The Ten Terrifying (Yet Terribly Common) Stages of Life Transitions, Chanlenges and Crises

A Survivor’s Guide

Life transitions are not linear but nonlinear, and highly individualised. They involve both external changes and internal psychological adjustments. Effective navigation often requires resilience, adaptability, social support, and reflective practices to integrate new identities or roles successfully.

Currently, the most frequently used staging is William Bridges’ Transition Model. This model focuses on the psychological process of transition rather than the external change itself. It identifies three stages:

• The New Beginning: Marks the integration of new roles, identities, or habits, accompanied by a sense of renewal and purpose
• Ending, Losing, Letting Go: Involves processing the loss of the old identity or situation.
• The Neutral Zone: A period of uncertainty and exploration, where individuals feel “in-between.”

Personal experience has taught me that the process is a bit more complicated (and often more repetitive) than Willian Bridges’ model. Below you’ll find my own version, the 10 Stages of Life Transitions, with anecdotal illustrations.

If you’ve ever gone through a major life change yourself, you know that transitions are messier than a toddler with a spaghetti dinner. They’re chaotic, unpredictable, and about as linear as a pollen-drunk honeybee’s flight path.

The truth is, that meaningful life transitions drag us through not three, but ten distinct stages of emotional turmoil, personal growth, and occasional public embarrassment. Understanding these stages won’t necessarily make your next big change any easier, but it might give you the comfort of knowing that your particular brand of transition-induced madness is, in fact, perfectly normal.

So grab your emotional support beverage of choice and let’s dive into the ten terrifying (yet terribly common) stages of life transitions that nobody warns you about but everyone experiences.

Stage 1: Frozen Immobility

The Deer in Headlights Phase: When Your Brain Goes on Vacation Without You

Ah, immobilization. That delightful moment when change crashes into your life like a toddler into a carefully arranged display of crystal glassware. Your brain short-circuits, your body freezes, and suddenly you’re about as functional as a chocolate teapot.

Take my friend Marcus, for instance. Marcus was a mid-level manager at a tech company when his boss called him in for what he assumed would be a routine meeting. Instead, he was offered a promotion to head an entirely new division—complete with a substantial raise, a corner office, and five times the responsibility.

A dream come true, right? Well, according to Marcus, his immediate response was to stare blankly at his boss for so long that she eventually asked if he needed medical attention. When he finally managed to speak, all he could muster was, “But where would I park?”

Not “Thank you.” Not “What would my responsibilities be?” Just deep concern about parking logistics. The human brain is a marvel.

After accepting the promotion (and sorting out his parking situation), Marcus spent the next three days in a state of such complete paralysis that he accomplished exactly nothing at work. He sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen, occasionally typing random letters into documents just to appear busy, while his mind raced through every conceivable way he could fail spectacularly in his new role.

This immobilization stage is our brain’s way of processing shock. It’s the cognitive equivalent of your computer showing the spinning wheel of death—technically still on, but not processing any new information. And while it feels uniquely humiliating when it happens to you, rest assured that even the most composed individuals have their moments of deer-in-headlights panic when faced with significant change.

The good news? This stage typically doesn’t last long. The bad news? What comes next isn’t much better.

Stage 2: Identity Meltdown

The Existential Wardrobe Crisis: When You Forget How to Be You

Once the initial shock wears off, we slide gracefully into the identity deterioration phase—that charming period where we start questioning everything we thought we knew about ourselves.

Consider the case of Eleanor, a high-powered attorney who had built her entire identity around being a ruthless litigator. When she decided to leave her prestigious firm to start a small family practice focusing on mediation, she experienced what she now refers to as her “existential wardrobe crisis.”

“I stood in my closet full of power suits and suddenly realized I had no idea who I was supposed to be anymore,” Eleanor told me over coffee. “I actually called my assistant in tears because I didn’t know what to wear to an office where intimidation wasn’t the primary goal.”

For two weeks, Eleanor arrived at her new office dramatically overdressed, looking like she was about to cross-examine the photocopier. She kept referring to herself as “the attorney for the plaintiff” during friendly mediation sessions. She’d catch herself mid-power stance, briefcase clutched like a shield, in situations that called for warmth and empathy.

“I felt like an actor who had shown up to the wrong play,” she admitted. “I knew all my lines, but they were for a completely different character.”

