Why do I feel like I'm stuck in a "waiting room", waiting for my life to begin?

Who would say they are thriving right now?

With the high cost of living in the US and UK, lack of affordable housing, uninspiring or extreme politics, the horrors of war and predicted climate disasters, hope and joy can seem elusive.

In such a bleak context, it can be difficult to feel positive about one’s life, or even to actively engage in it. I am struck by the number of people in my circle – myself included – who have a fantasized Plan B: a dream of changing careers or places of residence that is 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 prosperity?

Christina Rasmussen has also noticed the collective struggle and the desire for escape that comes with it. “It’s an epidemic,” she says after our Zoom conversation.

In his new book Invisible Loss, Rasmussen argues that we don’t need to have suffered a devastating loss, like hers, to feel grief and discomfort.

A counselor and author, Rasmussen began writing about grief after losing 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 “life reentry model” based on neuroplasticity to help people recover from grief. This model served as the basis for her book Second Firsts (2013) and the grief support courses offered by her Life Reentry Institute.

Rasmussen discovered that behind the loss of a loved one there is often another loss, smaller and less obvious, but nonetheless important for personal development. These are what Rasmussen calls “invisible losses” of the self: a moment or interaction that has shaped the person, negatively affecting their outlook and sense of being capable.

“They weren’t big things: ‘the way my father looked at me at the table,’ ‘the way my teacher approached me when I didn’t have my homework.'”

People struggle to explain the profound effects of these seemingly innocuous interactions, Rasmussen says. Yet she came to believe that these moments—often experienced as moments of rejection or public shaming—were defining and prevented individuals from reaching their full potential.

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

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But over time, efforts to repress this formative wound begin to manifest—in the form of a desire to please others, intimacy problems, compulsive catastrophic visions of the future, or other obstacles to thriving. Eventually, it becomes a “heavy but subtle” burden akin to grief or depression: a sense of inability to thrive.

This reflects our “loss of 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 phrasing 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 retreat to it in response to trauma or grief, as Rasmussen did after her husband died. But less socially legible losses can also be devastating, she says, if the roots of the wound run deeper. For example, the breakup of a friendship or the end of a short-term relationship can hit someone unexpectedly.

Somehow, Rasmussen explains, we settle into this mental waiting room after losing our sense of self or purpose, in order to regain the strength and clarity to move forward. The problem is that when we neglect to leave, this survival mindset takes over and becomes the norm.

“It’s very hard to let go, because we think the virus is here to make our lives better – and it is in the short term,” Rasmussen says. “But we’re supposed to get over it.”

TLiving life may seem ambitious, even cruel, when so many people aspire to survival. But Rasmussen insists: We can dare to feel better, even good, without denying life’s difficulties or compassion for others who are suffering. It may even be crucial that we do so.

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

“Millions of people are in survival mode, thinking this is the best they can do,” Rasmussen says. “Burnout, depression, anxiety—I believe with all my heart that all of this comes from ignoring pain, not knowing ourselves, not behaving authentically.”

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

Most of her clients have been through enormous tragedies, she points out, “and yet they dedicate the time of our classes to their own inner lives… We can actually try to change the routine, the code, the thoughts that repeat themselves – of fear, doubt and questioning.”

Rasmussen herself undertook this transformation in the years following her husband’s death. In the immediate aftermath, she focused 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 hindsight, I didn’t really need to,” Rasmussen says.

A shift in perspective can reveal other paths where there were previously obstacles. At the very least, those constraints might begin to seem less oppressive.

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

By allowing yourself to reexamine these historical wounds, no matter how insignificant, you can begin to accept and integrate them. You can also talk about these “hidden parts” of yourself with a trusted friend; chances are they will have something similar to share.

Over time, the patterns or traps in your thinking will begin to present themselves. “You can actually see what’s blocking you…the one thing that’s so scary,” she says.

Only when the “surviving self” feels safe enough to step aside can the “thriving self” emerge. But, Rasmussen warns, the beneficial changes may not be the ones we expect.

In her new book Invisible Loss, Christina Rasmussen argues that we don’t need to have suffered a devastating loss, like hers, to feel grief and discomfort. Photography: It seems true

Often, in her sessions, people dream of escaping “to a tropical island with a few cocktails”—but Rasmussen doesn’t advocate upending your life, even if you can afford it. While we may believe that a change of career, scenery, or government will make us happy, the first and most important change is internal, she says.

Rasmussen suggests taking small steps to “tune in” to your life as it is today and see how it could be improved. Instead of dreaming of becoming a dog walker, I might start my day by going for a walk. My friend, who dreams of opening a coffee shop, might invite her friends over for dinner. Many people could improve their lives simply by taking a lunch break, Rasmussen laughs: “It’s actually a moment out of the waiting room.”

Such changes may seem hopelessly small, but she believes that it is possible to transform one’s daily life—and even thrive after unfathomable pain—through small changes like these. “I’ve seen people change so much inside, just in small steps, that they were no longer afraid,” Rasmussen says. They didn’t change the facts of life or their material circumstances; they were simply able to relate to it all differently, thanks to a greater sense of self-worth.

Rasmussen can cite her own example. She gave up her childhood dream of becoming an artist when her husband died, believing it wouldn’t provide security for her family. But “they actually have an interest in seeing you happy,” she says.

After leaving her corporate job, Rasmussen took up painting as a hobby. It was her first return to herself, she says, and the effects continue to reverberate in her life. “When I’m sitting there painting, I think, ‘This is it, this is what painting is, this is success.’ I haven’t put anything up for sale and I don’t want to. I live in the moment, I am what it’s meant to be.”

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