There are moments in life that arrive without any warning, moments that don’t look dramatic or significant from the outside, yet somehow manage to reshape everything inside you. I never imagined that a simple administrative delay would turn into a long season of stillness, a season in which I found myself waking up day after day in the same limbo, watching the world move.

By Murielle Hebbo
At the same time, I stayed exactly where I was, suspended between what I had left behind and what I was trying to reach. It’s a strange feeling to live through a stretch of time that looks empty but feels heavy, because the longer you wait, the more you begin to confront the thoughts you pushed aside for years simply because you never had the time or space to face them.

At first, I told myself it was nothing more than paperwork and routine procedures, the kind of delay everyone experiences at some point. But as the days grew longer, I began to understand that this pause wasn’t just logistical. It forced me to confront every emotion I had ignored, every tired part of myself that I kept pushing forward, every worry I had been disguising as strength.

I realised that I had spent so much time running on instinct, surviving deadlines, adjusting to changes, managing expectations, and trying to stay stable in a city that never slows down, that I didn’t notice how deeply drained I had become. When life pressed pause on me, it wasn’t out of cruelty but clarity; it gave me the stillness to recognise what I was carrying, what I was avoiding, and what I was quietly longing for beneath the surface.

The days that felt unimportant were quietly changing me
Somewhere in the middle of the waiting, I noticed a shift. It didn’t happen suddenly or dramatically; it happened in small ways, in quiet mornings and slow afternoons, in the moments when I stopped counting the days and started listening to myself. The same days I had declared useless were teaching me patience, not the shallow kind you pretend to have, but the kind that forces you to trust the timing of your own life even when nothing makes sense.

I began to understand that clarity doesn’t always arrive through big signs and breakthroughs; sometimes it comes through long periods of stillness, where your mind stops racing long enough for your real desires and fears to rise to the surface. Without realising it, I was learning to breathe again, not because everything was resolved, but because I finally had the space to understand myself with more honesty.

The woman who emerged from the pause
I used to think that growth only happens during movement, but this experience proved me wrong. In the slowest months of my life, I met a version of myself I had never taken the time to see properly. She is a woman who no longer rushes toward things out of pressure or panic, a woman who finally understands that timing isn’t the enemy.

This woman is no longer willing to shrink herself to keep a situation stable. She has learned to walk away from what drains her, even if it once looked like a dream on paper. She trusts her own intuition more than opinions, interruptions, or temporary challenges. She is calmer but not passive, softer but not weak, stronger but not hardened. She understands that waiting is not a sign of failure but a season in which the heart quietly reorganises itself, preparing you for what you were too distracted to receive before.

When I look back now, I see that these months weren’t empty at all; they were full of lessons that wouldn’t have reached me any other way. I learned to protect my energy with intention, to choose peace without apologising, to say no without guilt, and to redefine success in a way that feels meaningful. I became far more aware of the kind of work I want to do, the sort of people I want to surround myself with, and the type of life I want to build for myself.

This pause taught me that timing is not about speed but alignment, and that delays can sometimes save you from stepping into situations that were never meant to hold your best self. It also reminded me that clarity often requires silence, and the universe sometimes slows you down so you can finally hear your own voice.

No longer afraid of the in-between
Waiting used to scare me because it felt like losing control, like life had forgotten me or placed me on hold while everything around me moved forward. But now I understand that the in-between is not a punishment. It is a transition space where your heart gathers strength for the next leap, where you sort through the pieces of your life with more awareness, and where you find the courage to imagine something better for yourself.

I am not the woman I was before these five months. I am steadier, clearer, more patient with myself, and far more protective of my peace. The woman I became while waiting is someone I would have never met if everything had happened quickly. And now that she exists, I know that whatever comes next will meet me differently, because I will meet it differently too.