Career Transitions as Trainable Skills: Research Offers Framework for Managing Professional Change

Being in the process of creating a narrative through a stable anchor is what makes a person feel stable.
Wittman explains why mentorship relationships matter most during periods of professional uncertainty and identity change.
Mark

When you say these are trainable skills, what does training actually look like? Is someone supposed to sit down and practice narrating their identity like it's a language lesson?

Mimi

Not quite. It's more organic than that. You're already doing it whenever you talk to someone new about what you're working on or where you're headed. The training is in doing it deliberately—choosing people who will push back, who know you well enough to say "that doesn't sound like you" or "I believe that." It's rehearsal in real time.

Mark

And the liminality piece—the in-between space. That sounds genuinely uncomfortable. Why would someone want to strengthen their ability to sit with that?

Mimi

Because liminality is inevitable now. Your career won't be linear. You'll be in-between many times. The question isn't whether you'll experience it, but whether you'll recognize it as a phase you've survived before, a place where learning happens. That recognition itself is stabilizing.

Mark

So the anchor relationships—the mentors—those aren't just about advice. They're about being seen.

Mimi

Exactly. When your identity is in flux, when you're not sure who you are professionally, having someone who knows you in a stable capacity and can reflect that back to you is grounding. And Wittman's point about reciprocity is important. You're not just receiving. You become that anchor for someone else.

Mark

Does this framework assume people have access to these kinds of relationships? What if someone's isolated or working in an environment where mentorship isn't available?

Mimi

That's the real limitation. The framework describes what works, but it doesn't solve the structural problem of access. Some people have rich networks and patient mentors. Others don't. The research points toward what helps, but it can't create the conditions where help is available to everyone.

  • Modern careers no longer follow straight lines—people shift industries, return to school, and reinvent themselves repeatedly, making identity disruption a near-universal professional experience.
  • The deepest tension lies in liminality: that suspended, disorienting state of being no longer who you were but not yet who you are becoming, which many mistake for failure rather than recognize as a necessary phase.
  • Researchers are pushing back against the idea that adaptability is innate, arguing instead that three distinct capacities—narrative, tolerance for uncertainty, and relational anchoring—can be deliberately strengthened over time.
  • The framework's most urgent practical insight is that the people you tell your emerging story to matter enormously: future-oriented relationships act as rehearsal spaces and mirrors for an identity still taking shape.
  • The trajectory points toward structured self-reflection and reciprocal mentorship as concrete tools, with the framework landing not as a guarantee of success but as a map for building cumulative resilience.

As careers grow ever more nonlinear and identity-disrupting, a team of organizational researchers has proposed that the capacity to navigate professional change is not a fixed trait but a trainable set of skills. Sarah Wittman of George Mason University and her collaborators have named these skills 'transition muscles'—the ability to narrate an emerging self, to endure the discomfort of in-between states, and to cultivate relationships that anchor identity when it feels most uncertain. Their framework arrives as a quiet but serious argument: that resilience in the face of change is less a matter of character than of practice, and that each transition, navigated well, prepares us more fully for the next.

Sarah Wittman, who teaches management and industrial-organizational psychology at George Mason University, has spent years observing how people move—or fail to move—through professional change. Her central finding is deceptively simple: the ability to transition successfully between identities is not something you either have or lack. It is trainable. It works like a muscle.

Working with collaborators at Northern Illinois University and the University of Iowa, Wittman developed a framework built around three such muscles. The first, the content muscle, is the capacity to tell a coherent story about who you are becoming—not a polished résumé, but a living narrative tested in conversation, adjusted through feedback, and told again. The second, the process muscle, is the ability to sit with liminality—the uncomfortable in-between state that marks every real transition—and to draw on the wisdom accumulated from past periods of uncertainty. The third, the context muscle, involves building relationships with anchors: mentors or trusted friends who can reflect back a stable sense of self when everything else feels in flux.

The framework speaks directly to a moment when careers have become radically nonlinear. People shift industries, become parents, relocate, start over. Each move involves a kind of identity death and rebirth, and the research suggests that how one navigates that suspended space shapes not only the outcome of the current transition but one's capacity for every transition that follows.

What distinguishes this approach is its refusal to treat people in transition as blank slates. It honors the fact that different individuals experience the same change differently, shaped by personal history and social context. It also insists that mentorship works best when it flows in both directions—that having survived uncertainty, you are equipped to hold the light for someone else still in the fog. The framework offers no guarantees, only a well-reasoned argument that the skills required to navigate change can be learned, practiced, and carried forward.

Sarah Wittman, who teaches management and industrial-organizational psychology at George Mason University, has spent years watching people stumble through career changes. What she's found is this: the ability to move successfully from one professional identity to another isn't something you're born with. It's trainable. It works like a muscle—something you strengthen through use, through practice, through deliberate repetition.

Wittman and her collaborators at Northern Illinois University and the University of Iowa have developed a framework built on this insight. They call the core capacities "transition muscles," and they've identified three of them. The first is what they call the content muscle—the ability to tell a coherent story about who you are becoming. The second is the process muscle—the capacity to sit with the discomfort of being in-between identities, what researchers call liminality, and to draw on what you've learned from past periods of uncertainty. The third is the context muscle—the skill of building and maintaining relationships with people who know you well enough to reflect back who you are, especially when you're unsure yourself.

The framework arrives at a moment when career paths have become decidedly nonlinear. People no longer move in straight lines from entry-level to senior roles within a single organization. They shift industries, become parents while working, relocate, start businesses, return to school. Each of these moves involves a kind of identity death and rebirth. You are no longer the person you were. You are not yet the person you will be. The research suggests that how you navigate that in-between space determines not just whether you succeed in the new role, but whether you emerge from it more capable of handling the next transition.

The content muscle develops when you practice narrating your emerging identity to others—particularly to people who can give you honest feedback. This isn't about crafting a polished LinkedIn profile. It's about repeatedly telling the story of your new self, testing it against reality, adjusting it, telling it again. Wittman points out that this works best when you're building relationships with people who will become part of your future, not just maintaining connections from your past. Each conversation becomes a kind of rehearsal. Each person you tell becomes a mirror.

The process muscle strengthens when you recognize that liminality—that suspended state between identities—is not a failure of transition but a phase of it. Everyone has experienced it. Becoming a parent, moving to a new city, starting college—these are all liminal moments. Wittman suggests that structured reflection on these past experiences, whether through journaling or conversation, can help you recognize patterns in how you've adapted before. You've survived uncertainty. You've learned things in the fog. That knowledge is portable.

The context muscle is perhaps the most social of the three. It grows through relationships with anchors—mentors or trusted friends who know you in one of your established capacities and can reflect back a stable sense of self when everything else feels in flux. Wittman emphasizes that these relationships work best when they're reciprocal. You don't just receive mentorship; you become a mentor to someone else navigating their own transition. You've been in the fog. You can hold the light for someone else.

What makes this framework different from much existing research is that it doesn't treat people in transition as blank slates. It acknowledges that different people experience the same transition differently, shaped by their own agency and by the social validation they receive. The framework offers no guarantee. But it suggests that the skills required to navigate change are not mysterious or innate. They can be learned. They can be strengthened. And each time you move through a transition, you become more capable of moving through the next one.

People in transition are not blank slates, and different people likely live similar transitions differently.
— Wittman and co-authors
Being in the process of creating a narrative through a stable anchor is what makes a person feel stable.
— Sarah Wittman
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