Your (Almost) End-of-year Love Letter

Photo by Jerome Jossin

Yes, it is almost that time of year. As the mornings continue to get colder and the last stubborn leaves fall from the trees, there is a quiet inner-knowing that glows with dulled edges, pulling us closer to the heartstrings we’ve been ignoring, avoiding, or politely postponing.

Winter has this way of clearing the stage.
The darker days tap us on the shoulder and whisper, “Hey… you missed a few things.”

Sometimes this feels heavy.
Sometimes it feels like a deep exhale.
Sometimes it’s the perfect moment for composting old structures or the parts of life, identity, habit or coping that we have outgrown.

Because within the inward motion of winter, our energy shifts.
We slow down.
We soften.
We finally get the space to see what’s actually been true. What’s been begging to be revealed.

And honestly? It’s kind of beautiful.

As we tune into this new cycle, with the recent new moon, shifting seasons, moving from Scorpionic depth into Sagittarian fire, l wanted to give you all a gift. A heartfelt letter from me to you. A love letter, that you can return to whenever you feel like you need a friend, a moment to uplift yourself amidst the darker days or the colder nights. 

So, here it is…

💌 Hey angel! Yes, I’m talking to you. Come a little closer…

Did you know you’re made of stardust?
Not metaphorically, literally.
Your entire body is stitched together from the remnants of ancient stars.
You are not random.
You are not ordinary.
You are cosmically conspired with exquisite timing to be here, to be in existence. 

You are also human, which usually means that some days you’re radiant, some days you’re chaotic, some days you’re a functional adult, and some days you’re melting into a puddle of existential goo on your kitchen floor.

Congratulations: that means you’re alive!

Life gets weird sometimes.
Hard.
Heavy.
Hilarious.
Ridiculous.
Tender.
Overwhelming.
Heart-opening.
Heart-breaking.
Heart-stretching.

And it’s okay.
All of it is okay.

It’s okay to feel like shit.
It’s okay to not have your “inner peace” on speed-dial.
It’s okay to wallow, to cry, to stare into the void, to question everything at 3am, to feel lost.
It’s okay to feel the full spectrum, because feeling is proof that you haven’t shut down.

But here’s the thing I want you to remember:

You’ve achieved so so much, and more than you’ve given yourself credit for.

You’ve survived in a world where pain and trauma are the fundamentals of societal existence.
You’ve witnessed collective grief and unrest on multiple levels.
You’ve sat there questioning whether or not humanity has completely lost its humanity.
You’ve navigated emotional weather systems.
You’ve shed skins you didn’t even realise were peeling off.
You’ve learned boundaries (the hard way, the soft way, and the “oh god not this again” way).
You’ve stretched in directions you didn’t expect.
You’ve surprised yourself.
You’ve disappointed yourself.
You’ve risen again anyway.
You’ve softened in places that needed softening.
You’ve strengthened in places that needed strengthening.

You are not stagnant.
You are not stuck.
You are not behind.
You are living.
And that, on its own, is sacred work.

I know there were moments this year that carved you open.
Moments that felt like too much.
Moments you questioned everything: the world we live in, the path you’re on, your desires, your timing, your sanity.
Moments where your chest was tight, your mind was loud, your spirit was tired, and your body carried more than anyone else could see.

And yet, here you are.
Still breathing.
Still showing up.
Still learning the shape of your own truth.
Still moving toward a life that feels like you, even if you’re taking the scenic route.

You didn’t become someone new this year.
You simply grew more into yourself.
Sharper.
Softer.
Clearer.
More honest.
More willing to look at the things that matter.
More willing to release the things that don’t.

So as we move deeper into winter, I want you to hold this close:

You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to slow down.
You are allowed to be uncertain.
You are allowed to feel everything.
You are allowed to be on a different schedule than other people.
Your magic is needed in this world, whatever it is. 

You don’t have to collapse into the end of the year.
You can arrive at it.
With breath.
With honesty.
With gentleness.
With curiosity.
With the quiet confidence of someone who is simply growing into this thing called life.

You are allowed to be proud of yourself, even for the small things, and you are allowed to be grateful, even for the so-called “failures.” Usually they are sending you in the right direction anyway.

And I’m walking alongside you. With grace and compassion, humility and reverence.

And of course, with love,
Clare xoxo