The Space Between Tables

I used to do it all.

I showed up to church every time the doors were open, catered the events, ran the fundraisers, led the ministries, sang in the band, and hosted the small groups. If there was a hole that needed filled, I thought it was my responsibility to fill it.

I learned this from an early age, and I lived this way for the better portion of the first 38 years of my life.

It was exhausting, overwhelming, and anxiety-inducing on one hand, but it also guaranteed my seat at a table on the other.

And if I’m being honest, I didn’t just want a seat. I wanted to keep it.

As I’ve slowly laid down this belief that I had to do it all to belong, I’ve learned some hard, necessary lessons. One of the most important is this: just because you have a seat at a table doesn’t mean it’s the table you’re meant to stay at.

That realization didn’t come gently.

It came when I stood up and stepped away from a table I had spent years earning my place at. It came as I found myself lingering at the edges of other tables, listening more than speaking, noticing things I hadn’t noticed before. It came as I discovered that I felt more like myself in the background than I ever did in the spotlight.

And somewhere along the way, I found myself in a place I didn’t have language for.

Not at the old table.
Not fully at a new one.
Just…in between.

The Tension No One Talks About

There’s a tension we don’t talk about very often when it comes to leaving familiar tables.

We tend to focus on the leaving, or the finding, but not the space in the middle—the space where you don’t quite belong where you were, but you don’t yet know where you fit next.

I’m learning that tension shows up no matter how you got there. Whether you chose to leave, were asked to leave, or slowly realized you didn’t fit anymore, the experience is the same.

It’s the dissonance between what once felt normal and what now feels…off.

Not all at once. Not loudly. Just enough that you can’t unfeel it.

And once you feel it, you can’t go back to not knowing.

That’s the part no one really prepares you for.

Because what you lose isn’t just a seat at a table.

You lose the rhythm of knowing where you belong.
The language you used to speak without thinking.
The version of yourself who knew exactly how to show up and be accepted.

Even if that acceptance came at a cost.

When Jesus Disrupted the Tables

I can’t help but wonder if this is part of what made Jesus so unsettling to the religious leaders of His time. Not just what He said, but what His presence disrupted.

Because it wasn’t subtle.

Jesus ate with tax collectors and sinners—people who were considered unclean and who did not belong. When the religious leaders questioned Him, He didn’t hold back, make excuses, or apologize. He said plainly that it wasn’t the healthy who needed a doctor, but the sick (Luke 5:31–32).

Repeatedly, throughout His ministry, He touched people no one else would touch. He healed on the Sabbath more than once, exposing the tension between what the law had become and what it was always meant to be.

And then there are the tables He flipped—not out of uncontrolled anger, but as a direct response to systems that had made worship transactional and placed barriers between people and God.

Everywhere Jesus went, there was a quiet unraveling of what people had always known. Not because He came to create chaos, but because the tables that had been built were no longer making room for the very people they were meant to serve.

The Tension We’re Sitting In Now

We read those stories with the benefit of hindsight, quick to point out what they should have seen and understood.

But I wonder if, in our own way, we’re standing in similar spaces now.

Watching something shift.
Feeling something change.
Wrestling with what it means to respond.

Because sometimes the hardest thing isn’t leaving a table.

It’s admitting that the table you fought to stay at no longer feels like home.

Getting up is hard.
Wandering is disorienting.
Choosing the unfamiliar is a challenge.

And if I can be really honest, this is the part where most of us start to question ourselves.

Was it really that bad?
Am I overreacting?
Should I just go back and make it work?

But what if the tension you feel isn’t something to ignore or fix?

What if it’s actually telling you the truth?

What if it’s showing you that belonging was never supposed to cost you that much?

Learning to Sit in the In-Between

Maybe this space in between tables isn’t something to rush through.

Maybe it’s where you begin to notice what feels life-giving and what doesn’t. What feels honest and what feels performative. What feels like love and what feels like control.

And maybe, slowly, this is where you start to trust yourself again.

Not all at once.
Not with a big, dramatic decision.

But in small, quiet ways.

Paying attention to what feels off.
Letting yourself step back without explaining it to everyone.
Giving yourself permission to sit at the edges for a while without rushing to belong somewhere new.

And if you find yourself here—holding your plate, looking around, unsure where to sit—maybe the next step isn’t to find the right table right away.

Reflection Questions

• Where have you felt like you had to earn your place to belong?

• What has started to feel “off,” even if you can’t fully explain it yet?

• What do you find yourself missing about the tables you’ve stepped away from?

• What kind of space feels life-giving to you now—even in small ways?

I write in two spaces.
A Seat at the Table: Faith, Healing, and Honest Conversations After Church Hurt is where I explore faith, healing, and making room for honesty after it’s been made complicated.
Ink & Intention: Practical Writing Support for Nonfiction Authors is for writers who want to show up with clarity, discernment, and integrity—especially online.

I’m also the author of Breathing Again and several guided journals, and I work with writers who want thoughtful, grounded support as they find their voice and shape what comes next.

If something here resonated, you’re welcome to explore more at your own pace. You can find everything in one place here:
Kristen Neighbarger | Author, Writing Coach, and Resources for Writers