Empty Space

✧ The Fallow Season: When Letting Go Makes Room for More

We as humans naturally resist letting go.
We fight with everything we have to avoid loss, to hold on just a little longer.

But what if loss wasn't the end?
What if underneath the barrenness was something profound and new waiting to take root?

As a coach, I have the rare privilege of witnessing transformation up close.
In the intimacy of this work, something sacred unfolds—
Trust deepens, breakthroughs arrive, and hearts open.

And then, the natural ending comes.
The work is completed.
The season changes.
And I’m left with the quiet ache of goodbye.

The human part of me feels it deeply.
The rhythm of connection shifts.
How I know and interact with a client—someone I’ve come to care for deeply—changes overnight.

It’s like we’ve been in a mini-series of life, fully immersed, and suddenly the screen goes black.
The credits roll.
And there’s no next episode.

This is part of the rhythm of coaching.
And it mirrors something bigger—
The rhythms of career, creativity, and life itself.

Letting go is never easy.
Whether it's a client, a job, a role, a project, or a dream we once held close—
Something ends.
And we find ourselves on fallow ground.

That space can feel empty.
But it’s not nothing.

It’s potential.

And the tendency?
To fill it. To move on. To reach for what’s next as fast as possible.
Because waiting—sitting with the void—can feel unbearable.

But here’s what I’ve come to trust:

Don’t rush the void.
Honor it.
Let the soil rest.

Just like a field must lie fallow between seasons to restore its richness,
We, too, need space after an ending—to reflect, digest, and prepare for what’s next.