Getting unstuck

Working with death to invite growth and new beginnings.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

It’s officially Spring—we’ve made it through the darkest, coldest days of the year. Here in Maine, the trees are still bare and we’re still firing up the wood stove and wearing wool sweaters. But there’s the hint of freshness in the wind, a stirring beneath the surface of the ground.

After the dormant Winter months, the arrival of Spring brings birth, growth, fertility and new beginnings.

It’s a reminder that in nature, life always renews itself. What has died becomes the fertile ground for what is waiting to be born. This is the creative cycle of life.

This is what happens in nature—and it’s what happens in our own lives, too.

In this transitional moment, before we find ourselves in the full bloom of Spring, is a good time to contemplate and observe how endings make way for beginnings.

The death that precedes growth

Death and birth are two sides of the same coin.

When something dies, something new takes shape. I think this is why Buddhism talks so much about the liberation that comes from accepting death and impermanence: it reminds us not only that no ending is final. New life always awaits us on the other side of death, if we allow it.

The many “deaths” in our lives—the end of relationships, jobs, chapters, identities, habits, beliefs—are always, and inevitably, what make way for the emergence of the new: new opportunities, new dreams, new connections, new creative projects, new versions of ourselves. When we can recognize, allow and honor these natural endings, we also welcome in the beginnings.

But in our death-denying culture, we tend to celebrate new beginnings while overlooking the endings that made them possible. We resist the losses that come before growth, clinging to what’s familiar even when it’s long run its course. And even when it’s keeping us from fully living our lives.

This is how we get stuck.

Resisting endings, delaying beginnings

When endings are resisted, new growth is inevitably blocked.

We may long for change, for new energy, for the next chapter, but we can’t seem to get there. Instead, we cycle through frustration, exhaustion or confusion, spinning our wheels and wondering why things aren’t moving.

The truth is, we can’t move forward if we’re still gripping onto what’s behind us.

When we are afraid to let something die, we end up staying where we are simply because it’s familiar. Sometimes we’re aware of what we’re going, but more often, we’re not—that is, until we reach a point of crisis.

The result is feelings of stuckness and stagnation.

So what does it really mean to be “stuck”? The formal definition is being unable to move or to change a situation. Growth, movement and new life is not able to take root. When we are not able to move forward, it means that there is something holding us back—something that needs to be released. A death process that must take place. Perhaps it’s a truth we’re afraid to admit to ourselves, a sad parting that we’ve been delaying, or an unhealthy situation that we’ve resigned to.

The endings that are often hardest to accept are ones involving the realization that the path we’ve been on is not the right one for us. We may be trying to make something work that simply isn’t working.

I love the way the poem “Courage” from Korean poet Lee Kyu-gyeong describes this:

You can certainly do it.
That’s what people said.
You must work up your courage.
That’s what people said.

So I did.
I worked up my courage.

I worked up my courage and I said:
I can’t do it.

In my experience, there are some telltale signs that we are resisting an ending. I’ve come to see the symptoms listed here as the most clear indicators that something old needs to be let go of to create space for something new:

• Feeling stuck

• Inability to attract or create new opportunities

• Feeling chronically exhausted, unwell or out of balance (with no clear physiological explanation)

• A lingering sadness or depression that doesn’t quite make sense

• Creative blocks or lack of inspiration

• The sense of being disconnected from yourself (“I don’t know who I am anymore”)

• Banging your head against a wall trying to get something to happen, and it’s not happening

I have spent my fair share of time in each of these places. Staying in jobs that had nothing left to offer me, friendships that no longer felt aligned, and living situations that simply weren’t working. And each time, it was a letting go, a death, that allowed me to turn the corner, and ultimately cleared the path forward.

This requires courage, and the ability to step into the unknown. Because it’s not just fear of death that holds us back—it’s fear of birth, too.

We hold on because we’re afraid to take a leap of faith, not knowing what awaits us. It’s hard to trust in the unknown, especially when we’ve already experienced many losses.

There’s a vulnerability in trusting what comes next. This fear is natural and even protective at times. But when it operates unconsciously, it can stand in the way of the new life that is waiting for us.

A death-minded Spring cleaning

With all of this in mind, I’ve been using my death contemplation practice as a kind of Spring cleaning this year, asking myself: Where do I feel stuck? Where does my life feel stagnant? Where am I experiencing a lack of energy? Where have I planted seeds that aren’t taking root?

These questions have been guiding me to the places where an ending—or a letting go—is in order.

The more we can recognize, accept and move through the many endings and transition moments that life presents us, the freer we become. It’s like taking off a heavy Winter coat. We lighten our load. We make space for creativity and joy.

The ancient Greeks knew this well. Around the Spring equinox, they celebrated the return of Persephone, who was both the Queen of the Dead and the Goddess of Spring—a duality reflecting their understanding that the one who masters death is also the one who holds the keys to the new life, fertility and growth.

They also held festivals honoring Dionysis, the God of wine, festivity, fertility and ecstasy (they knew how to have a good time). Some traditions even depict Dionysus as the son of Perspephone, reflecting the joy and vibrancy that re-emerge after death, grief and loss.

This seems to me like the best way to honor this season: do whatever Spring cleaning we need to do, honor the endings that have taken place (or need to), and make space for a bit of lightness and celebration.

Small Deaths: A Spring ritual for creating space

If this resonates, we invite you to join us in a little death-inspired Spring Cleaning ritual from death doula Maura McInerney-Rowley:

Open every window and door (if you can). Let the fresh air in and the old stale air out.

Sweep out the dead. Vacuum. Dust. Wipe down the corners. Notice what’s accumulated—nail clippings, food scraps, dust, skin flakes. Tiny deaths, everywhere.

When you're done, light a candle, incense, whatever.

Grab pen and paper.

Put on a “death ballad” that inspires emotional release (we like “Re: Stacks” by Bon Iver, but choose your own).

Write down one thing you’re ready to release—a belief, a habit, an unhealthy situation, a version of yourself, a story that no longer fits.

Read it aloud.

Thank it for what it gave you.

Then burn it, bury it, or rip it to shreds.

Take a deep breath. Notice what space has opened up. Don’t rush to fill the space.

Let this be a small death. A letting go. A making way.

If you feel like sharing—we’d love to hear from you. Where have you been stuck—and what are you letting go of?

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