Sometimes it's okay not to know. On getting stuck in a state of uncertainty, and finding rest in allowing the 'not-knowing.

Sitting with not-knowing

Lately, I notice myself getting stuck in a state of uncertainty. Something in me says I don't need to find a solution right away, that it's okay not to know which direction I want to go for a while. But that feels unfamiliar.
Our culture, and often we ourselves, send the message that we should always have answers. That doubt and vulnerability aren't appropriate. And yet it's precisely in that space of "not knowing" that something can shift. Where transformation begins. 

I'd like to invite you to explore together how we can stay with discomfort, and what happens when we allow ourselves to simply "not know" for a while.

These past few days I've been waking up feeling tired, as if my nights are filled with dreams I'm still processing. I'm in a state of "not knowing" and that's not easy. Not for me, and not for the people around me. It feels uncomfortable, uncertain, and I don't know how to hold myself in it. My head is busy all day, my focus disappears, and my energy runs out.

This "not knowing" is holding me back. It blocks me from taking steps, from moving forward as an solopreneur. And that's not exactly convenient when you're self-employed.

Looking back, I realize this feeling has been around for a while. I'd hoped the holiday would give me the rest I needed to think more clearly, to find my focus again, to know again which direction I want to take with my work. But something is holding me back. The "not knowing" makes me restless. There's a blockage, a resistance to staying in this uncertainty — to letting it be okay.

From my upbringing, from society, and from what I impose on myself, I've learned that "not knowing" and showing doubt aren't appropriate. Showing vulnerability, admitting that things aren't working, that things aren't going well for a while, there's shame attached to that. Even I wonder whether it's appropriate to put these words online. As a transformative coach, I'm supposed to know it, right?

A few months ago, I attended a four-day counselor training. Four days in which I got to experience what it's like to simply be myself. Without anything more, without obligations, without expectations from myself or from the outside world. And that felt powerful. I felt powerful. I felt okay, with all my limitations, with all my doubts, with all my "not knowing."

But weeks later, the uncertainty was back. September was approaching, and yes, surely by then I had to know? Which direction I wanted to take my business in? The more choices I forced on myself, the more I obligated myself to take action, the more blocked I became. My body was telling me: this isn't okay.

I wanted to understand what this was.

A few weeks ago I had a coaching session scheduled with a coach who works with horses. I wanted to explore how I could further shape my career, and what was blocking me in my entrepreneurship. Arriving in the open countryside, I immediately felt calm and able to breathe.

After a short introduction of my question and my story, I walked together with the coach into the meadow where the horses stood. She asked me to look around, to feel what nature and the horses had to tell me. She emphasized that I could go at my own pace. That felt safe. Still, my legs were trembling slightly. I'm a little afraid of horses, afraid of the unpredictable. No anchor? No direction?

The coach beside me reassured me. Her presence alone was enough, and the fact that she knew the horses gave me confidence.

I looked around for a while, felt the calm flowing in, and felt drawn to stand closer to the horses. She asked: "Pause for a moment with what you're feeling… If you allow this feeling, what do you feel?"

For a moment it was quiet. Then I said: "Emptiness. Emptiness that touches a feeling of loneliness." I longed to be one of those horses too. Together in the stable, while they were eating. They're together, they're there for each other. They belong together. It's as if they support each other in closeness, and yet can also be independent.

I told her about my childhood, how I always tried so hard to belong. I always felt like the odd one out. Different. Too much this or too much that. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

The thought of this old pain that I keep running into, during periods of uncertainty, in moments when I don't know for a while and go searching for solutions. The tears bring relief. That pain, too, is allowed to be there.

Mostly I talked, and my coach listened. She added something here and there. The feeling of being alone, of being different, of not being good enough, runs like a thread through my life. By telling my life experiences and naming all the feelings and emotions I encountered along the way, I gave my personal history the recognition it deserves. I let everything be. I wasn't looking for things to be softened, not looking to solve the pain. I wasn't looking to place blame on my upbringing, on society, on the others who seem to "do it right." I simply let the pain, the emptiness, the "not knowing" be.

A good feeling could arise. That's when calm can return. When energy can flow again.

Because transformation begins from within, it begins with acknowledging what is, without trying to fix it.

What the Three Principles teach me here

The Three Principles (Sydney Banks) remind me that it's not the "not knowing" itself that gets me stuck, but the thoughts I have about it: that I should know, that uncertainty is something to be solved, that I'm different because I doubt. It's thinking about thinking, a layer on top of what's actually here.

Beneath all those thoughts lies something quieter. A wisdom that doesn't wait until I have all the answers, but is already there, even in the emptiness, even in the not-knowing. When I see that, I no longer need to fight the uncertainty. I can simply dwell in it. And it's precisely there, in that stillness, that room opens up for something new.