When the Old Skins Falls Away
Wave-Rider’s Joyfly
A dark navy sea opens beneath bright aqua and seafoam waves, each line of felted motion carrying a tiny fly that has become something more—dragonfly, kite, spirit-messenger. Angled as if mid-flight, this piece is all forward momentum, the pure delight of
catching a current and letting it carry you. A talisman for the brave-hearted wanderer who knows that play is a form of courage.
Their Blessing:
May you ride the waves of your life with bold joy, trusting the currents that lift you and the winds that whisper you onward.
December Greetings!
As we arrive at the threshold of December, I find myself moving a bit slower, listening a bit deeper. This season of my life (especially as I navigate the landscape of perimenopause) has been asking me to honor myself in new and important ways. It has amplified truths I can no longer tuck away: the need to understand my own wiring more fully, to tend to the parts of myself I’ve long worked around or pushed through, to finally offer myself the kind of clarity and compassion I’ve previously offered others.
This year has invited me into a more honest relationship with who I am beneath all the adapting, performing, and coping. There’s been a quiet urgency to get curious about the patterns that shape me. Not to fix myself. To know myself. To honor the way my mind works, the way my energy rises and falls, and the specific rhythms that truly support my wellbeing. This inner exploration feels like an extension of my spiritual path: a remembering of the self beneath the skins I’ve outgrown.
And truly, this entire Year of the Snake has been one long, spiraling molt. When I look back, it feels like a compilation of my lifetime thus far:
Winter brought a kind of life-review through illness — an invitation into the caverns of my body, those dark, quiet places where wisdom gathers.
Spring echoed the times of rebuilding after collapse. Rising again not because I felt ready, but because something deep within refused to stay buried.
Summer reminded me of the seasons I’ve overworked to prove my worth. Those bright, demanding months where effort and value were tangled together.
Fall arrived with lightning clarity. Stark moments that ask us to pivot, choose differently, or tell the truth we’ve been orbiting around.
And now, this December, this descent, feels like uncharted territory. As if this entire year has been preparing me to step into the version of myself that all my former selves have been walking toward. It doesn’t feel like reinvention. It feels like arrival. A willingness to actively participate in being who I am becoming.
Collectively, I sense many of us at a similar edge. There is a subtle rumbling under the surface. A call toward deeper authenticity, gentler rhythms, and a reclamation of the self we keep promising to tend “when life slows down.” The Snake year asks us: What skin are you finally ready to leave behind? And who do you become once you do?
As we enter this final month of 2025, I invite you to look back with curiosity rather than judgment. To track the threads of your own year — the endings, the beginnings, the small resurrections — and to feel into what this winter is whispering to you.
How is December showing up for you? What are you shedding, reclaiming, or stepping toward? What wisdom is being revealed as the light grows thin? I’d love to hear from you! Write back and share your reflections.
Thank you for being in this time with me. Your presence is felt, treasured, and woven into the medicines of my work. Wishing you and yours a healthy and happy holiday season!
Much love to you and your spirit,
Sara
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