Transitions are so damn hard (why it's designed that way)

I was sitting in the Meta office when I got the admit letter from UPenn for the MSOD program. I immediately called my partner. We were so excited. I’m going to UPenn! And start my coaching career! This is really exciting.

And then the anxiety hit.

This means quitting Meta. Leaving my data engineering career. Going back to being a full time student. I worked so hard to get here. And now I’m choosing to blow it up? The thoughts did not stop.

The decision to quit wasn’t some bold overnight leap. It was months of thinking.

I made Plan A. Plan B. Plan C.

Had numerous conversations with my partner at midnight. Analyzed many spreadsheets. Made multiple versions of pros and cons lists. And then finally... okay, let’s do this.

And here’s the thing. This wasn’t even my first time. I’ve done this before. And if you think about it... so have you.

Remember the first day of college away from home

Remember the first day of work... transitioning from student to professional life

First day in a new country... transitioning to being an alien immigrant

Your first leadership role... going from IC to managing people

Becoming a parent... when nobody gave you a job description, but your entire operating system got rewritten overnight

Quitting your job to start something of your own

Quitting something that was actually working... not because it was broken, but because you outgrew it

Going from being the expert in the room to the beginner again... raising your hand to ask basic questions

Losing a title or label you spent years building... and wondering who you are without it

These are all transitions. But also growth points in life.

So if these are deliberate, conscious decisions... why the anxiety? Why the restlessness?

Here’s what’s actually happening.

Your brain is a prediction machine. That’s literally its main job. It’s constantly running patterns, predicting what comes next, and keeping you alive by making the familiar feel safe. Familiar routines, familiar roles, familiar identities... your brain loves all of it. Because predictability is energy efficient. Your brain doesn’t have to work hard when it knows what’s coming.

A transition breaks all of that. New job, new country, new role, new identity... your brain has no patterns for this yet. And when it can’t predict what’s coming, the amygdala steps in. That’s the part of your brain responsible for detecting threats. And here’s the thing... it doesn’t distinguish between “I’m in actual danger” and “I just don’t know what’s happening next.” Both get the same response.

Stress hormones. Hypervigilance. That low-grade anxiety that sits in your chest and won’t leave.

So that restlessness you feel during a transition? That’s not a weakness. That’s not you being dramatic. That’s your brain doing exactly what it’s designed to do. Protecting you from the unfamiliar. Even when the unfamiliar is something you choose.

But there’s a deeper layer. And this one’s harder to talk about.

Every transition is an identity death. You spent years building a version of yourself that worked. That identity wasn’t just a job title. It shaped how you introduced yourself, how you made decisions, and how you understood your place in the world.

And we hold on to these identities even when we’ve outgrown them. Because they’re safe. Because they’re known. Because letting go of who you were feels like losing something real... even when you know you need to move on.

Transition asks you to let go of that version before the new one is ready. And that gap between who you were and who you’re becoming? That’s not just discomfort. That’s grief. Real grief. Not metaphorical. You go through the same stages... denial, resistance, sadness, bargaining, and eventually acceptance. We just don’t call it grief because nobody died. But something did end.

And then there’s the middle. The in-between. Where you’ve left the old identity but haven’t landed in the new one yet. This space has a name. It’s called the neutral zone. And it’s the hardest part of any transition. Because you’re essentially nobody for a while. And that is deeply uncomfortable for a brain that just wants to know who you are.

So what actually helps? What does moving through a transition look like instead of just surviving it?

Accept that something is ending. This sounds obvious, but it’s the one most people skip. We jump straight into the new thing without acknowledging that the old thing mattered. It gave you stability, purpose, and a sense of who you are. Before you can step into what’s next, you have to let yourself grieve what you’re leaving behind. Not because it was perfect. Because it was yours.

Don’t rush the middle. That uncomfortable space where you’re not who you were but not yet who you’re becoming? Your instinct will be to get out of it as fast as possible. Fill the gap. Pick a direction. Any direction. Resist that. The middle is where the real work happens. It’s messy and it’s slow and it doesn’t look productive. But it’s where you start to hear what you actually want instead of what you think you should want.

Understand which anxiety you’re actually feeling. There are two kinds of anxiety in a transition. One is the fear of learning something new... the discomfort of being a beginner, of not knowing, of looking stupid. The other is the fear of losing what you have... the safety, the status, the certainty. These two pull in opposite directions. When the fear of staying the same becomes greater than the fear of changing, that’s when people move. Knowing which fear is louder in your head changes everything about how you navigate the transition.

Give your brain new patterns. Remember, your brain craves predictability. The old routines are gone and your brain is searching for something to hold onto. So build new ones. Small, repeatable structures. A morning routine. A weekly reflection. A new community. It doesn’t have to be big. Your brain just needs proof that this new life has a rhythm too.

Question the story you’re telling yourself. In every transition there’s a moment where your deepest assumptions get challenged. Things you didn’t even know you believed. “Success looks like this.” “I’m the kind of person who does that.” “If I leave this, I’ll lose everything.” These aren’t facts. They’re stories. And transitions have a way of forcing you to look at them honestly. When you start questioning those assumptions instead of letting them run your decisions... that’s when the real shift happens.

Be kind to yourself in the middle. The inner critic gets loud during transitions. You’re not doing enough. You should have figured this out by now. Everyone else seems to handle change better. That voice is lying. Transitions are objectively hard. Treating yourself with the same patience you’d give a friend going through this isn’t soft. It’s what makes it possible to keep going.

Get support. When you’re anxious, you can’t think clearly. Your logical mind will justify staying stuck. And sometimes you genuinely can’t see what’s blocking you from the inside. Talking it out... with a friend, a mentor, a coach... helps you process what’s actually happening instead of what your brain is telling you is happening. You don’t get points for doing it alone.

If you’re in the middle of one of these transitions right now... that restlessness, that “who am I becoming” feeling... that’s not a sign something is wrong. That’s the process.

Understanding all of this changed how I think about coaching. My approach adapts concepts from psychology, adult development theory, adult learning theory and systems thinking. Motivational speeches don’t cut it when your nervous system is in threat mode. Generic frameworks don’t help when the real problem is that you’re grieving a version of yourself. Evidence-based coaching meets you where you actually are, not where a framework says you should be.

If you’re navigating a transition and want to explore how coaching can help, book a compatibility call: https://www.greymahout.com/contact