This deterioration of identity happens because major transitions don’t just change what we do—they change who we are. The roles, routines, and relationships that defined us shift, and suddenly we’re left wondering if we’re still the same person without them.

It’s disconcerting to realize how much of our identity is tied to external factors. The parent whose youngest child leaves for college, the retiree who no longer has a job title, the newly single person who was part of a couple for decades—all experience this unsettling sense that pieces of themselves are evaporating.

During this stage, you might find yourself clinging to outdated versions of yourself, like Eleanor and her power suits. You might experience the uncanny valley of your own personality—recognizing yourself, but feeling that something is distinctly off.

Don’t worry. This identity vertigo is temporary. It’s just your psyche’s way of clearing space for who you’re becoming next.

Stage 3: Insecurity and Uncertainty

The Competence Amnesia Syndrome: When You Suddenly Can’t Remember How to Adult

Once your identity begins to dissolve, you enter the delightful stage of insecurity and uncertainty—where even the most basic tasks suddenly feel like you’re trying to perform brain surgery while wearing oven mitts.

Take Raj, a culinary school graduate who moved from his small hometown to New York City to pursue his chef dreams. Raj had always been the family cooking prodigy, the neighbourhood go-to for dinner party advice, the guy who could whip up a gourmet meal from whatever was languishing in your refrigerator.

But his first week in a professional New York kitchen reduced him to a bumbling, uncertain mess. He got lost on the subway four times. He couldn’t figure out how to operate the industrial dishwasher. He accidentally called the intimidating head chef “mom” (a slip that earned him the nickname “Mama’s Boy” for his entire first year).

“I used to be able to debone a chicken with my eyes closed,” Raj lamented. “Suddenly I was questioning if I even knew how to boil water. I called my parents and asked them if they’d be willing to convert my childhood bedroom into an apartment because clearly, I had made a terrible mistake.”

This stage is particularly jarring because it creates such cognitive dissonance. You know you’re capable—you have the skills, the experience, the track record to prove it. Yet suddenly, you feel wildly incompetent in ways that would be comical if they weren’t happening to you.

It’s like your confidence has amnesia. You still have all your abilities, but your belief in them has temporarily gone on vacation. And unfortunately, it neglected to leave a forwarding address.

During this stage, you might find yourself second-guessing decisions you’ve made confidently a thousand times before. You might develop a sudden inability to navigate familiar processes. You might catch yourself standing in front of your refrigerator wondering how on earth people decide what to eat every day.

This uncertainty is both normal and necessary. It’s your brain’s way of acknowledging that the old rules no longer apply, and you’re in the process of figuring out new ones. It’s uncomfortable, yes, but it’s also the precursor to growth.

Stage 4: The Defiant Resurgence

The Toddler Tantrum Rebellion: When Your Inner Two-Year-Old Takes the Wheel

Just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom in the uncertainty phase, something magical happens. Your brain, tired of feeling incompetent and insecure, makes a dramatic pivot into rebellion. Suddenly, you’re not struggling with change—you’re fighting it with the full-throated defiance of a toddler who’s been told it’s bedtime.

Consider the case of Benjamin, a free-spirited graphic designer who accepted a job at a conservative financial firm because, in his words, “it was time to grow up and get a real job.” The company had a strict dress code: suits, ties, polished shoes, the works.

For the first month, Benjamin complied dutifully. He bought three sensible suits, learned to tie a Windsor knot, and even invested in shoe polish. But as the newness wore off and the reality of his identity shift set in, rebellion bloomed.

It started small. A slightly unusual tie. Colorful socks. But by week six, Benjamin was pushing every boundary of the dress code with the enthusiasm of an artist who’d found a new medium. Technically compliant suits that were nonetheless cut in avant-garde styles. Ties with increasingly bizarre patterns. One memorable day, he arrived wearing a perfectly professional suit—paired with a tie that, upon close inspection, was covered in tiny, tastefully rendered middle fingers.

“I wasn’t trying to get fired,” Benjamin explained. “I was trying to preserve some sliver of who I was in an environment that felt like it was erasing me.”

This rebellion stage is your psyche’s way of asserting that while change may be necessary, complete self-erasure is not. It’s your personality making a last stand, refusing to be completely subsumed by new circumstances.

