Rising Rooted

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I let myself go dark this year.

Not in a dramatic, existential-crisis way — more in the seasonal animal curling into its den way. For the past couple of months, I’ve been living like a rooted thing: pared back, minimal, quiet. My to-do lists were tiny. My social energy was… let’s call it selective. Most evenings were knitting, reading, or staring at the fire in that liminal trance where nothing changes but somehow you do.

We are nearing the end of the dark season, and here in the Ottawa Valley the landscape has already flipped. Snow is blanketing everything in this bright hush, and it does something wild to me — it’s like the first whisper of the returning light. Even before winter solstice officially arrives, my body can feel the pivot. Something in me is stirring, forming, gathering itself. A seed with shape.

But I’m catching myself, too, because I know the difference between a true inner shift and that culturally conditioned spark of “Time to get your life together! New Year, new you! Optimize, optimize, optimize!”

No, thank you. This is not that energy.

This is quieter. Older. Slower.

This is the beginning of a beginning.

Solstice as a Turning Point (But Not a Sprint)

Solstice is the moment the sun begins its long return. The Oak King rises again in old stories — taking back the year from the Holly King and ushering in a slow, steady unfurling of light. It’s a pivot point, not a parade. A cosmic exhale.

And this year, because I really allowed myself to embrace the dark season — to sit in uncertainty, to rest, to not-fix what wasn’t ready to shift — the return of the light feels almost… buoyant. Like something in me is budding, but still deep underground.

This is the secret of winter:

It’s the season of germination, not growth.

Foundation-setting, not deadlines.

Dreaming, not doing.

A Brief (But Necessary) Political Interlude

I want to name something gently but honestly:

It is much easier to embrace seasonal rhythms when your life is structured in a way that allows for it.

I work part-time. I live rurally with direct access to nature. I’m not commuting an hour in a snowstorm to sit under fluorescent lighting for eight hours. Many people are, and that deeply shapes how winter feels in their bodies.

And it’s not you — it’s the system.

Our current work culture was not designed with human nervous systems in mind, let alone seasonal rhythms. The 40-hour work week isn’t about wellness; it’s about productivity. And if winter feels hard, heavy, or impossible to enjoy, that’s not a personal failing. That’s a mismatch between human biology and capitalist time.

I’m naming this because I don’t believe the answer to exhaustion is to simply “embrace winter harder.”

The answer, at least in part, is imagining what else could be possible — and finding small cracks of possibility within the life you already have.

The Fool: The Archetype of Sacred Naïveté

This brings me to my favourite tarot card of the moment: The Fool.

I used to dislike this card. It felt childish, ignorant, unserious — exactly the opposite of what my inner overachiever wanted to embody. But once I learned its story, something softened.

The Fool is zero.

The beginning and the end.

The energy inside every new idea before it becomes a plan.

The hopeful trickster who steps forward not because they know what they’re doing, but because something in them refuses to shrink.

This is the archetype of solstice energy for me. Not the bursting-forth of spring — but the naïve courage that lets us dream in the dark. The Fool doesn’t rush. The Fool meanders. Plays. Experiments. Trusts the tug of desire long before there’s clarity.

It feels like the perfect companion to the Oak King — a gentle masculine dreaming that doesn’t strive, but simply follows the light as it returns.

Your Nervous System in Winter (You’re Not Broken)

If you’ve felt:

• Low motivation
• Emotional heaviness
• Irritability
• A craving for quiet
• A desire to withdraw

…you’re not doing winter wrong. You’re doing it correctly.

Humans are seasonal creatures. When the world turns inward, so do we. And yes — you’re allowed to choose comfort. You’re allowed to wrap yourself in blankets, sit by a window, and read something that feels like balm. You’re allowed to go slow, or to dislike the cold, or to be annoyed that your boots are always wet.

And if winter is hard where you live, I see that. Truly. Sometimes it’s not winter you hate — it’s the way modern life forces you to move through winter at the exact same pace as summer. That’s not natural. That’s not humane.

So instead of trying to override your body, I want to invite you to listen to it.

On Urgency, Actualization, and Letting Your Dreams Germinate

This season taught me something big:

Not every dream is meant to be done this year.

For months I’d been feeling pressure (“internal” but absolutely shaped by the culture around me) to push forward with my soul-led wellness project. Make it happen. Build the thing. Upgrade the business. Growgrowgrow.

But when I really sat with it — when I let myself feel the dream inside my body — I realized:

This isn’t a one-year plan.

This is a ten-year plan.

And that made everything loosen. Suddenly the dream could be joyful again. Playful. Fool energy, not hustle energy. I don’t need to optimize my life. I want to actualize it — slowly, intuitively, at the pace of my nervous system.

So I’m done with racing.

I’m choosing to meander instead.

A Simple Solstice Ritual

On solstice, or the closest day you can manage:

Light a candle.

Sit by a window.

And witness the moment — sunrise, sunset, or even moonrise.

No intentions. No resolutions.

Just relationship with the shifting light.

Notice how the light touches the snow.

Notice if anything shifts in you — even subtly.

Let this be a reminder that the world is always turning, even when you feel still.

Three Germination Questions for Slow Dreaming

1. What wants to grow in me quietly, without deadlines or urgency?
2. Where is life asking me to trust beginnings I cannot yet see?
3. Who might I become if I let myself wander, play, and meander for a while?

These aren’t questions to answer quickly. Let them compost. Let them become the soil beneath your year.

Practical, Everyday Ways to Embrace Winter

(Even if you work 40+ hours a week.)

• Take 30 seconds with your warm drink before you start your day.
• Stand at a window and notice one small shift in the light.
• Let yourself do one chore slowly, on purpose.
• Wrap a blanket around your shoulders and read for pleasure — even five minutes.
• Step outside for one minute of cold air, then return to the warmth (micro sensory reset).
• Notice how sound changes after snowfall; let the quiet settle in your body.
• Let yourself enjoy something tiny: a lamp, a cup, a scent, a texture.

This is how the mundane becomes magical again.

Not by adding more — but by shifting how you meet what’s already here.

If you’re feeling tired, unmotivated, restless, or tender — you’re not doing life wrong. You’re living in a system that asks for summer energy while your whole body is asking for winter.

We belong to something older and wiser than productivity culture. We belong to rhythms, to light, to darkness, to cycles.

This solstice, may you find one moment of stillness.

One breath of hope.

One spark of Fool energy that says:

It’s okay to dream slowly. It’s okay not to know yet. It’s okay to begin again.

***If you’re interested in embracing winter energy, check out my other posts about it!

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If this spoke to something in you, there are a few paths you can follow from here:

Each door leads somewhere different. It is my hope that all of them lead back to you.

<3 Rachel