When becoming needs a room
I’ve been feeling the pull to document my journey more honestly.
Not just the polished teachings.
Not just the embodied transmissions.
But the behind-the-scenes energy.
The liminal spaces.
The parts that are still unfolding.
So often, what we see online is the “arrived” version.
The clean lesson.
The completed embodiment.
But the truth?
The liminal space is where the magic lives.
The mystery.
The power.
The next layer of truth.
I’ve actually been documenting these moments for years.
In bits and pieces.
I would write them, then tuck them into captions.
Mix them in with teachings.
Blend them into content.
But something about this energy felt different.
It didn’t want to be content.
It wanted its own room.
Because this is leadership through becoming
Most of what I share comes from embodiment.
I live it. I integrate it.
Then I teach it.
But there’s another layer that feels just as important.
The things I’m still moving through.
The things I thought I had embodied…
and then realized there was another layer waiting.
That matters too.
Maybe even more.
So I sat with this idea.
Should it live on Substack?
On Instagram?
On YouTube?
I overthought the structure.
The tech.
The formatting.
Only to come full circle.
It doesn’t need a system.
It needs space.
It needs to breathe.
It is a portal.
And portals deserve their own room.
So I kept it simple.
One page.
No dates.
No thumbnails.
No SEO pressure.
Timeless.
Because what is time anyway?
We collapse it here.
I didn’t want to stress about finding images.
Or optimizing anything.
I wanted this to feel real.
What I imagine is this:
You walk into a quiet, mysterious room.
There’s a journal left open on a table.
You start reading.
And something in you feels seen.
Activated.
Nourished.
Not because it’s perfect.
But because it’s honest.
That’s my intention for you when you enter The In-Between.
This is where evolution is witnessed in real time.
Unfiltered.
Raw.
Still becoming.
And maybe, as you read, you’ll recognize your own in-between too.
If you do, tell me.
I want to hear what shifts inside you when you step through.
When Your Past Self Carries the Work
I had a realization today that felt both obvious… and strangely liberating.
In the online world, it often feels like everything depends on our present effort.
If I’m not posting…
If I’m not creating…
If I’m not actively showing up…
then everything stops.
But that’s not actually true.
Because every teaching we’ve already shared
every video we’ve already recorded
every transmission we’ve already spoken
is still traveling.
Somewhere right now, someone might be watching a video you recorded months ago.
Your past self is guiding them.
Which means your present self is allowed to rest.
I think many of us — especially those of us who care deeply about our work — carry this subtle pressure that everything will collapse if we pause.
But maybe that’s just the mind trying to control the flow.
Maybe the deeper truth is that once a teaching is spoken, it begins a life of its own.
It moves.
It finds people.
It does its work in ways we cannot orchestrate.
And suddenly the pressure softens.
Because you realize…
you are not the only version of you holding the temple.
Your past self is lighting the way.
Your present self gets to breathe.
And your future self will open the next door when the time comes.
For now, the work is still alive
Even while you rest. 🌹
Where My Voice Didn't Sound Like Me
I’ve never really been into using AI for my work.
My work feels intuitive. It moves through my body first. It’s energetic. So the idea of letting a machine analyze it felt… strange.
But I got curious.
Before I did anything, I set a clear intention.
AI is here to support, not replace my intuition
Then, playfully, I sent Astraea (yes, I name my “AI) my website and my YouTube channel and asked for feedback.
I honestly didn’t expect much.
But what came back made me pause.
It said my website voice feels warm, welcoming and supportive.
And my YouTube voice?
Strong. Direct. Activating.
It said there’s a mismatch.
Not fake. Not inauthentic.
Just… different levels of intensity.
And when I read that, I felt it in my chest.
Because it’s true.
I’ve known it for a while.
Somewhere along the way, I softened my writing.
I made it gentler. Safer.
Not because I’m not powerful.
But because I didn’t want to scare people.
Didn’t want to be misunderstood.
Didn’t want to come off as “too much.”
There’s a quiet part of me that still wants to be easy to receive.
And I can see how that showed up in my brand.
The strange thing is — when I speak, I don’t hold back like that.
