honouring the season you’re in
a personal check-in — and a guided ritual to help you do the same
The aftermath of saying goodbye to a loved one.
Spring that flip-flops with winter.
A beautiful 35th birthday.
Nurturing the relationships that feed me in this season.
A full-on breakdown about maybe, possibly, one day wanting children — and realizing it may or may not happen.
I’m sinking into some semblance of surrender, love, and acceptance that feels older, wiser, more tender.
A different kind of softness — earned softness.
Having enough chapters behind me to recognize patterns.
To witness milestones.
To know that everything — every season, every identity, every breakthrough and breakdown — is just that.
Temporary.
And that is strangely liberating.
This time last year, I was standing on the edge of a cliff I didn’t even know was there:
leaving the city I called home for over a decade,
shutting down a business I had built with everything I had,
and leaping headfirst into a new life with a new pace,
a new love,
and a new rhythm I’d never given myself permission to try before.
It has quite literally been the best year of my life.
And also, the one with the most unexpected grief.
I’ve felt the discomfort and the thrill of growth in equal measure.
I know I’m onto something — I can feel it in my body, in my breath, in the quiet moments when I map out this new dream that feels so right.
But in the other hand, I hold grief:
Loss of friendships due to dishonesty and value misalignment
The simplicity of a past chapter that no longer fits
Watching my partner grieve the death of his father, and how that grief reshapes love
My own estrangement from narcissistic parents and the kind of grief that doesn’t come with funerals
Budget constraints, creative heartbreaks, false starts
Noticing my people-pleasing habits creep in when I feel uncertain or scared
The ache of unexpected friendship breakups — hearing what was said about me, not to me — and learning to be okay being the “villain” in someone else’s story.
And yet—
I look around and I see tiny green shoots breaking through.
New friendships that feel rooted and reciprocal.
Slow weekends that leave space for rest and creativity.
Ideas I’ve carried for years — a book, a body of work, ritual kits, a rhythm of ritual, cycles of creation — that feel intuitive, not forced, finally taking form.
Planting microgreens in the kitchen.
Holding hands in bed, watching our favorite show.
Letting people see me, as I really am.
Trusting that’s enough.
This season has been about reflecting, grieving, creating, and celebrating — all at once.
I’m tilling the soil.
Planting seeds.
And practicing the radical act of not rushing any of it.
Because when you’ve been conditioned to measure your worth in output, the real revolution is rest.
The real courage is giving yourself time — and trusting that something special and worthy of the wait is stirring beneath.
🌱 A small invitation, if you're here with me:
What season are you in right now?
Are you shedding? Planting? Resting? Growing? Grieving?
This week, I invite you to notice where you are in your own cycle — not where you wish you were, or where you think you should be — but where you actually are.
✨ Need support tuning in?
I’ve added a gentle guided audio — to help you get clear on what season you’re in and how to meet yourself there with care.
Put in your earbuds, light a candle, find a quiet & cozy spot. This practice always brings me back to myself when I need it most.
PS: For paid Ritual Room subscribers — I’ll soon be sharing a deeper dive into the Creation Cycle framework, along with a fresh set of rituals and journal prompts to help you build momentum in your creative projects and move in deeper alignment with the season you're in.
I’m also planning a live gathering to support you with reflection, gentle accountability, and community connection.
More details coming soon — I can’t wait to share this next layer with you.
With love,
Lace
so proud of you 🤍