Winter Solstice

The longest night & the turning point

The Longest Night

Winter Solstice is here, the longest night of the year, the moment where darkness stretches as far as it possibly can before the light slowly begins to return. This time of year is perfect for feeling where we actually are as the year comes to a close.

There’s something comforting about acknowledging the end of a cycle without rushing to define the next one. The year is winding down, the energy is slowing, and I find myself asking: what am I done carrying? What no longer gets to come with me into the next chapter of my life?

A Year That Asked Me to Stop

This year has been… a lot. The kind of year that doesn’t gently tap you on the shoulder, but aggressively grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you until you listen (whether you like it or not). My body slammed every emergency brake it had this year until slowing down was no longer optional (don’t worry universe, the message was received).

At the time, it felt like everything was just piling onto itself, like I was strapped to the front of a train going 100 mph and couldn’t catch a break.

But with some distance and time, I can see that what was really being taken from me wasn’t my strength or my momentum; it was my attachment to control.

The belief that I could plan, organize, and push my way into safety. That productivity meant I was doing okay. That slowing down meant I was falling behind or failing.

What We Carry Out of Habit

One of the biggest things this year taught me is how much we carry simply because we’re used to it. Old patterns. Old identities. Old versions of ourselves that once made sense, but don’t actually fit the life we’re trying to live now.

We hold onto them not because they’re aligned, but because they’re familiar.

Emotion doesn’t disappear when we ignore it. It settles. It builds. It waits. And eventually, it finds a way out. Sometimes that looks like anxiety or burnout. Sometimes it looks like pain. Sometimes it looks like your body saying, “Hey, we’re not doing this anymore,” and refusing to cooperate until you listen.

Winter Solstice feels like an invitation to stop dragging those things forward just because we always have.

To choose, consciously, what doesn’t get to cross into the next season.

Because here’s the thing, you have a choice. Yeah, I know crazy concept that you get to choose what you are going to hold onto or not. Sometimes these beliefs and patterns feel so overwhelming (trust me, I know), but it’s like this:

You are sitting neck deep in a body of water, thinking that there is no way that you can get out of this. The water is rising and is so close to covering your head that you think you might drown.

But then something shifts. You pause, and you begin to feel your body instead of fighting it. And when you do, you realize that you stand up. You see that the water was not as deep as you thought it was.

The water was real, yes, but the control that it had over you was an illusion. The fear of drowning was valid, but that fear was also keeping you trapped from realizing that if you just sit still for a moment, and tune into your body, you can indeed stand up, and the water is not as deep as you think.

A Solstice Practice For Releasing

This is a practice I’ve done for the past two years, and the one I want to offer you too, especially if this year knocked the wind out of you in ways you didn’t expect:

What do you want to leave behind before the year turns? A way of speaking to yourself? A pattern you keep revisiting? A version of you that you're clinging onto? A fear that has been controlling your life?

Step 1: Journal it out.
Sit down with a notebook and write freely on the question above, really sit with this question and be detailed, and be brutally honest with yourself. Write until something feels clear (or until several things do).

Step 2: Name the release.
On a separate piece of paper, write this sentence:
I am releasing ______ because it no longer supports the woman I am becoming.
Repeat this as many times as you need.

For me, one of the big ones is the fear of being seen. Which feels ironic, considering the work I feel called to do requires exactly that. But I don’t get to build a new life while dragging old fears into it just because they’re familiar.

Step 3: Say it out loud.
Yes, out loud. Even if it feels cheesy. Stand in front of the mirror if you can; there’s something powerful about being witnessed by yourself as you make this claim.

Step 4: Release it physically.
Burn the paper (safely, of course). Fire is deeply cleansing; the act of burning something represents purification. If burning isn’t an option, tear it up, rip it dramatically, or crumple it up and throw it away. Do something physical enough that your body registers the release.

Devotion Over Discipline

One of the biggest things this year made painfully clear to me is that I don’t need more discipline. I don’t need to push myself harder. I don’t need to do more, optimize more, or white-knuckle my way through life because I think I should. That approach got me really good at overriding my body (and really bad at listening to it).

What I actually needed was devotion.

I didn’t need more rules to follow or systems to force myself into. My body didn’t need more control. It needed more tuning in. More honesty. More nourishment. More trust.

More honoring myself instead of treating my body like something to manage.

This shift didn’t happen overnight, but it’s something I’ve truly adapted over the past year. Discipline is about training yourself to follow rules or standards, often through correction and control. Devotion, on the other hand, comes from the heart. It’s loyalty, reverence, commitment, and care. It’s choosing yourself, not because you’re failing or need fixing, but because you’re worthy of being supported.

Devotion is a commitment to your body, your energy, your purpose, and your life. It’s a way of claiming your power. And if you’re going to be devoted to one thing in this life, let it be you. Let it be your well-being. Let it be your inner knowing. Let it be the version of yourself you’re becoming.

If this resonates, I wrote an entire post on this shift, read it here —> Devotion vs. Discipline.

The Turning Point

This year Winter Solstice feels especially potent to me. Not as a moment to fix or overhaul my life, but as a turning point. A chance to ask myself what kind of relationship I want to have with my body and my inner world moving forward.

This season has made me deeply aware that we don’t change by forcing ourselves into new routines. We change by learning how to listen, how to nourish, and how to support ourselves in ways that actually feel sustainable. And that realization is what led me to create the work I’m offering now.

I’m so excited to open the doors to The Blueprint to Bliss, a 1:1 coaching container for women who are ready to stop pushing through and start building a life that feels aligned to their body. This work is rooted in devotion to your cycle, your energy, your nourishment, your nervous system, and your unique rhythm. No rigid rules, no one-size-fits-all plans. Just support that meets you where you are, and helps you move forward with clarity and trust.

If you feel like this year stripped you down in ways you didn’t expect, and you’re ready to rebuild from a place of devotion, this is for you.