Transitioning Through The Inbetween

You will survive The Inbetween. You always do.

You know those days where you wake up and it feels like something heavy and unwelcome has taken up residence in your chest? Like you’re hosting a guest you never invited, and they’ve settled in with no intention of leaving? Silence feels loud, and noise feels violent. Your thoughts are in control and thinking you. Trying to focus on a single idea is like trying to look directly at the black spot that shifts mysteriously in your vision when you feel a little disoriented. A weight crushes your ribs, and it feels like an uninvited guest has moved in, taking up too much room in your cavity. This guest is moody as fuck. Let's call it 'No Fucks.'

Misery loves company.

This is how I feel today. And yesterday. And if I’m being honest, it’s been creeping in for a while. Sensory overload and heaviness can inhabit us all; and when it does, detachment, ambivalence, and self-preservation are the only forms of respite. When my cup is empty and I have no positive contributions to offer the world, I disappear. Hibernate. Become inaccessible. It’s the only way I know how to get to the other side.

The Anatomy of Apathy

This isn’t new. This particular horse has been well broken in at the No Fucks Rodeo. But this time, the descent has been a slow creep. The tap has been dripping for weeks, and now my sink is overflowing. It’s different from the sensation of having the plug suddenly pulled out of the bath, leaving you and all the warm comfort you once knew, spiralling down the drain.

If your spirit was once a vibrant scene, alive and joyful, apathy would be the slow desaturation, the draining of colour until everything is grey-washed and withered. It starts as a low hum -background static you tell yourself you’ll deal with next week. Then, suddenly, it’s so loud you can't hear yourself think, or feel.

The Root Causes

When No Fucks moves in, it usually brings luggage packed with one of three things:

01. The Hope Drain

Shudder. Probably the worst feeling in the world. Losing hope is like shifting from the comfortable melancholy of a rainy day - where the grey sky feels poetic - to the moment you realise it’s been weeks, and the sun may never come back. At first, you romanticise the storm - after all, contrast makes you feel something. Then, when the damp air starts feeding the mould and you see no sign of summer, it starts to feel like a prison.

A hope drain isn’t about a single disappointment. It’s the slow erosion of belief that things will change. That something new is coming. That effort matters. The realisation that things might just stay this way is the heaviest weight of all.

02. Assholes

Being let down by people hits differently. As humans, we thrive on connection - being seen, understood, and valued. When we invest in relationships and trust people with a shared vision, we expect reciprocity. And then, sometimes, they draw over the dog you lovingly painted in the window with a cat. You hate cats.

When someone redraws your shared picture without consulting you, it feels like a betrayal. A violation. Trust opens us up to being vulnerable, and when that trust is broken, the emotional fallout can shake us to our core - shock, disbelief, anger. Or worse, it’s the slow creep, and ebbing current of sadness, denial and disillusionment. The quiet “I told you so” whispers from your inner protector. And once denial fortifies into acceptance, your fortressed castle drops its portcullis, you pull up your drawbridge and you deepen your moat. Your castle becomes impenetrable.

03. The Mountain of Mundane

Sometimes, it’s not an existential crisis. Sometimes, it’s just life admin that has piled up like a hazardous landfill site, complete with a "DO NOT ENTER" sign. The sheer thought of making a to-do list makes you physically ill. And that’s when No Fucks shows up - not as an enemy, but as a protector, shielding you from complete internal combustion. Welcome your friend procrastination. Nothing feels urgent; not your parking ticket that has tripled in fine; not the banana that has started to breed tiny flies, and not your emotional baggage that needs inspecting. Overwhelm is real and not dealing with the small things is a stepping stone to hanging a welcome sign up for No Fucks.

The Inbetween

Imagine breaking down in a small, dusty town in the middle of nowhere. You can choose to sit helpless in your car and wait for someone to save you. Or you can go and find help. As dusk settles on the horizon you choose a direction and start walking. In the distance, you see a flickering neon sign cutting through the pink skies. DINER, it promises. Or perhaps threatens. As you approach the parking lot, it strikes you as the kind you’ve seen in every horror movie. Everyone inside looks like they were born of incest, and no strangers have passed through this town in a hundred years.

