On Becoming: A Conversation in the In-Between

with Dr. Jackie Henry & Salwa

We’ve both been thinking about what it means to live in the “in-between” spaces—those seasons where you’re not quite who you were, but not yet who you’re becoming. Maybe you’ve been there too: navigating a change, holding two truths, learning to stay open when you’d rather grip tighter.

Instead of rushing to clarity, we decided to slow down and reflect—together. What follows is a written conversation about identity, transitions, and emotional growth, grounded in our lived experiences and a shared hope: that soft, slow becoming still counts.

About Us:
Salwa is the author of Quietly Becoming, a beautifully reflective Substack where she explores healing, identity, and the nuances of emotional growth. She is currently pursuing a psychology degree and brings deep personal insight to the themes of becoming and belonging.
Jackie is a licensed psychologist, wellness consultant, writer, and mother who is beginning to lean more fully into a creative identity. Drawn to conversations that explore the tension between identities and the spaces in between, she reached out to Salwa in hopes of creating something reflective, tender, and true.

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When have you most acutely felt the discomfort of being “in-between” identities or life stages?

Jackie:
Motherhood has been my most consistent entry point into the in-between. Parenting keeps you tethered to the present—who needs existential reflection when someone’s asking for another snack? But it’s in those sudden flashes, like realizing the summer clothes don’t fit or marking another notch on the growth chart, that I’m reminded: a new phase has arrived.
What’s strange is that I always feel like me, but the world around me—my children, my body, my routines—keeps changing. It’s often external details that alert me to internal shifts. Time doesn’t ask for permission. It just keeps moving, and I’m left to catch up.

Salwa:
There’s a particular ache that comes from standing at the edge of something you’ve wanted for a long time but still feeling unsure whether you truly belong there. Starting my psychology degree brought that ache forward. It had lived quietly inside me for years—the wish to understand not just others, but myself.
When I enrolled, I felt proud but also disoriented. Like I’d stepped out of the version of myself who had always just coped and into someone who now wanted to understand.
That first week, I kept waiting for someone to tell me I didn’t belong.
Instead, my module books arrived. Heavy, official-looking, full of theories and stories I wasn’t sure I could keep up with. I placed my hand on the first book and whispered: Let’s begin anyway.

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How does gripping or tightening show up for you when facing the unknown?

Jackie:
Ah yes, the classic: tension in my neck and shoulders, snapping at my family, a creeping sense of pessimism. I don’t always recognize it right away, but the signs are there—especially when everything starts to feel a little too irritating or like everything’s just a bit… much.

Salwa:
When I don’t know what’s next, I tend to over-function. I plan. I anticipate. I hold my breath and brace. It’s an old habit: if I can just stay ahead of what might go wrong, maybe I can feel safe.
But lately, I’ve started noticing how this tightening shows up physically—clenched jaw, shallow breathing, a need to “fix” everything in my head before anything even happens. What’s helped is learning to let things be a little unfinished. A little unclear. It’s not about excellence—it’s about staying in the room with yourself.

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Is there an area of your life right now where you feel in transition? How are you relating to it differently than you might have in the past?

Jackie:
I’m entering a new phase of parenting. My kids don’t need me to tie their shoes or pour their cereal anymore—but their emotional and social worlds feel more complex and require deeper presence. So while I’ve lost the baby years, I’ve gained more access to their inner lives.
It’s beautiful, but it demands more intentionality—just as I’m feeling re-energized by creative work and having more flexible time for myself. In the past, I would’ve shut down the creative spark to stay “available.” Now, I’m trying to hold both.

Salwa:
Right now, I’m still finding my footing in this new identity—student, thinker, someone choosing to learn in the midst of life’s noise.
Some days I’m balanced. Other days, I’m wobbling and wondering if it’s all too much. But the difference now is: I don’t run from that wobble. I stay. I breathe. I remind myself I don’t have to prove anything—I just have to keep going.
And strangely, that decision to keep showing up even imperfectly feels like its own kind of becoming.

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What feels important to remember during a season of soft becoming?

Jackie:
Simplicity. Slowness. And remembering why I’m doing what I’m doing. In this decade of my life, I’m learning how to press the lever for “good enough”—especially in the areas that don’t need to be excellent.
I’m starting to believe that rest, ease, and stillness might actually be forms of wisdom—ones I’m just beginning to practice.

Salwa:
Lately, I’ve been coming back to this thought: maybe becoming isn’t about building a new version of yourself—it’s about returning to who you’ve always been, but this time with gentleness.
When I feel unsteady, I place a hand on my chest and say softly: This is allowed to be awkward. You’re allowed to not know yet.
Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that soft growth still counts. The slow, the unsure, the deeply human becoming—it all matters.

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We’d love to hear from you

What’s your version of “soft becoming”?
Have you felt caught between identities, unsure of who you are becoming?
What do you come back to when the ground feels wobbly?

You can reply in the comments, send us a message, or just sit with these questions awhile. There’s no rush.

Thanks for being here with us.
—Jackie & Salwa