appreciate what it’s teaching you, even the uncomfortable bits. And believe — actually believe — that this is just the space between where you’ve been and where you’re going. Not a life sentence.
A gap.
Gaps close.
If you’re standing in your own version of a late spring right now — job, marriage, hormones, an empty house — I’d love for you to poke around the site a little.
There’s no rush, and no pressure to have it figured out today.