Where Grief and Curiosity Meet: Life in the In Between

Vika Hunter, MA, LCMHCA

Psychotherapist

I have always struggled with change. I have heard others tell me—or maybe I’ve told myself—that I hold onto people, roles, and routines longer than I probably should. And yet, I am learning that there’s a deep grief in letting go, especially when what is ending is tied to your identity, your sense of self, and even your emotional landscape. How do you honor the old door while stepping toward the new one? How do you allow excitement for what is ahead while feeling the weight of what is closing?

Life transitions have a way of pulling us into a space that feels both familiar and foreign. There is the ending, the in-between, and the new beginning. Often, we are living in all three at once, standing at the threshold of change. It rarely arrives as a clean break; you can be left anxious, uncomfortable, and uninvited.

The "between" is where that tension lives. It’s the pause between certainty and clarity, the space where we are neither who we were nor fully who we are becoming. It can feel aimless, disorienting, even frightening. And yet, aimlessness is not emptiness; it is a recalibration, a quiet exhale in which the soul is allowed to shift. Here, grief and curiosity coexist, and identity stretches as it reshapes.

​In expressive arts, there’s a term for this kind of slow becoming: poiesis. It means “bringing something into light,” not by force or effort, but by allowing a creation or a new part of the self to emerge. Poiesis honors the process over the product, the unfolding over the outcome. It reminds us that change is not something we push though.  It is something that reveals itself when we acknowledge the “non-doing”—the quiet, unseen work happening beneath the surface. In the in-between, poiesis becomes a guide: an invitation to witness what is forming within us, even before we understand it.

Being in the “between” asks us to surrender the illusion of control. This doesn’t mean giving up; it means allowing uncertainty, grief, and the not-knowing to walk beside you. Time, presence, and permission to sit in this space are the closest thing we have to a remedy. We cannot rush the process. We metabolize endings slowly, through presence, reflection, and a willingness to feel the loss fully while letting the new emerge gently, in its own time.

Each transition carries new roles, new responsibilities, and subtly new identities. The old versions of ourselves do not vanish immediately. They require acknowledgment, mourning, and, eventually, release. Grief does not prevent excitement, and anticipation does not erase grief; they coexist, shaping our emergence into what is next.

Sometimes I remind myself: it’s okay to sit between the old door and the new one. To feel sadness and curiosity at the same time. The “between” is not a detour; it is the path. And sometimes the most courageous act is simply to stand at the threshold, letting “the middle”, “between” or poeisis bring the next version of you to light and trust the quiet tension of change to remake you.

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Vika Hunter

Author Vika Hunter, MA, LCMHCA has experience working with children (5+), adolescents, college students, mandated clients, and young adults. She offers individual counseling that may also include psychoeducation, wellness support, and skill-building interventions. In her work, Vika often integrates the Expressive Arts to help clients explore their experiences in creative and meaningful ways. Her approach is collaborative, supportive, and tailored to meet each person where they are in their growth and healing process.