That Strange In-Between Phase No One Warns You About

You know that moment when you walk out of your last university exam and everyone is cheering, taking selfies, and throwing their papers in the air? That moment when someone shouts, “We did it!” and deep down, you’re like, “Did we really?” That’s when it starts—the in-between phase.

At first, there's this wave of relief. You're done. No more late-night cramming, no more group assignments where one person disappears, no more exam stress or rushing to beat deadlines. You've crossed a milestone and everyone around you is celebrating. For a day or two, you bask in it—until it slowly starts to hit you. Hard.

You start realizing you won’t see some of your classmates ever again. The people you shared memes with during class, your favorite chai spot squad, the ones who had your back when you were broke or heartbroken—they all start to scatter. Some go back home. Others are off to start new chapters you’re not part of. It’s like the end of a movie you weren’t ready to finish watching.

Then reality kicks in. You’ve finished school, yes—but what now?

This is where it gets real. You start applying for internships, attachments, graduate trainee programs, anything that sounds remotely promising. You fix your CV ten times, send out application after application, and refresh your email every hour. You celebrate every “We’ve received your application” auto-reply like it’s good news—even though you know it’s just a bot.

For some, this part is smooth. They make a phone call, and boom—they're in. Maybe their uncle knows someone in the government. Maybe their parents own a company or have powerful friends. We all know someone whose journey looks like a perfectly paved highway with road signs and bright lights guiding the way.

But for the rest of us? Our roads are dusty, unmarked, and sometimes feel like dead ends. If your parents don’t have connections, if you don’t come from wealth, if your surname doesn’t open doors—you have to hustle hard. You send emails that never get replies. You walk into offices with hope in your eyes and get told to “leave your documents, we’ll call you.” Spoiler: They never call.

It’s frustrating. It’s draining. It makes you question everything. You start asking yourself, “Did I study the right course? Am I even employable? Is something wrong with me?”

You scroll through LinkedIn and see your peers landing jobs, announcing big wins, posting aesthetic workplace selfies with captions like #NewBeginnings or #Grateful. And you’re happy for them—truly—but you also wonder when your turn will come.

Some days, you wake up motivated. You write emails like a pro, pitch yourself confidently, believe that something is going to work. Other days, you lie in bed with your phone on airplane mode, avoiding family members who keep asking, “Umeitwa interview?” (Have you been called for an interview?) or “Unafanya nini siku hizi?” (What are you doing nowadays?)

The emotional rollercoaster is no joke. One moment you’re hopeful, the next you feel lost. It’s not just about looking for a job—it’s about figuring out your life, your purpose, and how to survive in a world that doesn’t always reward effort equally.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned in this weird, unpredictable phase: it’s okay not to have it all figured out. It’s okay to feel stuck, to cry sometimes, to rest, to start over, and to trust that things will eventually fall into place.

Because somewhere in the middle of all this chaos, something shifts. You start learning skills you didn’t think you needed—resilience, patience, adaptability. You become more resourceful. You stop waiting for things to be handed to you and start finding creative ways to stand out. You begin to believe in yourself more.

It’s not an easy season. It’s uncomfortable, humbling, and sometimes painful. But it’s also where growth happens. The version of you that comes out on the other side will be stronger, wiser, and more prepared for what’s ahead.

So, to anyone in this season —take a breath. You’re not alone. It might feel like you’re in limbo, but you’re just in transit. This isn’t the end. It’s just a rough beginning.

We may not know what phase this is exactly, but one thing I’m holding onto is this: God is faithful. Something will work out. I don’t know when or how, but I believe it will. So keep trusting the process, even when it doesn’t make sense.

And when we finally land those first jobs—after all the tears, prayers, and persistent effort—we’ll look back and realize this in-between phase shaped us more than any lecture ever did.