There was a time in my life when I didn’t feel fully here. My youth was shaped by what I now call the in-between. I wasn’t quite anchored to the world around me, and people seemed to look straight through me as if I wasn’t even there. I could walk into a room and feel invisible, my voice swallowed by silence no one else noticed.
It wasn’t shyness. It wasn’t insecurity. It wasn’t just my “selective mutism” or what now is being termed “reactive mutism”. It was something deeper — as though my very energy had cloaked itself. I lived in that space between worlds, the liminal place where presence flickers in and out. I don’t know if my soul needed that protection, or if I was still learning how to embody myself. But I remember what it felt like: haunting, lonely, strange, and strangely powerful too.
Fast forward to now, and life has a way of showing me those same patterns, not through me this time, but through someone I love. A special person in my life, has been walking through a season that looks a lot like that low, scattered frequency I once knew. She’s been experiencing a string of little accidents, moments of not being fully present, and what unsettled me most: sometimes when I speak to her, she doesn’t even hear me.
I don’t mean metaphorically. I mean literally. I can be looking at her, facing her, words leaving my mouth, and she doesn’t register them at all. She’s confirmed it too: “I didn’t hear you.”
It’s a bit eerie. Kind of like a mirror of my own past but reversed. She’s the one phasing in and out, while I’m the one grounded, calling out to her.
This is where frequency comes in. I’ve learned that when two people live in very different states of consciousness, it can feel like they’re on entirely different wavelengths. If one is tuned to static — weighed down by stress, worry, and heaviness — they may literally miss the signals being sent their way. Communication glitches. Accidents can happen. The world doesn’t seem to line up.
Maybe that’s the lesson. Years ago, I had to learn how to pull myself out of the in-between and anchor here. Now I’m watching someone I love struggle with that same energetic fog. The difference is, I can see it for what it is.
I don’t know if it’s about “low” or “high” frequency as much as it is about coherence. When our energy is scattered, we can’t hold reality together in a way that allows us to fully receive. And sometimes, the most loving thing we can do for someone in that place is not to shout louder, but to sit with them, hold them close, and gently remind them they are here.
Recognizing the In-Between Within Yourself
If you’ve ever felt unseen, unheard, or as though you’re walking in a dream where no one notices you, you may have slipped into this same space. It can show up as:
- People overlooking you or literally not hearing your words.
- A sense of fog, numbness, or not fully inhabiting your body.
- A strange safety in being invisible, paired with a deep ache of loneliness.
Awareness is the first key. When you realize you’re in the in-between, place your hand on your body… your chest, your belly and affirm: “I am here. I am present. I choose to anchor.”
Working With Those Around You
When a loved one is “phasing out,” it can be painful. You may feel like you’re losing them, or like you’re screaming into the void. But the truth is, they need your coherence more than your volume. Stay steady. Speak gently, even if they don’t hear every word. Presence often communicates more than sound.
This “being present” and remaining so has been the struggle for me. You too might see this as a challenge if you tend to absorb and feel everything around you. The fog pulls me in and I really has to take action and work hard at presence without being sucked into the in between. Remember, you aren’t trying to drag them out, you are offering space for them with presence.
Sometimes, being the anchor means not dragging them back but holding the frequency of safety until they can return on their own. Think of yourself as a lighthouse. You don’t chase the ship; you keep shining until it finds its way to shore.
Not Losing Yourself in the Loneliness
The hardest part of the in-between is the loneliness. It tricks you into believing you don’t matter, that no one sees you, that your existence is somehow less real. But remember this: the very fact that you feel unseen is proof that you are perceiving… you are awake enough to notice the veil. That awareness is your tether back to yourself.
Don’t fight the loneliness… befriend it. It is the echo that calls you back into your body. Learn to breathe with it, walk with it, and then choose, moment by moment, to re-enter life. Anchor into simple things like the weight of your feet on the ground, the warmth of sunlight, the sound of your own breath. These are portals back to presence.
I think back to the girl I once was — cloaked, unseen, unheard — and I realize how sacred it is to be witnessed. How healing it is when someone keeps speaking to you even when you don’t seem to hear. My sister is that mirror for me now. She is a reminder that frequency isn’t just about vibration, it’s about connection.
And maybe my role, this time around, is simply to stay tuned… to keep speaking, to keep loving, to keep anchoring until she finds her way back to hearing herself again.
The truth is, we all slip into the in-between at times. Some of us live there for years before learning how to return. Others, like my sister, wander there during seasons of heaviness or struggle. If you recognize it in yourself, know you are not broken… you are being invited to anchor. And if you see it in someone you love, remember: your steady presence may be the very bridge that guides them back.
Knew Light Streaming Love 
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