Autumn’s Invitation: Mindfully Embracing Transitions
The nights are drawing in across the Northern hemisphere. The morning air is crisp & damp. The gentle autumn wind runs across our skin and reminds us to layer up. Yet the afternoon sunshine forces us to remove those layers in equal measure. It is neither this nor that. It’s confusing. It’s chaotic. It’s unpredictable. We cannot prepare our outerwear with any more certainty than we can prepare other parts of ourselves for this moment. It might be all wrong & we might have to get on with it anyway.
There’s something about the way the Mother Nature shifts as summer fades to autumn. The leaves loosen their grip, daylight fades before the work is done, and there is a chilly whisper in the air reminding us of impending change. If you have lived through relational trauma, transitions can carry a particular resonance. How we relate to this moment right now matters during any period of change.
Little reminders of change like the turning leaves, the darker afternoons, & the colder mornings are tiny little windows into the difficulties we quietly carry with us. How we meet change. How we meet the current moment. How we greet the unwanted. How we let go of the last moment. They map out our inner terrain, too, showing our ability to shift between resolved and unresolved, between knowing and fearing the unknown, between certainty and uncertainty. The dark in us. The light in us. Both preparing to shift out of balance again. How we meet the next moment matters as we slowly transition.
In this space, many of us want to solve, to fix the pain, to know what comes next. We may look too far backward, to past hurts, shame, guilt, self-hatred, plunged into regret, anger and sadness or just long for simpler times. Or we may look too far forward, desperately drafting plans a safer future, a more healed self, less suffering, more control of the unknown. Yet both of these movements carry consequences. Looking backward too often tethers us in shame or regret, our nervous system freezes and we shut down. Gazing too far forward agitates the nervous system with hopes, fears, methodically planning to accommodate every “what if.” The illusion that we can predict or control what is fundamentally unpredictable forces out of now & gives us false security that our planning will prevent any unwanted-ness. It won’t. It can’t protect all parts of us. But, oh, how we are tempted.
Autumn reminds us that there is wisdom not only in how we shift seasonally but also in how we shift our mind back to this very moment. To be here, changing, yet unwavering in the now. Mindful observation & acceptance of what is. We can learn to be steady & accepting of our subtle evolution in the same way a tree doesn’t hang on to the falling leaves; it lets go. Trees allow the transition while remaining firm in their roots even though the branches themselves take on an entirely different form. Even within that change, each tree is still recognizable in every step of their transformation. A strong wind does not blow the trees down, it forced them to let go of what was no longer necessary. It cleared the way.
For those who struggle with transitions, there is an invitation of quiet observation. For those of us whose hearts carry deep unhealed emotions or questions still unresolved there is a lesson: to be with what is, to accept liminality, to hold the space for what is in this moment alone. Be. Here. Now.
Being Present with What Is
Psychologist Jon Kabat-Zinn teaches us that mindfulness is “moment-to-moment, non-judgmental awareness,” cultivated by paying attention intentionally in the present moment. His teaching is rooted in Zen Buddhism where it is believed that the practice of meditating, or mindfully coming into contact with both this moment & our deeply hidden inner world helps awaken compassion & wisdom. When we allow ourselves to feel what we are feeling—even when it’s fear, sadness, loneliness, or shame—and hold it in awareness, something shifts. Our relationship with our inner pain changes. It loses some of its tyranny & therefore we lose some of our fear of coming closer to it. There lies the challenge for us this season — to tame the wolf & stroke it with compassion instead of running from it in fear.
Buddhist monk Pema Chödrön offers a similar path, urging us to welcome the present moment “as if you had invited it, because it is all we ever have.” We cannot run from now. We cannot escape now. Now is all there is. Her wisdom reminds us: suffering often comes from the resistance of trying to avoid what is. When we stop resisting, when we stop trying to reshape what is into what we want it to be, we open a space for gentleness, compassion for ourselves. The rain falls; the wind blows; but the sky is bigger than any storm. But we only gain that wisdom by witnessing the change, by allowing it in full.
Patience with the Unresolved
Don’t skip this section. Read the subtitle again, please.
