Why so many thresholds begin in the body, not the mind

On health, exhaustion, nervous system shifts, and the silent intelligence of transition.

This essay is Part 2 of a three-part series on thresholds, identity transitions, and the quiet seasons of becoming.

There is a season in many people’s lives where the mind searches for answers,
but the body begins asking the questions.

It rarely arrives as crisis.
More often, it arrives as quiet unraveling.

Fatigue that doesn’t quite resolve.
Symptoms that don’t neatly explain themselves.
Energy that no longer moves the way it used to.

You may still be functioning.
Still working.
Still showing up.

And yet… something inside you feels different.

Less driven.
More sensitive.
Easily overwhelmed.
Needing rest in ways that don’t make logical sense yet.

This is usually the moment people assume something is wrong.

That they’re burning out.
That they’re losing motivation.
That their health is failing.
That they need to fix something quickly.

But in many deep transitions, the body is not breaking.

It is preparing.

When identity loosens, the body becomes the anchor

In the early stages of a threshold, identity begins to soften before the mind understands why.

Roles that once fit start to feel heavy.
Ambitions flatten.
Certainty thins.
The future becomes harder to imagine.

And because the psyche no longer has a stable structure to organise around, the nervous system quietly steps forward.

Not with insight.

With regulation.

Energy withdraws.
The system slows.
Sensitivity increases.
Attention turns inward.

Psychologically, this is well recognised.

In adult development theory, major identity transitions are often preceded by what researchers call disorganising phases — periods when the structures that once held meaning dissolve before new ones have formed.

Neurologically, the nervous system responds not with clarity…
but with conservation.

Spiritually, many traditions recognised this moment too.

Before the mind can imagine what is next,
the body must first make the crossing survivable.

Why health so often becomes the centre of transition

In these seasons, people often find themselves unexpectedly focused on the body.

Doctors.
Therapists.
Acupuncture.
Naturopaths.
Blood tests.
Supplements.
Books.
Courses.
Learning.
Trying.

Not because they are anxious.

But because when the future becomes unclear,
the body becomes the last stable reference point.

Work may slow.
Career momentum flattens.
Relationships quieten.
Creative energy pauses.

So attention turns inward — to symptoms, sensations, regulation.

This is not regression.

This is intelligence.

Thresholds require enormous nervous system capacity.

To release identity.
To tolerate uncertainty.
To hold ambiguity.
To rebuild meaning.

The system must first ensure there is enough safety, energy, and coherence to cross at all.

Which is why so many people describe these years as stagnant on the outside…
and intensely active on the inside.

Not building.

Reorganising.

The exhausting search phase

This is often the hardest part.

Because everything you’ve been taught suggests that effort should produce results.

So you search.

For answers.
For healing.
For the right modality.
For the right diagnosis.
For the right teacher.
For the right contact.

You do all the right things.

And yet…
nothing resolves.

Not fully.
Not cleanly.
Not sustainably.

What is rarely said is this:

Thresholds are not solved.

They are metabolised.

The nervous system must slowly renegotiate:
who you are
what is safe
what belongs
what no longer fits

And this cannot be rushed by will.

For many people, this phase becomes exhausting.

Because effort without orientation drains the system.

And forcing momentum during reorganisation often delays the very transition you are trying to reach.

Burnout as a prolonged threshold

This is where burnout often enters the story.

Not as failure.
Not as weakness.

But as a sign that the nervous system has been trying to guide a transition…
and hasn’t been listened to.

In many cases, burnout is not the beginning of the problem.

It is the result of staying too long in the in-between.

Pushing when the system is asking for reorganisation.
Maintaining identities that are already loosening.
Trying to rebuild momentum before the new foundation exists.

Modern culture understands effort.

It does not understand thresholds.

So people are often encouraged to push harder at precisely the moment their nervous system is asking them to soften.

Which is, gently speaking,
an efficient way to delay a transition.

Or, less gently,
a very effective way to exhaust yourself for several unnecessary years.

Fear, foundation collapse, and suspended ground

There is usually a quieter fear underneath all of this.

Not fear of change.

Fear of absence.

What if the old life dissolves…
and nothing replaces it?

What if the drive never returns?
What if the clarity never comes back?
What if the next foundation never forms?

This is where many people unconsciously retreat.

Back into old roles.
Old relationships.
Old careers.
Old coping patterns.

Not because they fit.

But because familiarity feels safer than standing on ground that hasn’t formed yet.

Historically, this is exactly why cultures created rites of passage.

They understood:

You cannot become a new self while staying inside the old structure.

So they removed people from ordinary life.
Placed them in liminal spaces.
Assigned guides.
Named the stage.
Prepared the nervous system.
And — most importantly — welcomed them back.

We removed almost all of that.

And then wondered why so many people now collapse in the middle.

Different entrances into the same threshold

This is a gentle observation, not a rule.

But in my experience, many men do not enter thresholds through reflection.

They enter through crisis.

Symptoms ignored.
Pain minimised.
Stress normalised.

Until one day:
the heart misfires
the panic arrives
the body refuses

Not because men are less intuitive.

But because many have been taught to associate listening with weakness.

So the nervous system escalates.

Women often arrive differently.

Through exhaustion.
Hormonal shifts.
Autoimmune flares.
Anxiety.
Burnout.
Identity flattening.

Less dramatic.

More prolonged.

Both are thresholds.

Both are intelligent.

Both are invitations.

My own middle

There was a long season in my own life where this became very real.

Career slowing.
Health becoming central.
Relationships flattening.
Creative energy pausing.

I did everything you’re meant to do.

Doctors.
Therapists.
Acupuncture.
Learning.
Reading.
Business contacts.
Hope.
Disappointment.
Repeat.

From the outside, it looked stagnant.

From the inside, it was exhausting.

Quietly, something old was falling away.

Drive dissolving.
Identity loosening.
Ambition changing texture.
Sensitivity sharpening.

At times, I wondered if I was failing.

At others, if I was cursed.
(Even Greeks, occasionally, entertain the evil eye theory.)

What I eventually learned — slowly, and with far less grace than I recommend —
was that I was not meant to heal my way back.

I was meant to reorganise my way through.

The nervous system as gatekeeper

This is the part almost nobody teaches.

The mind does not lead transitions.

The nervous system does.

Until the system feels:
safe enough
resourced enough
regulated enough
stable enough

…it will not release the old identity.

Not because you are resistant.

Because survival precedes becoming.

This is why:
joy lifts frequency faster than chasing
regulation restores clarity faster than analysis
nourishment builds momentum faster than force

And why the most important work in thresholds is not:
manifesting
planning
optimising

It is:
resting
grounding
listening
stabilising
softening

So the new self has somewhere safe to land.

Thresholds are not crises.

They are intelligence.

They are the body’s way of saying:
“This identity has reached its natural limit.”
“This foundation can no longer carry what you’re becoming.”

And while they often feel slow, confusing, and deeply uncomfortable…

They are also the precise moments
when the most coherent versions of ourselves are formed.

Not by effort.

By patience.

By regulation.

By listening.

By allowing the quiet reorganisation to finish its work.

There are seasons when the most important question is not:

What should I do next?

But:

What is quietly rearranging itself inside me… before I’m ready to see where it leads?

Written from lived experience, nervous system wisdom, and the quiet spaces between what was and what’s next.

- Anastasia

Hero image: Photo by Liana S on Unsplash

Mid image: Photo by Laura Barbato on Unsplash