On the emptiness after change - and why you might not want to fill it too quickly

By Regine Rauin | When Spaces Tell Stories

 

Perhaps you’ve been waiting for something over the past few days.

For the solar eclipse.
For Portal 8.
For that one moment after which something was supposed to feel different.

Perhaps you thought:

I’ll know more afterwards.

I’ll have more clarity afterwards.

Something new will begin afterwards.

And now?

The solar eclipse is over.
The portal has been crossed.
You wake up in the morning.

And realise:

The coffee tastes exactly the same.
The fridge is still empty.
That bloke still hasn’t texted.
The job is still the same.

And your home is sitting there as if absolutely nothing happened.

Erm.

Universe? We need to talk.

 

The Big Afterwards

I find this moment incredibly fascinating.

Because before something significant happens, everything can feel possible.

We load it with meaning.

Perhaps something will finally happen afterwards.

Perhaps a decision will suddenly become easier.

Perhaps an old fear will disappear.

Perhaps the answer we’ve been searching for all this time will suddenly appear.

 

And then the event happens.

The sun disappears.

Darkness arrives.

The sky changes.

And eventually, it becomes light again.

And you are still you.

 

That can be disappointing. It can even feel strangely empty.

But perhaps that emptiness isn’t the problem at all.

 

Perhaps it is the beginning.

When Suddenly There’s Nothing Left to Do

We humans are remarkably bad at sitting with emptiness.

We remove something – and immediately want to put something new in its place.

A relationship ends?

We need a distraction.

A project is finished?

We need the next one.

A cupboard is empty?

“There could be a lovely shelf there, actually.”

 

Of course there could.

But why?

Why does every empty space have to be filled immediately?

 

Perhaps because emptiness makes us nervous.

As long as something is sitting there, we don’t have to think about why it is there.

As long as we keep ourselves busy, we don’t have to feel what is actually happening inside us.

And as long as we keep searching for the next answer, we don’t have to accept the uncomfortable truth:

Perhaps there isn’t one yet.

 

I Often Tell My Clients: Leave the Emptiness Alone for a While

It sounds remarkably unremarkable. And that is precisely why it works. When we remove things from a home together, sometimes a free space suddenly appears.

An empty wall.

An empty cupboard.

A corner that had previously been filled without question.

 

And sooner or later, almost inevitably, someone says:

“But something has to go there now.”

No.

It doesn’t.

Stay there.

Look at it.

Let the wall be a wall.

Let the corner be a corner.

And wait.

Because sometimes a room needs a little time before it can show you what it actually wants to become.

And I think we are much the same.

 

 

Emptiness Is Not Automatically a Lack

We have learnt to see emptiness as something negative.

An empty fridge?

Problem.

An empty bank account?

Problem.

An empty home?

Somehow unsettling.

An empty diary?

Something must be wrong.

 

But emptiness can also be something entirely different:

Possibility.

A space in which nothing has been decided yet.

A breath between two sentences.

The moment between letting go and the next impulse.

And perhaps, at first, this space doesn’t feel like freedom at all.

Perhaps it feels like uncertainty.

Like boredom.

Like disappointment.

Like:

“And now what?”

That is perfectly alright.

You don’t need to know immediately what comes next.

 

Perhaps Something Has Changed After All

Perhaps you are sitting in your home after the solar eclipse thinking:

Everything is just as it was.

But perhaps that isn’t actually true.

Perhaps you simply haven’t learnt how to look at the old things with your new eyes yet.

The armchair is still there.

But suddenly you ask yourself:

Why?

The picture is still hanging on the wall.

But you remember why you bought it all those years ago.

And realise:

That was once my life. But it isn’t mine any more.

The box is still sitting in the cellar.

It has been there for seven years.

You’ve never opened it.

Until now.

And suddenly you understand:

You weren’t storing objects in there. You were storing a version of yourself. Perhaps change begins exactly like this. Not with a fanfare.

But with a quiet:

“Hang on a minute.”

 

Your Home Often Notices It Before You Do

That is one of the reasons I find spaces so fascinating. We are remarkably good at telling ourselves stories. Our homes are considerably less diplomatic.

They show us what we are holding on to.

What we are avoiding.

What we no longer need.

And sometimes, too:

What we haven’t yet made room for.

That is why an empty spot in your home isn’t simply an empty spot.

It can be a question.

What is allowed to emerge here now?

But please:

Don’t answer it immediately.

 

Wait for the Impulse

The difference is subtle. You can fill a space again because you are afraid of the emptiness. Or you can leave it open until something appears that feels right.

One comes from the outside:

What would be practical here?

What looks good?

What belongs here?

The other comes from within:

“I want something here.”

And suddenly it is no longer about filling a space.

It is a decision.

That is the moment I love.

When people stop asking:

“What should I do?”

and suddenly say:

“I know what I want.”

Without ten reasons.

Without an Excel spreadsheet.

Without consulting the universe.

Just knowing.

 

Perhaps This Is the Real Task After the Darkness

Perhaps the solar eclipse was never supposed to change anything for you.

Perhaps it was simply meant to interrupt your usual way of seeing things for a moment.

So that you could notice what you had stopped seeing before.

And perhaps the portal isn’t the door through which a brand-new life suddenly enters.

Perhaps it is simply the moment when you notice:

The old door has been open all along.

You just have to stop standing in front of it.

 

 

And if nothing happens now?

Let it.

Really.

Don’t immediately turn it into another project.

Don’t turn your uncertainty into the next self-improvement assignment.

You don’t need to present a completely new version of yourself on Monday morning.

Perhaps it is enough to stop doing one thing.

To let one thing go.

To leave one drawer empty.

Not to replace one piece of furniture.

Not to make one decision yet.

And then listen.

Because sometimes the next step doesn’t arrive as a grand revelation.

It arrives as a small impulse.

Almost imperceptible.

“I want this.”

And I would trust that sentence far more than a hundred grand promises about transformation.

 

Perhaps After the Darkness, There Is Space

Perhaps nothing changed after the solar eclipse.

Perhaps Portal 7 already feels rather far away.

Perhaps you’re even a little disappointed.

Then there is something I want to tell you:

You haven’t gone back to square one.

Perhaps you are simply between two chapters.

And perhaps, from the inside, that in-between space initially looks an awful lot like emptiness.

Stay there for a little while anyway.

Don’t fill it immediately.

Don’t decorate it.

Don’t explain it.

Let it breathe.

 

Because perhaps something is already on its way - something that doesn’t have a name yet. And perhaps you don’t need to figure out what it is. Perhaps you simply need to leave enough space for it to appear.

 

✨ Hidden Treasure

During a solar eclipse, the light doesn’t actually disappear. We simply can’t see it for a brief moment. Perhaps change is like that too.

Sometimes it isn’t our direction that disappears. Only our old idea of it. And when nothing happens afterwards, when a certain emptiness settles in and you find yourself asking:

“And now?”

Then perhaps the answer is surprisingly simple:

Wait.

Perhaps this emptiness isn’t a sign that something is missing. Perhaps it is the first sign that there is finally space for something of your own.

And if, one day, you walk through your home and suddenly look at a piece of furniture and think:

“Why are you still here?”

 

In Emptiness, Inspiration begins

I'm Regine Rauin, also known as Mystic Maveress.

I read rooms the way other people read Tarot cards.

→ WOHNUNGs-READING: What Your Home Is Really Telling You About Yourself

🗝️ Because some answers are already living with you.