We are in a process of becoming. A process that takes years & decades. We’ve become so used to Googling, 24hr newsfeeds, fast fact checking, & having all the answers at the tips of our fingers that we’ve forgotten how to take the scenic route in our own learning & healing. Cultivate patience for being in a transitory healing phase yourself without the expectation of rushing through or arriving at the final destination.
You are merely a series of slow, belabored transitions.
Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke touches on this desire to know what is coming in beautiful series of letters written to a young military officer cadet ca. 1900, recently translated. In Letters to a Young Poet, in his Fourth Letter, pleads:
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers … The point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you then may gradually, without noticing, one day in the future live the answers.”
This is perhaps one of the hardest teachings to live. Especially when relational trauma has taught us to demand quick resolutions, to predict & pivot, to react, to control, to internalize & query for answers to things that don’t have answers. We feel deeply rattled by the idea of surprise, meeting the unexpected, feeling out of control, & deeply responsible for other’s emotions. Cognitively, we try to pivot & try to gain the illusion of control by thinking the usual gambit of “what ifs” & “whys.” What if X happens? Why me? What if something is wrong with me? What if they are mad? What if I’ve done something wrong? When will it end? What if they don’t like me? What if I messed up? What if it wasn’t perfect? How can I feel whole? Will it always feel like this?
But what Rilke reminds us is that sometimes, the questions are alive long before the answers arrive. And for many of us, the healing lies not only in finding answers, but in living with in the questions, in caring for them, in allowing them to open, here in the most vulnerable present moment, even when the heart trembles. To find acceptance for yourself within your deepest level of vulnerability. Am I enough? Am I worthy? Am I lovable? Am I important? Do I matter? We must meet this tenderness within that we guard so fiercely & gently allow the questions to exist. We must find the experiences in life that allow us to answer these questions instead of allowing the fear of the unanswered questions to stop us from fully living.
We must find proof that we are lovable through loving another, not by avoiding opportunities to be loved. We must seek opportunities where we learn that we matter & our voice it’s important, not by avoiding speaking up. While you wait for the next opportunity to find out more about who you are, have patience with all that is unresolved in your heart. Can you find the courage to fully meet yourself in this transient state of vulnerability and live with the question?
A Buddhist Lens on Transition
In Buddhist thought, impermanence (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and non-self (anatta) are central. The autumn transition is a natural teacher of impermanence: the leaves that greened and flourished must fall. The darkness will come. When we try to hold onto past safety, past identity, past relationships, past emotions, past comforts – it comes at a cost to our emotional world right now. We get stuck it what was & we suffer for it.
On the other hand, trying too hard to shape a perfect future, to avoid all discomfort or suffering, to control one’s inner or outer world, often feeds anxiety linked to our inherent existential suffering. Indeed, entire schools of philosophy (existentialism) and psychotherapy (existentialist therapy) are rooted in the belief that living brings unavoidable suffering. We are all suffering together as individuals, but alone in our individual struggles. According to existentialist thought, the way we learn to navigate this suffering (along with the terribly anxiety provoking fact that we will all die alone) actually helps us find not only our place in life but our inner peace. How we learn to meet this very messy moment with all the unsettled chaos it might bring & welcome it becomes a perpetual momentary practice.
In Buddhist thought, our suffering happens not because of the chaos itself (or the trauma, or the event, or the person) but rather because we are attached to the idea of it being different, better, easier, less painful, less lonely. Or for us being different than we are – more likable, better looking, richer, more talented, less sensitive, more confident – you name it. Because we cannot fully accept ourselves nor our own circumstances – that struggle slowly becomes our main character in the story about who we are. In some instances, the struggle itself becomes one’s own identity in full. We become defined by what was.
You are not what was. You are not yet who you want to be. And that is undone impermanence is so beautifully you. Yet most of us are deeply reluctant to know & accept our vulnerabilities. We haven’t met them, we haven’t really understood them & still we wish to escape from them.
Pema Chödrön’s teachings often speak to the practice of letting be. Not forcing, not pushing away, not being hard on the self for what feels unresolved. Her voice is a soft reminder that loving kindness toward ourselves is foundational, even when we are raw. Shame, guilt, self-hatred are echoes of times when perhaps we felt unsafe, judged, unseen. Being present with those echoes means letting them speak, letting them have space, even as we hold ourselves with gentleness. Letting be can safely nudge open the doors to the pain we’ve hidden from ourselves. Our secret suffering in the world because it is not gone how we expected. Our secret suffering within ourself because we aren’t how we want to be (yet).
