The Identity Gap

How to Navigate the Space Between Who You Were and Who You're Becoming

Welcome to Week 2 of the Life Transition series. If you missed Week 1’s post on the Nature of Change, you can find it HERE.

If you want to revisit past articles, you can find them in the Archive.

Here’s what’s coming for the rest of the series.

Week 3: Emotional Weather – Handling fear, doubt, and hope during uncertain times
Week 4: Tiny Commitments – Small steps that anchor you when everything feels big
Week 5: Crossroads & Compass – How to trust your inner navigation

At the end of the series, we’ll gather for a live Zoom session to reflect together, answer questions, and deepen the conversation. (More on that soon.)

Before we begin, a heartfelt thank you to all paid subscribers. Your support sustains this work and makes it possible for me to keep writing, researching, and occasionally over-caffeinating to bring you these reflections. This one's for you.

There’s a peculiar terrain we all pass through at least once, often many times. It’s that foggy, liminal space between identities, where you’ve outgrown one version of yourself but haven’t quite stepped into the new one. It’s the psychological equivalent of wearing a blazer over pajamas on a Zoom call. You look like you’ve got it together, but internally, you’re disoriented, restless, and low-key wondering if you’re actually going through something... or just watching too many TED Talks.

This “identity gap” is more than an existential shrug. It’s a real psychological state. A period of inner remodeling. A no-man’s land between what once made sense and what hasn’t yet come into focus. It can feel like drifting in open water—no shore in sight, no sense of which direction you’re even facing. But paradoxically, this is also a place of massive potential. It’s where reinvention brews.

Let’s talk about how to navigate it, because clinging to an old identity sucks. It’s like trying to squeeze into a pair of jeans that used to fit in 2017. You might get them on, but you can’t breathe, you can’t move, and you’re one deep inhale away from a full-blown crisis.

Your old identity may feel safe and familiar. But the longer you grip that outdated version of yourself, the more misaligned you feel. The job that used to excite you now drains you. The role you once embraced now boxes you in. Your nervous system knows it, even if your ego hasn't caught up yet.

This in-between place doesn't get enough credit. It's too uncertain, too shape-shifty. Nobody wants to post a photo with the caption, "I'm currently a psychological soup." You're not who you were yesterday. You're not yet who you'll be tomorrow. You're a living draft, a work-in-progress, a caterpillar halfway dissolved inside its chrysalis—and unlike the caterpillar, you don't get a cozy cocoon and a clear biological script. You get anxiety, self-doubt, and the occasional impulse to cut your own bangs at 2 am.

This stretch of identity transformation is what I call "the identity gap." It's the psychological space between versions of the self. And if you're in it, you're not alone. In fact, you're in one of the most human experiences we all have.

If you read last week’s post on why life keeps asking us to grow, you’ll remember that transformation often begins with friction. The identity gap is what comes after the friction, when the old way no longer works, but the new path hasn’t taken full form yet. It’s the waiting room of becoming.

I've been there many times. Imagine an immigrant from a communist country becoming a capitalist and starting her own clothing company in Hawaii. Imagine an undergrad wanting to save the world, applying her knowledge in economics at the United Nations. Then, that same person got married instead and opened a yoga studio in a small town on the California coast. And the most recent shift, still in progress, mind you, the stable business owner, builder, and accumulator, becoming a transient adventurer living out of a suitcase and spending what she worked hard to accumulate. These are HUGE and sometimes contradictory identity shifts.

I've seen the process in my clients, too. As people outgrow relationships and want to explore different directions, they seek my counsel to navigate the process. What they think is just a matter of logistics usually ends up being a matter of psychology, crafting, and coming to terms with a new version of themselves.

To understand why the identity gap feels so uncomfortable, we need to start with the basics: what is an identity? From a psychological perspective, identity is a fluid narrative construct—a story you tell yourself about who you are, what you value, what you do, and where you're going. Dan McAdams, a leading voice in personality psychology, refers to this as "narrative identity" —a psychological sense of self built from the internalized and evolving story of our lives.

And like any good story, identity has arcs, setbacks, reboots, and sometimes a few plot holes. The problem is that most of us are deeply invested in our current narrative. We wrap our sense of safety, belonging, and purpose around it. So when life invites us or forces us to rewrite the story, even slightly, our systems go haywire.

You might notice this in the form of self-doubt, fatigue, or feeling like you're faking it through your days (impostor syndrome). You might feel disconnected from your usual routines like you're watching someone else live your life. Maybe your voice doesn't sound like your own anymore. Maybe you keep saying, "I just don't feel like myself." That's because you're not.

Neuroscience gives us some insights here. Our brains are wired for prediction. They love efficiency and hate uncertainty. When your sense of self is clear and consistent, the brain automates a lot of decisions and behaviors. But during identity transitions, that autopilot goes offline. You're suddenly living in manual mode—consciously thinking through things that used to feel intuitive. Even grocery shopping feels challenging. This drains your cognitive resources and contributes to the overall feeling of disorientation.

Naturally, you feel exhausted. You're not just feeling your feelings. You're doing deep, invisible cognitive labor. You're updating your internal programming while still trying to show up for work, feed yourself, pay your bills, and occasionally reply to text messages. Honestly, it's heroic.

Research shows that people experiencing life transitions often report lower levels of self-concept clarity—a psychological term for how clearly and confidently you understand who you are. According to a study by Lodi-Smith and DeMarree, dips in self-concept clarity are associated with increased anxiety, decreased motivation, and a general sense of being unmoored. This lack of clarity may feel like regression, but it is a natural and necessary part of growth.