Sometimes the rebellion is external, like Benjamin’s sartorial protests. Other times it’s internal—a stubborn refusal to fully engage with your new reality. Either way, it’s a crucial part of the transition process, a necessary step in negotiating the terms of your new existence.

While rebellion can be disruptive, it often leads to healthy compromise. Benjamin’s manager eventually pulled him aside for a conversation about his increasingly creative interpretation of the dress code. The result? Benjamin was tasked with developing a more modern, creative dress code for the company’s rebranding efforts—a project that allowed him to bring his authentic self to work while still respecting the professional environment.

Not all rebellion stories end so tidily, of course. But this stage serves an important purpose: it helps you identify which parts of your old self are non-negotiable, even in the face of significant change.

Stage 5: The Reluctant Vulnerability

The Accidental Therapist Collection: When You Start Trauma-Dumping on Baristas

Eventually, even the most determined rebel realizes that fighting change is about as effective as trying to hold back the tide with a fork. This is when we reluctantly, often awkwardly, enter the stage of gathering and leaning on support—the phase where we finally admit that we can’t navigate this transition alone.

Lisa, a fiercely independent software developer, prided herself on self-sufficiency. When she decided to leave her stable job to launch her own startup, she announced to everyone that she had it all under control. “How hard could it be?” she said with the confidence of someone who had never tried to start a business before. “I’ll just need to work harder for a while.”

Three weeks later, Lisa found herself sobbing uncontrollably in a coffee shop while trying to figure out business tax filing requirements. The barista, a college student named Javi, asked if she was okay, and Lisa responded by unloading her entire business plan, financial projections, and existential crisis onto him.

“Poor Javi,” Lisa recalled. “He just wanted to know if I needed extra napkins, and suddenly he was my de facto business therapist.”

That was just the beginning. Within a month, Lisa had assembled what she called her “accidental support network”—the barista, her elderly neighbor who had run a small business in the 1970s, a fellow dog owner from the park who worked in finance, and a cousin she hadn’t spoken to in years who replied to her late-night social media rant with surprising insight.

“I went from ‘I can do this all myself’ to ‘please help me, random stranger’ in record time,” Lisa admitted. “The funny thing is, once I started asking for help, I realized how many people were actually willing to give it.”

This stage often feels especially uncomfortable for those of us who value independence. There’s a particular vulnerability in admitting that we need others, that we don’t have all the answers, that we’re struggling. But it’s also the stage where we rediscover the essential truth that humans are social creatures, designed to support each other through difficult transitions.

During this phase, you might find yourself forming unexpected connections. You might reconnect with old friends or discover new ones in unlikely places. You might find yourself sharing your fears and uncertainties with your dental hygienist, your mail carrier, or the person next to you on a plane.

And while it might feel awkward at first, this reaching out is actually a sign of strength, not weakness. It signals that you’re moving from resistance to engagement, taking an active role in navigating your transition rather than just being buffeted by it.

Stage 6: The Maddening Limbo

The Refresh Button Breakdown: When You Check Your Phone So Often You Break It

After you’ve gathered your support network and started to make peace with your transition, you often find yourself in the peculiar limbo of the waiting stage—that maddening period where you’ve done everything you can, and now you just have to wait for something to happen.

James, a normally relaxed and patient person, found himself at his wit’s end during this stage of his career transition. After years of teaching, he had decided to pursue a corporate training role. He updated his resume, networked extensively, aced several interviews, and received positive feedback… and then nothing.

“I checked my email 347 times in one day,” James confessed. “I actually wore out the refresh button on my email app. I didn’t know that was possible.”

James developed what he called “phantom phone syndrome”—the distinct sensation that his phone was vibrating with a new message, even when it wasn’t. He started taking his phone into the bathroom, placing it on the edge of the tub while he showered (wrapped in a plastic bag to protect it from steam, of course).

“I became convinced that the moment I was unreachable would be the exact moment I’d get the job offer,” he said. “My partner finally had to stage an intervention when I tried to bring my phone into an MRI machine.”

This waiting stage is particularly challenging because it combines anticipation with powerlessness. You’ve done what you can, and now forces beyond your control will determine the next steps. For those of us who like to feel in charge of our destinies, few things are more agonizing.

