There are moments in therapeutic work when the familiar structures soften. A client has outgrown an old story, but the next chapter hasn’t revealed itself. A session slows, language thins, and something unnamed begins to stir beneath the surface. This is the liminal space—the threshold where we are no longer anchored to what was, yet not oriented toward what will be.
In practice, liminality rarely announces itself neatly. It may arrive as a pause that feels heavier than silence, a client who circles the same insight without moving forward, or a subtle sense that “doing more” would actually be an intrusion. For therapists, this can be deeply uncomfortable. We are trained to listen for patterns, offer reflections, guide movement. Yet the liminal asks for something quieter: restraint, trust, and the capacity to remain present without resolution.
The liminal space is not empty—it is incubatory. Meaning is reorganizing itself beneath conscious awareness. When we can tolerate this in-between state, the interior landscape of the work expands. We begin to notice micro-movements: shifts in breath, posture, tone, imagery, and affect. Transformation happens not because we push it forward, but because we allow it room to arrive in its own time.
In my own practice, the most obvious example of the liminal space came out of my work with adult survivors of sexual abuse. I co-facilitated 12-month groups with 6-8 women and a pattern would emerge. Of course, many would enter the group in the victim role (rightly so) and within 4 to 6 months, victims would transform into survivors, identifying the trauma, no longer re-traumatizing through storytelling, understanding the psychoeducational pieces of their story and garnering coping skills. Often, this led to a liminal space- the threshold between surviving and thriving.
Liminality also visits the therapist. Sometimes the threshold is not the client’s alone. It shows up when a trusted modality, theory, or way of working has been faithful and effective—but no longer feels fully alive. There is often no problem to solve, no failure to correct—just a quiet knowing that something new is asking to emerge. And yet, it remains unnamed.
This is a vulnerable place to stand. It requires us to stay curious rather than grasp for reinvention, to honor what has carried us while listening for what wants to come next. When we recognize liminal space—whether in the client, the session, or ourselves—we step into a deeper form of presence, one that honors becoming over certainty.
Reflection Writing Prompts
1. Client-Focused Lens
Recall a recent moment when a client was clearly “in-between”—no longer anchored to an old identity, belief, or pattern, yet not ready to step into what comes next. How did you recognize that the work had entered a liminal space? What did you not do that felt just as important as what you did?
2. Therapist Interior Lens
When you find yourself in liminal space with a client, what happens internally for you? Notice your bodily sensations, impulses to intervene, anxieties, or curiosities. What helps you stay present in the uncertainty without collapsing it—or escaping it?
3. Therapist-in-Transition Lens
Reflect on a method, framework, or way of working that has served you well with a client. Sense into the moment when you first realized it no longer fully fit and you were in-between knowing what did work and pondering your next intervention. What emotions arise as you stand between mastery and the unknown?
If you enjoy these reflections and the pause for introspection through writing prompts, join me each month:
