Sitting in hard spaces

This summer i spent hours painting the fence. In the heat, under the burning noonday sun, i made large sweeping brush strokes. I listened to podcasts, swallowing them as if they were water and I was the desert wanderer. And in a way it was true. In my desert i clung to these words of truth, of solidarity, of the wisdom of those who had gone before me like they were water to my parched soul. The spirit is like water, says Mark Nepo, you cannot live dry.
I believed my season of dryness, of living in the liminal space, would end when i got a job. When Cody and I lived in the same town. When i said i do. When the hot season of summer ended and normalcy returned. When i got healthy. When i left my tightly religious circles.
Being engaged has been a liminal space for me. The first few months it felt so strongly like drinking bitter water. I knew it was for me but it was bitter to taste. I longed for the sweet water i imagined healing would bring.
I ached to leave the liminal space. I told myself i was sitting in it only to inwardly fight against it. I grieved and raged and wailed. Then i collapsed. Then things started to change.
I've seen this quote that says all the women in me are tired. And i feel this deep in my bones, friends. I am tired. I am 6 months tired. I am 2 years tired. I am 5 years tired. Maybe i'm even 20 years tired.
I'm realizing you can't rush your healing. I tried. I thought my liminal season should be over. And yet i find myself with this familiar, scratchy ache. I find myself tired. I find myself brought back to the desert i thought i had left. Only this time i am here with the knowing i must sit in this discomfort.
Truths about myself are emerging, ones i'd rather not face. And i don't know how to sit here and hold space for all of this when it feels so overwhelming, so breath stealing.
If you are here, know that me too. This longing to be in another season, i get it. This wild confusion and not knowing the next step and sitting in this mess, i'm there.
Dear friends, how do we sit in this liminal space, both personal and cultural, when all we want to do is run?