Why We Fear the Liminal
The cultural discomfort with ambiguity, paradox, and in-between states
We like things to be clear. Defined. Sorted.
This is not simply a preference—it’s a cultural bias. We have been trained to fear the uncertain, distrust the undefined, and resolve the contradictory. In doing so, we have cultivated a worldview that prizes clarity over truth, certainty over insight, and resolution over reflection.
Nowhere is this more evident than in our discomfort with the liminal.
The liminal is the threshold, the in-between, the space after what was but before what is. It is the hallway between identities, the dusk between night and day, the moment in a conversation when silence feels charged but no one knows what to say.
Liminality is not instability—it is indeterminacy. And that’s exactly why we fear it.
What Is the Liminal?
The term liminal comes from the Latin limen, meaning “threshold.” Anthropologist Victor Turner used it to describe the middle phase of rites of passage: after the initiate has left their former status, but before a new identity has been solidified.
In this state, the person is no longer who they were—but not yet who they are becoming. They exist in suspension: socially ambiguous, symbolically potent, and psychologically raw.
But liminality isn’t limited to ceremonial transitions. It shows up everywhere:
- Adolescence
- Illness and recovery
- Moving cities
- Losing faith
- Falling out of love
- Questioning identity
- Starting over
It is in these transitional zones that we feel most alive—and most anxious. Because the liminal threatens the one thing modern culture is obsessed with: definition.
A Culture of Closure
Western thought—particularly post-Enlightenment—has built its house on binaries. Right/wrong. True/false. Body/mind. Self/other. Male/female. Civilized/savage.
These oppositions are not natural—they are epistemological habits. They simplify complexity into digestible form. But they come with a cost: they make us deeply uncomfortable with states that don't resolve.
We have come to believe that ambiguity is dangerous, paradox is failure, and contradiction is weakness. We rush to resolve tension, to “figure things out,” to land on a stance—any stance—so we can stop the unease of not knowing.
This is why liminality feels threatening. It cannot be solved. It must be held.
And that is a skill our culture does not teach.
The Psychological Violence of Forced Resolution
We tend to interpret liminality as a problem to be solved rather than a space to be moved through. We treat the person in crisis not as someone undergoing transformation, but as someone who is “unclear” or “not making sense.”
This leads to a subtle form of psychological violence: forcing resolution before integration.
Consider:
- The pressure to define one’s gender or sexuality in fixed terms
- The discomfort with spiritual doubt or crisis of faith
- The impatience with grief that “takes too long”
- The urge to label someone politically so we know where they stand
These reactions are not about the person—they’re about our intolerance for ambiguity. We feel unmoored when something—or someone—refuses to settle.
So we pathologize the liminal. Or we try to bypass it.
Liminality as Sacred Space
And yet, in many cultures, liminality is not feared—it is revered.
Shamans, mystics, and visionaries often operate from liminal zones. They are not “this” or “that.” They hold paradox. They move between worlds. They speak in metaphor, dwell in mystery, and invite others into ambiguity as a form of transformation.
In mythology, thresholds are places of initiation: caves, crossroads, deserts, forests. These are not symbols of confusion—they are spaces of encounter.
To enter a liminal state is to leave the map behind. Not to get lost, but to become available to something new. Something not yet named.
Living Without Landing
What would it mean to stop demanding answers from experiences that haven’t finished speaking?
What if identity didn’t have to resolve into a brand?
What if grief didn’t have to end in a lesson?
What if doubt wasn’t a detour but a doorway?
To embrace the liminal is not to reject meaning—but to stop insisting on premature meaning. It is to trust that truth can emerge from tension, that insight can arise from suspension, that the undefined is not a failure of clarity, but a form of intelligence our culture has forgotten how to read.
The Future Is Liminal
In many ways, we are living in a planetary liminal moment. Climate, culture, technology, economics—everything is in flux. Old systems are failing. New ones haven’t arrived.
We are in between.
And in between is where fear thrives.
But it’s also where the most potent transformation happens—not when we know exactly what’s next, but when we allow the unknown to shape us.
Conclusion: Hold the Threshold
The invitation is not to eliminate liminality, but to become literate in it. To stay with the trouble. To be willing to live in questions that don’t resolve neatly.
Because the person who can dwell in liminal space without collapsing into certainty is not confused—they are becoming something else.
Something freer. Something deeper.
Something unafraid of the unknown.
