From career burnout to creative reawakening
Alice came to me at a moment of deep transition.
After years of pouring her energy into a bold and rare career path in animal science—raising Wagyu cattle in Italy, training in Japan, and returning home as one of the few experts in the field—she found herself questioning everything. Her identity. Her confidence. Her sense of direction. She felt caught between the person she was in her work and the creative self she longed to reclaim.
This is her story.
A rare window into what it looks like when someone begins to reclaim not just their purpose—but the quiet strength of their own creative leadership.
That’s when she entered The Middle Experience—a six-week immersive journey I created at belonging in between to support people navigating liminal spaces. This isn’t a program of quick answers. It’s a guided unfolding—one that draws on the power of metaphors and rituals, the strategic process of design, and the depth of relational facilitation and dialogue. It’s a space where creative courage returns, where people reconnect with what makes them feel most alive, and where the next step forward starts to reveal itself.
I had the privilege of being Alice’s guide through that unfolding. Together, we honored her in-between, reawakened what had gone quiet, and reimagined how she could move through the world—on her own terms, with her own voice, and in community with others.
Before starting The Middle Experience
I had done something really rare in Italy—helping build a Wagyu cattle business from scratch, even going to Japan to train. For a while, I felt seen, needed, and trusted. I was 25 and had full responsibility for a herd of animals worth thousands. It was galvanizing.
But over time, something broke. After COVID, I lost the connection to the people, to the purpose. I changed jobs and left Veneto to be closer to home, but nothing fit anymore. I was tired, disconnected, doubting myself—especially my ability to work as a consultant or leader in this field. I wasn’t sure who I was without that role. I felt like I had something unique, but I couldn’t see how to make it real anymore. I kept asking myself: “Was that it? Is that over? What now?”
The in-between felt like a place made of dark, high walls—brick by brick. I could see a bit of light far ahead, but not around me. I didn’t know how to reach out for help, not even to my loved ones.
Afraid that if I chose a path they didn’t understand, I’d lose them. Or that I’d fail alone. I kept thinking: If only I could find a way to do something meaningful with Wagyu again… but in a way that feels more mine. I couldn’t imagine anything else that gave me that kind of purpose.
During the program
“I remember finding this drawing of a home. One where I was the central pillar, holding it all together, and everyone else—the people, the ideas—were the branches, the colors. But I didn’t feel like I was part of that picture, really. I saw myself only as the structure for others to grow. It hit me: I’ve always thought of myself as the support system. But never as someone who’s also allowed to receive. To be nurtured. To be a branch, to be color too.
“It was powerful and hard. I’ve always known I had a unique way of being, but I didn’t have the language for it. Through our sessions, I started to hear it: empathy, precision, presence, intuition, gathering power. We articulated my purpose in words and illuminated my HOWs as we called them—how I show up in the world, no matter what I do.I began to believe that maybe those qualities are enough to build a life from. That I don’t need to choose between being sensitive and being strong. They’re the same.
Everything changed. I asked people I love questions I’d never dared to ask: What do you see in me? Why are we still close? What do I give you?”And what they said… it floored me. I realized: they saw the same things I was just learning to see in myself. They talked about how they feel free to be themselves with me. How I give space without pressure. How I hold things together in a quiet, steady way. One friend said: When you were in your dark period, we felt frustrated. We saw your light dim and didn’t know how to help. We wanted you to remember who you are. That hit me deeply. I’d never heard them say that before.
That I’m not alone. And I’m not making this up. What I bring into the world—it matters. People feel it. And maybe I’m allowed to feel proud of that. Through this journey of working on myself I did not expect to find out how crucial is the impact I have on others too, on my network and my communities, and that to become aware of that could help me wake up in the morning.
Yes. It’s something I didn’t really have words for until this experience.I’ve always been good at my work. Technical, reliable, precise. I knew how to show up, deliver, be trusted. But then there’s this other part of me—the one that dances in heels, that transforms found Virgin Mary statues into sculptures. And instead of those two sides feeding each other, I always felt like they split me in half.”
When I was deep in the creative world, I felt disconnected from my competence. When I was in my professional lane, I felt like I had left something essential behind. I used to ask myself: How could I become a more complete person? Could I ever let one half speak to the other?
And for a long time, I carried this belief: I’m not creative enough. I thought creativity meant always having fresh ideas, being naturally expressive. But this experience helped me realize—my creativity comes alive when I’m doing, not when I’m overthinking. When I sculpt, move, engage—that’s when it reveals itself. That changed everything.
That language changed everything for me. I no know I no longer have to choose between two selves. I can bring all of me. My sensitivity, my structure. My body, my mind. My work, my art. And instead of seeing them as separate, I now see how one makes the other stronger.
To create not just for work, but for joy. To bring my multipotentiality into full view—not as something scattered, but as something powerful and alive. And maybe… to become the “Wagyu Queen,” as a friend half-jokingly said. But who knows? Maybe they’re not wrong.
Follow-up a few months later
I made one bold move: I reached out to Abel, an Argentinian vet who works internationally with Wagyu. That one move changed everything. He invited me to join global meetings. I gave a presentation about Italy. He told me: Maybe you’re the one who should lead the Italian Wagyu Association.” That sentence lit something up in me. I realized—this is real. I can have a voice in this space.”
But it wasn’t just that. So much changed in how I show up every day. With clients, I used to hold back. Now I speak up. I offer suggestions, I share my point of view. And they listen. They reach out to me directly now. Even with my family, I’ve started expressing my ideas and dreams out loud, not waiting for permission.
And there’s this image I keep returning to: the bridge I drew in one of our sessions. Where once there were walls—gray, heavy, closing me in—now there’s a path. A way forward. That feeling of claustrophobia is gone. I know I’ll keep evolving, but that visual reminds me that I’ve already crossed something.
And you know… some of the moments in The Middle Experience felt like rituals. Like anchors. Some were probably designed that way, and some just became rituals without trying—because of what they opened in me. They helped me move through things I didn’t have words for yet. Things I didn’t even know I needed to mark.”
Today, Alice is thriving in her field—not just as a trusted consultant in the Wagyu cattle world, but as a voice in international circles, someone clients turn to for insight and leadership. She’s back in a space she loves, but this time with deeper confidence, creative agency, and a sense of belonging that includes the multitudes of who she is. Her work is more integrated, her relationships more reciprocal, and her presence more fully expressed. But this isn’t the end of her journey—it’s a new beginning.
What’s changed is not just the outer shape of her career, but the way she moves through the in-betweens. She now sees transitions not as interruptions, but as fertile spaces—places where clarity, direction, and creative power are waiting to be harvested. And she’ll keep becoming, with more awareness, more softness, and more strength.
Some moments in The Middle Experienc are designed like rituals. Others become them without trying. Either way, they help you cross the thresholds that once felt impossible to name.
You can connect with Alice here.
If you’re in between—between identities, roles, dreams, or chapters—
and you’re ready to uncover what’s waiting to emerge, I’d love to hear your story.
You’ll be invited to fill out a short form and, if it’s a fit, we’ll schedule a call to explore what’s next—together.