Time becomes elastic during this stage. Minutes stretch into hours when you’re waiting for news, yet somehow weeks can slip by in a blur of anticipation. You develop elaborate theories about what might be happening behind the scenes. You read deep meaning into the most trivial interactions. “The hiring manager ended her email with ‘Best’ instead of ‘Best regards’—what does that mean? Is it a good sign? A bad sign? AN INCOMPLETE SIGN?”

What makes this stage especially tricky is that sometimes the wait is indeed short—a matter of days or weeks. Other times, it stretches on for months, requiring a different kind of endurance. The uncertainty about the timeline can be as challenging as the wait itself.

James eventually did get the job offer—while he was in the grocery store, having finally left his phone at home for the first time in weeks. The voicemail was waiting when he returned. “Of course it happened the one time I wasn’t obsessively checking,” he laughed. “The universe has a sick sense of humour.”

Stage 7: The Zen Awakening (Eventually) Patience, patience…

The Militant Relaxation Paradox: When You Aggressively Try to Chill Out

As the wait continues, something remarkable begins to happen. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you start to develop that most elusive of virtues: patience. Not the gritted-teeth, white-knuckled endurance that masquerades as patience, but a genuine acceptance of the timeline of change.

Sarah, a high-energy entrepreneur, discovered this stage during a forced career pause. After burning out spectacularly from her executive role, her doctor ordered her to take at least three months off—no work, no networking, no career planning. Just rest.

For Sarah, this prescription felt like a prison sentence. “I thought I’d lose my mind,” she admitted. “I’ve been in perpetual motion since kindergarten. The idea of just… waiting… was torture.”

Her first attempt at developing patience was predictably Type-A. She downloaded meditation apps, bought books on mindfulness, and created an elaborate self-improvement schedule that would have exhausted a Buddhist monk.

“I was aggressively trying to become patient,” she said, laughing at the irony. “I’d sit down to meditate and set timers for exactly 15 minutes. If I didn’t feel peaceful by the end, I’d consider it a failed meditation and try again later, but with more determination.”

After two weeks of “militant relaxation,” as she called it, Sarah reached a breaking point. During a particularly unsuccessful meditation session, she became so frustrated that she threw her phone across the room (onto a couch, thankfully).

“I sat there, staring at my phone, having just had a tantrum about not being peaceful enough,” she recalled. “And suddenly, I started laughing. The absurdity of the situation hit me, and I just couldn’t stop laughing. That was the moment I actually started to develop real patience.”

From that point on, Sarah took a different approach. Instead of trying to force patience through sheer willpower, she began to observe her impatience with curiosity rather than judgment. She noticed the physical sensations that accompanied it—the tightness in her chest, the urge to check her phone, the restless energy in her legs.

“I started to see impatience as an interesting visitor rather than an enemy to be vanquished,” she explained. “And gradually, those visits became less frequent and less intense.”

This stage is not about eliminating the desire for progress or resolution. It’s about developing a new relationship with time and uncertainty. It’s about learning to sit with discomfort rather than immediately trying to escape it.

During this phase, you might find yourself becoming more present in small moments. You might rediscover simple pleasures that you were too rushed to notice before. You might even begin to appreciate the space between events as valuable in itself, rather than merely a gap to be endured.

For Sarah, this development of patience extended far beyond her three-month hiatus. “When I eventually went back to work, I brought this new perspective with me,” she said. “I’m still ambitious and driven, but there’s a different quality to it now. I can distinguish between what genuinely needs my immediate attention and what can unfold in its own time.”

Stage 8: The Surprising Surrender

The Surrender Surprise: When You Finally Stop Swimming Upstream and Actually Like It

At some point during the patience-building stage, something shifts. It’s rarely a dramatic moment—more often it’s a quiet realization that you’ve stopped fighting against your new reality and have begun to move with it instead of against it. Welcome to the acceptance stage, where you finally make peace with change.

Consider the case of Miguel, a dedicated city dweller who had built his entire identity around urban living. When his partner’s job required them to relocate to a small rural town, Miguel was initially devastated. He mourned the loss of his favourite coffee shops, the anonymity of city crowds, the constant stimulation of urban life.

“For the first few months, I basically treated our new town like an extended, unfortunate vacation,” Miguel explained. “I refused to unpack certain boxes. I kept my city apartment’s keys on my keychain even though we’d given up the lease. I was essentially living with one foot out the door.”

