It is probably the most searched question about change on the internet. And I have been there myself. It is usually late at night, usually alone, usually at a moment when something in our life feels like it is unravelling, and we cannot quite get our footing. Maybe your version sounds more like: Why do I feel so stuck? Have I lost my mojo? What do I do when my ambition seems to have gotten up and left?
And honestly, I get it. I really do.
I have moved countries, changed industries, been in corporate, started over and started again. My life, and I suspect yours, too, if you are reading this far, has not been a straight line. It has been a series of pivots, some chosen, many not. As Gail Sheehy once said, life is a series of phases and stages. Yup, been there, done that. So, when people ask why change is so hard, I do not answer from a textbook. I answer from the inside; ok and an MBA doesn’t hurt 😊
And here is what I have come to understand: most of the time, we are already in the middle of change before we even know it is happening.
Many of us rarely wake up one day and decide to change. Change creeps in quietly. It shows up in a conversation that stays with you a little too long, because it spoke to a part of you that has not been heard. In a Sunday evening that feels heavier than it should, as you think about Monday morning. In a moment where you catch yourself wondering whether this: the job, the relationship, the version of yourself you have been performing, is still true for you. Is it still relevant, you ask?
The good news is that it is not a crisis. That is a signal. And learning to tell the difference matters more than most people realise.
Why the brain fights it
Our brains are genuinely wired to resist change. Not because we are weak or stuck, but because certainty feels safe. Neuroscience tells us that when we face the unknown, our brains register it as a threat. The same circuitry that once kept us alive in dangerous environments now fires when we consider leaving a job, ending a relationship, or stepping into something new. So, we stay. We manage. We cope. We tell ourselves it is fine, when fine is really just another word for familiar. Comfortable. Safe.
The problem is that familiar and good are not the same thing. And if we are truly honest with ourselves, we know this.
The in-between is the hardest part
Here is the thing nobody tells you about change: the hardest moment is rarely the leap itself. It is the in-between. The not-yet-knowing. The sitting with the discomfort of something that is ending before you have anything new to hold on to.
Psychologists call this the neutral zone, that uncomfortable gap between who you were and who you are becoming. Some call it the liminal space. What does it feel like? It feels like limbo. It feels like a loss. It feels heavy and disorienting. And because it is so uncomfortable, most people rush through it, make hasty decisions, or retreat back to what they know.
But the neutral zone is not empty. It is where the real work of change happens. It is where you get to ask the questions that matter: What do I actually want? What have I been tolerating? What would I do if I was not afraid? What is life asking of me? And for those inclined, what is my soul seeking me to do?
And when you are ready, you make the decision, and you leap. Everything before that is preparation.
What helps: the practical stuff
If you are still reading, and if you or someone you know is going through some kind of change, personal or organisational, here are some things to consider.
First, name it. There is enormous power in simply saying: something is shifting for me right now. If it is internally driven and you cannot quite define it yet, that is fine. If it is externally driven (think organisational or industry specific), name it, give it a funny name if that helps, but name it. The point is to stop pretending it is not happening.
Second, slow down before you speed up. Our instinct in discomfort is to act, to fix, to decide. But change made in panic rarely sticks. Give yourself permission to sit with the question before you rush to the answer.
Third, get curious rather than critical. Most of us meet change with a kind of self-interrogation: what is wrong with me, why can’t I just decide, why am I so scared? Martha seems perfectly fine with it, but here I am still wrestling! Replace the criticism with curiosity. What is this feeling trying to tell me? What does this discomfort point toward?
Fourth, find your people. Change is not meant to be navigated alone, especially organisationally. Whether that is a trusted colleague, a mentor, a coach, or simply someone who has been through something similar, reaching for connection in the middle of change is not a weakness. It is wisdom.
You are not behind
If you are in that place right now, that restless, unsettled, something-is-not-quite-right place, I want you to know something: you are not behind. You are not broken. You are not failing at your life.
You are mid-change. And that, as uncomfortable as it feels, is one of the most alive places a human being can be. The good news: it does not last. Time is subjective of course, but know that if you do take the leap, change will happen. The leap is the change.
Change is not an event. It is a process. And with the right questions, the right support, and a little more grace toward yourself than you are probably allowing right now, it is one you can navigate.
And if anything in this article stirred something for you, please do not struggle alone. Reach out to a friend, a mentor, or the services in your area. In Australia, Lifeline is a good place to start.
As always, if you invest in yourself, the rewards will be unfathomable.
Until next time.