The withered, round-cheeked waitress keeps refilling your coffee, even when you didn’t ask. A sheriff sits at the counter eating apple pie. A scruffy kid disrupts the chilling silence, running in circles while his mother stares blankly into the distance. The air is thick. Ominous. You don’t know who to trust.

As you sit there, the bitter coffee staining your lips, you start observing the scene. You realise that each patron is a reflection of your psyche. The Sheriff represents the part of you needing order - the internal rule-maker trying to impose structure amidst the chaos. The child is your anxiety - restless, disruptive, a constant buzz of distraction. And the mother? She's Apathy herself. Avoidant. Checked out. Detached. Numb.

And there, in the corner booth, sits No Fucks. No Fucks is your self-preservation. The part of you that's decided to shut everything down until further notice. It raises a coffee cup in silent acknowledgment.

Adapt and Rebuild

Resilience. I have a complicated relationship with this word. When I think of resilience, I think of a bridge that carries tonnes of weight and protects the travellers on their journey. Yet, it still carries a warning on how much weight it can carry until its foundations crack. I think of a tree that is tested by the most violent storm yet stands tall and wounded where it's branches fell to the ground, yet bearing its insides to passers by.

Humans embody resilience more than anything else. We break and rebuild. Daily. Each disappointment, betrayal, or fracture in our foundation forces us to examine ourselves-to redefine our boundaries and expectations. We form scar tissue, physically and emotionally.

Yet we live to fight, or surrender, to another day.

But I don't believe resilience is the answer. Be it a mix of adaptability, resolve and realism - do whatever you need to put life's ebbs into perspective. It's not about bracing yourself to withstand the hard times, but and acceptance of them and the ability to observe and investigate your reactions to them. It is about trusting yourself to have the answers at the right time, and trusting others to be themselves - however they show up.

It's not easy. Rebuilding trust in others is like embarking on the journey to trust the characters in that diner - tricky, unpredictable, and full of things lurking behind the walls. The Sheriff, cutting his apple pie into perfect triangles, represents the need for order and structure. He will help you rebuild trust in yourself and others through systems and processes. The round-cheeked waitress, endlessly refilling your coffee, is the persistent need for self-care, even the bitter-pill kind - when you resist it.

Leaving The Inbetween

At some point, the fluorescent lights stop buzzing so loud. The coffee starts to taste less bitter. The fear dissipates. You realise that every moment spent in this eerie diner was necessary - to explore deeper truths, to acknowledge, to understand what you want and what you don't want.

I won't patronise you with a do to list or how to guide on how to transition through The Inbetween. For each of us, the holistic build up of life's fuckery and how it affects us, is different. The answers to the questions you need to ask yourself are within you. But first you need to acknowledge that you're here, in this space. Then you can ask the unwanted visitors why they are there.

You took a leap of faith walking into the diner. You were driven by a fundamental human need to be helped and supported by others - often by strangers, always by yourself. Deep down you knew that sitting in your car waiting for help to come to you would betray the intrinsic need to be vulnerable, to take a risk.

And so, as you feel a shift in your energy, give a nod to the Sheriff. Let the waitress refill your cup one last time. And then, step out of the diner into into the cooler, cleaner night air, feeling the grit of the road beneath your feet. Be aware of your senses, and the weight lifting from your chest.

As you drive away you look back in your rear view mirror at the Diner becoming smaller in the distance - a lingering reminder of the strange, but transformative power of The Inbetween.

Not only did you survive it, but you learned from it, growing in wisdom, awareness and self-understanding.

Next time you will know it's okay to dwell here for a while because just like every traveller, you know you will find your way out, not despite your time spent there, but because of it.

Thank you No Fucks.