The turning point came unexpectedly. Miguel had developed a habit of taking long walks around the town—initially as a way to escape the confines of their new home, but gradually as a genuine pleasure. On one such walk, he found himself chatting with an elderly neighbor about the history of the town’s old mill.

“She invited me in for tea, and I found myself actually interested in her stories,” Miguel recalled. “Then she offered me some homemade bread, and I realized I was hungry. Such a simple thing, but it was the first time I’d felt a normal, human need in our new location rather than just resentment or longing for the city.”

That evening, Miguel unpacked the last boxes. He removed his old apartment keys from his keychain. He downloaded a bird-watching app to identify the visitors to their backyard feeder.

“I didn’t suddenly become a different person,” he clarified. “I still miss aspects of city life. But I stopped seeing our new home as the enemy of my happiness and started seeing it as the context for a new chapter. The difference is subtle but profound.”

This stage of acceptance doesn’t mean that you’ve forgotten what came before or that you never feel nostalgia or regret. It simply means that you’ve stopped expending energy fighting against what is. You’ve begun to recognize possibilities in your new circumstances rather than just limitations.

During this phase, you might find yourself developing new routines that feel natural rather than forced. You might discover unexpected joys in your changed situation. You might even catch yourself feeling defensive when others criticize aspects of your new life that you’ve come to appreciate.

For Miguel, acceptance evolved into something even more powerful: appreciation. “I never thought I’d say this, but I actually love certain things about small-town living now,” he admitted. “The way people know my name at the local shops. The quiet at night. The fact that I can see stars—actual stars!—from our backyard.”

This stage marks the beginning of true transition. You’re no longer merely enduring change; you’re beginning to participate in it, to co-create your new reality rather than simply react to it.

Stage 9: Identity Reconstruction: The Phoenix Remix

The Identity Scavenger Hunt: When You Start Finding Puzzle Pieces You Didn’t Know You Lost

Once you’ve accepted change, you enter perhaps the most creative stage of transition: identity reconstruction. This is where you begin to incorporate your new circumstances, roles, and experiences into an expanded sense of who you are.

Sophia, a devoted mother of three, found herself in this stage when her youngest child left for college. After twenty-five years of intensive parenting, she suddenly had an empty nest and a yawning identity void.

“For most of my adult life, if someone asked me to describe myself, ‘mother’ would have been the first word out of my mouth,” Sophia said. “Suddenly, that role had fundamentally changed. I was still a mother, of course, but not in the same all-consuming way. I had to figure out who else I was.”

At first, Sophia tried to fill the void with surrogate parenting—volunteering at a local school, babysitting for neighbours, even considering fostering. But gradually, she realized she was attempting to recreate her old identity rather than build a new one.

“I had to ask myself a question I hadn’t considered in decades: What do I actually enjoy doing?” she recalled. “Not as someone’s mother, but as myself. It was startling to realize I didn’t immediately know the answer.”

Sophia embarked on what she jokingly called her “identity scavenger hunt.” She tried new activities, revived old interests, and gave herself permission to experiment. Some attempts were dead ends—it turned out she definitely did not enjoy rock climbing or competitive chess. But others revealed aspects of herself that had been dormant during her intensive parenting years.

“I discovered that I love botanical illustration,” she said. “I’d always enjoyed plants, and I’d always doodled, but I’d never combined these interests or taken either seriously. Now I take classes, I join sketching groups, I have my own little business selling my illustrations. I’ve developed a whole community around this part of myself.”

What makes this stage so powerful is that you’re not creating an entirely new identity from scratch. Rather, you’re integrating your new experiences and circumstances with core aspects of who you’ve always been, creating a more expansive and nuanced sense of self.

During this phase, you might find yourself revisiting old passions or discovering entirely new ones. You might experiment with different ways of expressing yourself. You might be surprised to uncover talents or interests that you didn’t know you had.

For Sophia, identity reconstruction has been a continuous process. “I’m still a mother, but I’m also an artist, a small business owner, a student, a friend in new ways,” she reflected. “The joy of this stage is realizing that identity isn’t fixed—it’s fluid and constantly evolving. That discovery has been incredibly freeing.”

This stage is not about replacing your old identity, but about expanding it to include new dimensions. It’s about recognizing that you are not defined by a single role or circumstance, but by the unique constellation of experiences, relationships, and passions that make you who you are.

