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.
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
