A note from the altar
There are seasons when the work asks you to go inward.
Not always because something is wrong, but because something sacred is being tended.
The past month has been one of those seasons.
Behind the quiet, there has been movement. The kind that does not always make noise, but still asks everything of you. Holding the threads of this work, another full business, the sittings, the offerings, the unseen architecture of what Ascending Priestess is becoming, and the constant ebb and flow of motherhood has shown me just how much this work asks for presence.
And sometimes, that presence does not leave much room for a public voice.
Putting myself out there is still tender for me.
As a child, I was so free spirited. I was open. Expressive. Unafraid to be seen. And bit by bit, the opinions of others taught me to shrink. I am still learning how to let myself be witnessed again without abandoning the softness that makes me who I am.
I think part of why this work feels so tender is because it has never been surface level for me.
This path has been lived before it was ever offered.
It has come through my own pain, my own healing, my own rituals, my own questions, my own initiations, and a personal practice that has been unfolding for over ten years.
I have invested deeply into learning, training, and being held by teachings that have shaped the way I hold space now. From Witch School Canada, to completing the Sacred Pathways apprenticeship once and now walking through it again, to Roots of Healing, and the deeper studies that are helping me expand my offerings with more reverence, care, and responsibility.
This is not work I picked up because it was beautiful, although it is.
It became beautiful because it helped me survive and now I get the privilege of helping others to do more then just survive but to live.
This work taught me how to listen to my body. How to meet my grief. How to trust what I know. How to return to the earth, to spirit, to ritual, to the wisdom that was always there but had been buried beneath survival.
So I have learned not to force words when the well is being refilled.
This is not an apology for the silence.
It is an acknowledgment of it.
An honouring of what it held.
The demands of building something rooted, honest, and real are not always visible. But they are always felt. And I would rather return with something true than offer something hollow just because the world says I should be louder.
The circle is still here.
So am I.
More is coming soon, and I promise it is worth the wait.
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