Stage 10: Remobilization: The Victorious Relaunch

The Imposter Graduation: When You Stop Playing the Part and Start Living It

The final stage of transition is remobilization—the point where you begin to move forward with confidence and purpose in your new reality. The groundwork laid in the previous stages—acceptance, identity reconstruction—now allows you to engage fully with your changed circumstances.

Thomas, a former corporate executive who took early retirement to pursue a lifelong dream of opening a bookstore, found himself in this stage after a year of adjustment.

“For the first six months, I was basically playing bookstore owner,” Thomas explained. “I went through the motions, but I felt like an imposter. I kept expecting someone to come in and say, ‘You don’t belong here—get back to your spreadsheets!'”

Gradually, as Thomas accepted his new role and reconstructed his identity, he began to gain momentum. He started innovative community programs at the bookstore. He developed relationships with local authors. He created a business model that reflected his values rather than merely mimicking other bookstores.

“There was no single moment when I suddenly felt like a ‘real’ bookstore owner,” he said. “It was more like a series of small moments where I found myself making decisions with confidence, taking risks, and genuinely enjoying the challenges instead of just enduring them.”

This stage is characterized by a renewed sense of agency and purpose. The paralysis of early transition is gone, replaced by forward momentum. You’re no longer merely reacting to change; you’re actively directing it, shaping your new reality according to your values and vision.

During this phase, you might find yourself taking initiative in ways that would have been unthinkable during earlier stages. You might discover new creative energy. You might feel a sense of authentic alignment between who you are and what you’re doing.

For Thomas, remobilization has brought unexpected joy. “I’m actually grateful now for the corporate downsizing that pushed me into early retirement,” he confessed. “I would never have had the courage to make this leap otherwise. And now I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

This stage doesn’t mean that you’ve “completed” your transition in some final, absolute sense. Life is a continual process of change and growth. But remobilization marks the point where you’ve successfully integrated change into your life and identity, where you’re moving forward rather than looking back.

Thomas summed it up beautifully: “The strange thing about major life transitions is that they eventually transition themselves—from being the dramatic disruption that defined your life to simply being the path you’re on. One day you realize that what once felt foreign now feels like home.”

Conclusion: The Continuous Cycle of Transition

If you’ve been nodding along to these stages, perhaps recognizing yourself in some of the stories, congratulations—you’re a fellow traveller on the bumpy road of life transitions. The good news is that understanding these stages doesn’t just help you navigate your current transition; it builds your resilience for future ones as well.

Because here’s the truth that greeting cards and motivational posters don’t tell you: life isn’t a straight line with occasional disruptions. It’s a continuous cycle of transitions, each one offering the opportunity for growth, discovery, and occasional public embarrassment.

The parent who masters the transition to an empty nest will eventually face retirement. The career-changer who successfully navigates a new industry will someday confront health challenges. The newlywed who adjusts to married life will, in time, adapt to other relational evolutions.

What changes isn’t the presence of transitions, but our relationship to them. Each time we move through these ten stages, we develop deeper trust in our ability to navigate change. We build a more expansive identity that can accommodate new roles and circumstances. We cultivate patience, resilience, and even a sense of humour about the inevitable awkwardness of transformation.

So the next time you find yourself staring blankly at your boss, obsessively checking your phone, or sobbing to your barista—take heart. You’re not failing at life; you’re simply human, navigating the messy, beautiful process of change. And somewhere in the world, the rest of us are right there with you, fumbling our way forward, one transition at a time.

Because ultimately, the secret to mastering life transitions isn’t avoiding them or rushing through them—it’s learning to dance with them, even when you occasionally step on your own feet.

Further Reading:

Raihan N, Cogburn M. Stages of Change Theory. [Updated 2023 Mar 6]. In: StatPearls [Internet]. Treasure Island (FL): StatPearls Publishing; 2025 Jan-.  Transtheoretical Model (TTM) The TTM describes behavioral change as a series of stages: Precontemplation → Contemplation → Preparation → Action → Maintenance → Termination.

Jørgensen M, Smith ORF, Wold B, Haug E. Social inequality in the association between life transitions into adulthood and depressed mood: a 27-year longitudinal study. Front Public Health. 2024 Feb 27;12:1286554.

Cash, T. A., Aknin, L. B., & Girme, Y. U. (2024). Everyday acts of kindness predict greater well-being during the transition to university. Social and Personality Psychology Compass, 18(6), e12972.