The Grace of Stillness: Why I’m Still Not Rushing Into ‘New Years’
The calendar may have flipped to 2025, but as I look outside my window, I’m reminded that nature is in no rush. The trees stand bare, the ground sleeps under a milky frost, and life whispers, rest. Yet, every January, we’re encouraged to leap into action, to resolve, transform, and bloom—regardless of the season. For me, this has never felt quite right.
We’re halfway through the first month of 2025, and I can’t help but ask: does life feel any different? Part of me wants to say no, but deep down, I know how much has changed—not because the calendar has flipped, or resolutions or sudden bursts of motivation, but through a slow, steady burn.
Instead of declaring goals or making grand plans, I’ve been taking action with ease and gathering breadcrumbs—small signs and visions of what’s next. It hasn’t been about rushing into transformation. It’s about allowing myself to be in the void, the stillness, where clarity can take root.
I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. Many years, I greeted January 1st feeling like the past year had hit me over the head—a mix of overindulgence and disappointment. But as I’ve grown, I’ve found that the traditional calendar new year feels out of sync with my soul.
Here in Canada, January is the dead of winter. The world outside is resting, regenerating, and quietly preparing for what’s next. If I am one with nature, why should I expect myself to flourish while everything else is still? It’s like planting seeds in frozen ground and expecting them to sprout.
Since autumn, I’ve felt a natural pull to shed and release. Winter has invited me to slow down, to rest deeply, and to honor what needs to end. This hasn’t been easy. My brain, conditioned to value constant productivity, resists. But my body knows the truth: rest is essential for growth.
Winter has taught me:
To embrace stillness and let go of constant productivity.
That rest is not laziness but a necessary part of growth.
To trust the process of release, knowing it creates space for what’s next.
In the stillness of winter’s long nights, I find the grace to grieve—to let go of parts of myself I’ve clung to out of fear. Change excites me, but it also terrifies me.
And yet, I know that what I release will create space for what’s next.
I’m clinging to these ideas…
that success looks a certain way…
that my business and marketing need to follow rigid strategies (XY and Z because this is what I see others doing)…
I hold onto fears of failure and of judgement, that stop me from taking risks and keep my heart closed…
This is a version of myself that feels safe but no longer fits. It’s nearing the time to let go of these things, even though they feel familiar and comforting, so I can step into a version of myself that’s open and aligned with what’s next.
As A Course in Miracles says, “Whatever we leave empty, grace will fill.” This year, instead of rushing to fill my life with plans and goals, I’m allowing myself to be empty. To trust that when the time is right, what’s meant to bloom will find its way to the light.
If you want to learn more about nature’s rhythms and how to sync with her (& gather with some incredible women),
Join my Book Club and Womens Sacred Circle.
We are reading Unleash Her Wild by Akaiy’ha and we start gathering on February 6th at 7pm. You can find more information here.
In my first blog post, “Thanks, Instagram, for finally breaking my into blogging” I touched on my human design profile and how I am meant to experiment and share what works and what doesn’t. This winter reflection feels like a continuation of that—letting go of what no longer serves and making room for what’s next.
