Imbolc

Gentle beginnings, quiet clarity, and the courage to soften.

It’s a snow day here in Upstate, NY, and as I watch the puffy white snowflakes conceal the Earth, I’m reminded that just because I can no longer see the surface doesn’t mean it’s not still there. We are approaching the cross quarter holiday of Imbolc, an important festival within the Wheel of the Year. The spirit of Imbolc is all about winter’s natural softening and the first signs of life stirring beneath the soil. The idea that, like the sun, we are becoming a little stronger with every new day. Our hope is reawakening. Even if the ground beneath us is still frozen, we feel a deep sense of change. Just like the snowfall burying the Earth’s surface this morning, I’m asking myself: what’s stirring deep within me?

Under my own snowfall of comfy socks, an assortment of sweatpants, giant jackets, and cups of tea, there’s something changing within me. I can feel the earliest signs of something being planted, my own inner landscape shifting to accommodate new ideas and growth. What I love about Imbolc is that it’s associated with gentle beginnings, not the loud, action based manifestation process that we usually move through, but a quiet feeling of renewal and clarity. I’ve had this sense of clarity building for a while, and now I see it more and more with every new day. In the past, I felt I needed to do it all. That if I didn’t, no one would. But in the process of taking it all on, I moved farther and farther away from the trust and faith that it would always work out the way it was meant to. I crafted a narrative that made me feel alone, unsupported, and overwhelmed. And that, my friend, became a limiting belief.