Why do I feel like I’m in a ‘waiting room’ hoping for my life to get going?

By Liam On Jul 2, 2024

Who would say they are flourishing now?

The high cost of living in the US and UK, the lack of affordable housing, uninspiring or extreme politics, the horrors of war and predicted climate catastrophe can make hope and joy seem out of reach.

Against such a grim backdrop, it can be hard to be positive about our lives, or even actively engage in them. In my own circles, I’m struck by how many people—myself included—have a fantasy Plan B: a daydream about a change of career or location that’s less a goal for the future than a rejection of the present.

Is this our fate? Or is it possible to move the needle from survival to thriving?

Christina Rasmussen has also noticed the collective struggle and the accompanying need for escape. “It’s an epidemic,” she says after we connect via Zoom.

In her new book Invisible lossRasmussen argues that we don’t have to have suffered enormous loss, as she did, to be overwhelmed by grief and malaise.

Rasmussen, a counselor and author, began writing about grief after she lost her husband of ten years to colon cancer. He was 35 when he died in 2006; they had two young daughters.

After rebuilding her life, she developed a neuroplasticity-based “life reentry model” to help people recover from grief. It formed the basis for her 2013 book Second Firsts and the grief counseling classes she teaches through her Life Reentry Institute.

Rasmussen found that behind a seismic loss of a loved one often lay another that was smaller and less obvious, but still influential in their personal development. These were what Rasmussen calls “invisible losses” of themselves: a moment or interaction that shaped them, and negatively affected their outlook and sense of self-efficacy.

“They weren’t big things: ‘The way my father looked at me at the dinner table’; ‘the way my teacher came to me when I didn’t have my homework done.’”

People struggled to explain the profound effects of these seemingly small interactions, Rasmussen says. Yet she came to believe that those moments—often ones of feeling rejected or publicly shamed—were pivotal, preventing individuals from reaching their full potential.

She found that people denied the impact of these memories, even to themselves, Rasmussen says. “People always say to me, ‘But shouldn’t we be grateful for the things we have? Doing to have?'”

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But over time, the attempt to suppress this formative pain begins to manifest itself—as people-pleasing, intimacy problems, compulsive catastrophizing about the future, or other barriers to fulfillment. Eventually, it becomes a “heavy but subtle” burden similar to sadness or depression: a sense of failure to thrive.

It reflects that we have “lost confidence in ourselves and our abilities,” Rasmussen writes, and leads to a diminished existence—one in which we feel hopeless, lost, or stuck, unable to feel fully present in our lives or derive meaningful pleasure from them.

She calls this state the “waiting room”: a way of thinking and being in the world that is defined by survival. The term reflects the formulation her clients often use. “People kept saying, ‘I feel like I’m stuck in waiting mode, like I’m just surviving,’” she says.

Many people withdraw there in response to trauma or grief, as Rasmussen did after her husband’s death. But less socially visible losses can also be devastating, she says, when the roots of the pain lie deeper. For example, a friendship breakup or the end of a short-term relationship can hit someone unexpectedly hard.

Either way, Rasmussen says, we put ourselves in this mental waiting room after we lose our sense of self or purpose, to gather the strength and clarity needed to move on. The problem is when we forget to leave, and that survival mentality takes over and becomes the norm.

“It’s really hard to let go of because we think it’s there to make our lives better — and it is, in the short term,” Rasmussen says. “But we have to recover.”

Thriving may sound ambitious, even callous, when so many of us are striving to survive. But Rasmussen points out: We can dare to feel better, even good, without denying life’s difficulties or compassion for others who are suffering. In fact, it may be crucial that we do so.

Rasmussen’s theory of “invisible losses” is akin to sociologist Corey Keyes’ concept of “languishing,” which was popularized early in the pandemic. You may not meet the clinical diagnostic criteria for depression, but if you’re languishing—defined by Keyes as “not feeling well about and not functioning well in life”—you could be developing it.

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“Millions of people are in survival mode and think this is the best they can do,” Rasmussen says. “Burnout, depression, anxiety: I believe with all my heart that it comes from ignoring suffering, not knowing ourselves and not acting from that authentic place.”

Of course, self-knowledge isn’t a priority if you’re struggling with the very foundations of existence, or loss has turned your world upside down. But Rasmussen argues that even people struggling with material limitations or setbacks can benefit from this mindset work—not least because it’s something they have control over.

Most of her clients have endured tremendous tragedy, she points out, “and yet they spend the duration of our classes focused on their own inner lives… We can actually try to change the routine, the code, the thoughts that repeat themselves – of fear and doubt and questioning ourselves.”

Rasmussen herself underwent this transformation in the years following her husband’s death. In the immediate aftermath, her focus was on finding stability for her young family.

She retrained and worked in human resources for years, hating “every minute of it.” “I gave up every aspect of myself, even though in retrospect it wasn’t necessary,” Rasmussen says.

A change in perspective can reveal other routes forward where there used to be brick walls. At the very least, those limitations may seem less oppressive.

To identify your own invisible losses, Rasmussen suggests examining times when you felt overlooked, neglected, rejected, or shamed, no matter how small. One way to do this is to keep a journal in response to questions like, “Even though I had wonderful parents, I experienced…” or “Even though I grew up in an affluent society, I felt…”

By giving yourself permission to re-examine that historical pain, no matter how insignificant, you can make peace with and integrate it. You can also talk about these “hidden parts” of yourself with a trusted friend; chances are, he or she has something similar to share.

Over time, patterns or pitfalls in your thinking will begin to manifest. “You can actually see the thing that you’re holding on to… the one thing that you’re so afraid of,” she says.

Only when the “survivor self” feels safe to retreat can the “bloomer” emerge. But, Rasmussen cautions, the beneficial changes may not be what we expect.

Often in her sessions, people fantasize about escaping “to a tropical island with a few cocktails” — but Rasmussen isn’t advocating turning your life upside down, even if you have the means. As much as we may believe that a change in career, environment, or government will make us happy, the first and most important change is internal, she says.

Rasmussen suggests taking small steps to connect with your current life and test how it can be improved. Instead of dreaming of becoming a dog walker, I could start my day with a walk. My friend, who fantasizes about opening a café, could invite her friends over for dinner. Many people could improve their lives simply by taking a lunch break, laughs Rasmussen: “That’s actually a moment outside the waiting room.”

Such changes may sound hopelessly small, but she believes it is possible to transform your daily experience—and even thrive after unfathomable pain—through such small adjustments as these. “I’ve seen people change so much internally, step by step, that they no longer feel so afraid,” Rasmussen says. They didn’t change the facts of life or their material circumstances; they simply related to them differently, with a stronger sense of self.

Rasmussen can point to her own example. She put aside her childhood dream of becoming an artist when her husband died, because she felt it was incompatible with achieving security for her family. But “they actually benefit from seeing you happy,” she says.

After quitting her corporate job, Rasmussen took up painting as a hobby. It was her first step back into herself, she says, and its effects are still felt in her life. “When I’m sitting there painting, I say to myself, ‘This is it, this is success—painting.’ I haven’t sold anything, and I don’t want to. I’m experiencing the present moment, I am what it needs to be.”

When she first felt that peaceful shift in her “inner world,” Rasmussen tells me, her initial reaction was fear—that it would lead her astray or disappear and set her back. Lately, though, she’s allowed herself a hopeful, daring thought: “Maybe I get to choose to keep it.”