As we move into the winter months, consider how deep you are willing to know yourself, to accept what is, & not be defined by what has been. I’ve included a few prompts & practices below for those who journal. Spend this season living with the unresolved questions you hold.
Sending love,
Dr M
Practice Meeting Change
Here are some practices that may help when the days grow shorter and the inner margins feel darker:
1. Mindful noticing of transitions. When daylight dims, when temperatures shift, notice how your body feels, how moods shift. Acknowledge the sense of grief or loss, even if it’s unnamed. Consider what lifts & lowers your mood. What is different than you expected? What aspects can you accept & what are aspects are hard to accept?
2. Anchor in small, ordinary presence. Brewing tea, walking in the crisp air, feeling wind on your skin—these small moments are entry points into the present. Kabat-Zinn’s practice of moment-to-moment awareness teaches us that “little moments aren’t little.” Where are your seasonal glimmers hiding? Where is your own tiny joy?
3. Cultivate patience. When old memories rise, or future worries swarm, pause. Hum the phrase from Rilke: “Live the questions now.” Let yourself rest in not knowing. You hold a dichotomous view of not knowing what’s coming & still finding safety being present in this moment. Can you come back to right now & safely sit with this question and all the emotions it brings up?
4. Self-compassion practices. Speak to yourself as a presence worthy of care. Let shame or guilt have voice—and then accompany them with kindness. Remind yourself that suffering is human, that you are not alone.
5. Community, or witnessing. If possible, sharing with someone who holds space—friend, therapist, support group—can ease the burden of sitting with painful not-knowing.
Remember that healing comes not just from fixing what was broken, but from allowing what is to be deeply known so that, in time, the questions live their way into answers. And perhaps in the darker cozier evenings, we can discover a steadier presence, a more luminous heart, not in spite of the shadows, but because we have learned to sit with them.
Journaling & Self-Reflection Prompts
1. Autumn as a Mirror
As you notice the days shortening or leaves changing, what aspects of your own life feel “in transition” right now?
What are you being asked to release, like trees letting go of their leaves?
2. Being with What Is
When you sit quietly, what emotions or sensations emerge that you often try to “solve” or “fix”?
How might it feel to simply allow those sensations to be present, without changing them or judging yourself for having them?
3. Past, Future, and Presence
What happens in your body when you dwell on the past?
What happens in your body when you imagine the future?
In contrast, what does it feel like when you settle into this moment, just as it is?
4. Patience with the Unresolved
What “unanswered questions” live in your heart right now?
How can you nurture patience toward these questions rather than demand answers?
5. Kindness toward the Self
If shame, guilt, or self-criticism arises, what would it sound like to respond with kindness?
Can you write a compassionate letter to yourself, as if you were your own dearest friend?
6. Anchoring Practices
List three small, sensory-based activities (e.g., making tea, walking, lighting a candle) that help you return to the present moment.
How do these practices shift your nervous system compared to trying to control or predict?
References
Chödrön, P. (2000). When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times. Shambhala Publications.
Kabat-Zinn, J. (2005). Wherever You Go, There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation in Everyday Life. Hyperion.
Kabat-Zinn, J. (2013). Full Catastrophe Living: Using the Wisdom of Your Body and Mind to Face Stress, Pain, and Illness (Revised ed.). Bantam.
Ram Dass. (1971). Be Here Now. (Various editions)
Rilke, R. M. (1903). Letters to a Young Poet (Fourth Letter).
Yalom, I. D. (1980). Existential Psychotherapy. Hachette.
Dr M’s Newsletter
Don’t miss out on the latest news, tips, events, course launches, insider stuff & more! Everything is waiting for you on the newsletter.
Been sent this blog?
You can get your own! Subscribe to my newsletter & get new posts, news, updates, & course sign ups delivered to your inbox. Don’t miss out. Subscribers have registration priority.
Follow me on Socials
Let’s connect!
The Psychologist & Me 