On YouTube, I say the thing.
I challenge.
I activate.
I shift identity.
I don’t cushion it.
So why was I cushioning it in writing?
That question stayed with me for a while.
And the answer wasn’t dramatic.
It was subtle.
Writing lives longer.
It feels more permanent.
It’s easier to be quoted, screenshot, misunderstood.
So I softened it.
I made it warmer.
More reassuring.
But here’s what hit me:
My work isn’t meant to keep people comfortable.
It’s meant to move them.
And movement isn’t always soft.
It’s clear.
It’s direct.
It asks something of you.
I realized that softening my voice doesn’t make me more loving.
It just makes me less aligned.
And that’s a harder truth to sit with.
This wasn’t AI giving me permission to change.
It just reflected something I was already feeling.
It held up a mirror.
And I recognized myself.
My spoken voice feels embodied.
Grounded.
Certain.
My written voice has been negotiating.
That ends here.
Not because I want to be louder.
But because I want to be congruent.
This feels less like a marketing shift and more like taking my power back in small, honest ways.
I’m sharing this as it’s happening.
Because I don’t want to pretend I’ve always been fully expressed.
I haven’t.
I’ve been evolving.
And maybe you have too.
If you’ve been softening your voice so you’re easier to receive…
Maybe it’s time to ask why.
Not to become harsher.
Just to become more yourself.
fear of receiving
I almost cancelled.
Not because it was a mountain.
Not because it was dangerous.
It’s just a 10km forest trail.
But my body reacted like I signed up for Everest.
When my friend texted me about the hike — I was ecstatic. Of course, I was. I’ve been asking for community.
For movement. For nature.
I pulled out my old hiking gear.
Some of it still smelled like Rinjani.
Some of it didn’t fit the same way.
And .....the spiral began.
“You haven’t exercised in three years.”
“Your back pain will flare up.”
“You’ll slow them down.”
The most ridiculous one?
“What if you need to pee in the middle of the forest?”
That’s when I laughed.
Because when the mind gets that creative,
you know it’s not about the surface anymore.
So I sat down and journaled.
And I asked the real question:
What am I actually afraid of?
The answer came quietly.
I’m afraid of being a burden.
And that word hit.
Burden.
It wasn’t about stamina.
It wasn’t about fitness.
It was about not wanting to inconvenience anyone.
Not wanting to make people wait.
Not wanting to be the “weak link.”
And then the deeper layer unfolded.
If they have to wait for me,
then I’m costing them something.
Time.
Energy.
Momentum.
And if I’m costing someone something…
I must repay it.
That’s when I saw it.
I don’t just struggle with receiving.
I struggle with receiving when there is no clear transaction.
When I did Rinjani, I paid for a guide.
Money for support.
Energy exchange.
Permission to lean.
But this?
This is just a group of people choosing to walk together.
No invoice.
No receipt.
No “I earned this.”
And my nervous system said:
Not allowed.
If there’s no struggle to achieve it,
no proof I’ve earned it,
no sacrifice to justify it —
then I don’t get to receive.
That’s the rule I’ve been living by.
Not just in hiking.
In business.
In money.
In clients.
In visibility.
If I’m not exhausted,
if I’m not over-delivering,
if I’m not burning first —
then receiving feels wrong.
And suddenly the hike wasn’t a hike.
It was a mirror.
A mirror showing me the part of myself that still believes:
“I am safest when I carry everything alone.”
But here’s the thing.
Even if I’m the fastest in the group,
someone could still decide I’m annoying.
Even if I never slow anyone down,
someone could still judge me.
Other people’s reactions are not mine to manage.
What if someone waits because they want to?
What if someone slows down because community matters more than speed?
What if support doesn’t mean I owe anyone anything?
The moment I saw that, my body softened.
The fear didn’t need to be fought.
It just needed to be seen.
This wasn’t about physical strength.
It was about expanding my capacity to receive support without anything in exchange
To be held without earning it first.
That’s the real summit.
And tomorrow, when I step onto that trail,
it won’t just be a hike.
It will be a nervous system rewrite.
ELIES HADI
