The Liminal Space

Discovering the Liminal Space

A few months ago, I had no idea what the term liminal space referred to. Since then, I’ve seen it come up a number of times in different contexts, and it resonates with me deeply.

It’s the messy middle. The feeling of "I'm not where I used to be, but I’m not where I want to be." A transition. A threshold.

The Poem: The Liminal Space (Jodie Garth)

Early on, as I reflected on this phrase and its application to different areas of my life, I captured my thoughts in this poem.

 

The liminal space: where she sits in the middle,

when life's a bad joke – an impossible riddle.

She's not still back there, but she's not yet ahead.

She's right where she is – where she should be – instead.

 

The liminal space, full of tension and Why?

“Why am I here, when I just want to fly?

Why am I slow, when I want to be fast?

Why does it feel like I'm coming in last?”

 

Still learning to walk, she has been here so long.

Still learning to talk, not yet singing her song.

Around and around in this circle once more,

not seeing she's deeper than ever before.

Not seeing the progress she's made in this place –

the work that's been done in the liminal space.

It's messy, confusing, it doesn't seem fair.

But without being here, she can never get there.

 

She’s developing skills, she's perfecting her art.

She sharpens her tools and she softens her heart.

She waits for the day when the door opens wide,

and a voice gently calls to her: “Come. Step outside.”

 

She crosses the threshold to a new place

that’s far more expansive than the liminal space.

The land stretches out and the mountains are steep,

and beneath the sheer cliffs, the oceans run deep.

 

There’s a clear path before her, and sign posts to guide.

She turns to the one who has called her outside.

“I’m Strength,” says the voice. “I will always be near.

I was with you back there, and I’ll be with you here.

It’s time now to fly – time to stretch out your wings.

Your tools and art comfort; your softened heart sings.”

 

She can see up ahead. She wants to launch off that ledge.

But as she draws near, she sees Fear at the edge.

“Hello there,” says Fear. “Where do you think you are going?

It's not safe over there. It never is, in not knowing.”

 

She looks up, past Fear. She sees blue skies beyond.

It's inviting. It beckons. She wants to respond.

Fear stands in her way, and says, "Don't go there!

You step off that cliff? You'll just fall through the air.

There's no one to catch you! None to stop you from dying!

There's just too much danger – it's not even worth trying."

 

But she knows how to fly, and she should be okay.

She knows she's worked hard to prepare for this day.

She takes a step forward. Fear screams, “No! You should stay!”

“Take another small step,” she hears Strength gently say.

 

She eyes the ledge, anxiously, heart beating faster.

Should she listen to Strength or let Fear be her master?

She glances behind at the now distant place –

that safe and familiar liminal space.

 

She turns to face Fear. “Your words just aren’t true.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.”

She smiles at Strength, shoulders back, head held high,

expanding her wings, she is ready to fly.

 

When Art Gets Stuck

I started an artwork called The Liminal Space. What began with enthusiasm soon halted as I questioned my initial ideas, and considered how to execute them. I became stuck.

What if it doesn’t turn out how I want it to?

What if I come up with a better idea after I’ve committed to this one?

Why is this taking so long to finish? I just want it done. I’m excited about the end result, but I’m not enjoying the process of creating it.

 

This artwork is messy. It’s unfinished. It’s in-between.

It’s in its liminal space.

 

Not completing the artwork became a barrier to sharing this poem as a blog post.

 

I need to finish the artwork first.

I can’t show a partially done piece.

I don’t want to be judged on how it looks now.

 

The liminal space – in whatever context – is uncomfortable. It requires vulnerability. It says, “I know I’m not finished yet… but I’m on my way.”

In the liminal space, we can look back and see how far we’ve come – perhaps celebrating the progress, perhaps determining to never go back there. We can look forward to where we’re going – perhaps with excitement for what is to come, perhaps with frustration at how far there is still to go.

But, even if there’s frustration, the liminal space calls us forward. It gives us hope of what is yet to come. It also calls us to sit. To be.

Whether it’s a clear transition – a defined step forward or moment in time, or whether it’s gradual – a gradient as we move from darkness into light, or transition from one colour to another – one not better than the other, just different… the liminal space offers us pause and preparation for what lies ahead.

A Thought For You

Perhaps you’re also sitting in a liminal space – in your work, your relationships, your healing, or your creativity. Can you soften into this in-between place, even for a moment? What might be quietly forming there, waiting for you to notice?

Let's Stay Connected

If this post stirred something in you, I'd love to hear from you. You can find me over on Instagram and Facebook, where I share more about motherhood, art and neurodivergence.

Featured Artwork:

The Liminal Space (incomplete)