The Seasons Within the Season

Here I am again with that heavy feeling in my soul.

Almost grief. Almost sadness.

One last impromptu trip to the beach house for the long weekend.

The weather is beautiful. The water is slowly getting colder as fall begins to slip in. I notice the Rosa rugosa flowers beginning to retreat into their own hibernation, preparing for what’s to come.

Crickets hum in the breeze by the water as I sit and listen to the waves slowly and calmly meet the shoreline. Laughter carries in the distance from boats anchored at the sandbars.

The sounds of summer are slowly fading.

And here I am, trying to soak it all in without thinking too much about what comes next.

But if I’m honest, I’m witnessing my past.

The shorter days. The longer stretches of time inside. The inevitable turning inward.

There was a time when we understood these seasonal transitions differently. Autumn and winter weren’t something to rush through or resist. They were invitations to slow down. To reflect. To notice what was no longer working. To shed what needed to be released so that something new could eventually emerge.

And yet, this year, I feel like my summer was my winter.

I did so much emotional work. So much healing. So much shedding.

I feel lighter.

So why, then, am I still feeling this way?

Why does my soul still feel heavy?

And then I’m reminded:

There are seasons within seasons.

We are constantly moving through cycles of becoming. Of transforming. Of shedding. Of dying to an old version of ourselves and making space for something new.

Life.
Death.
Rebirth.

Perhaps we’ve simply forgotten that this isn’t something we move through once.

It’s happening all the time.

Within our relationships. Within our motherhood. Within our bodies. Within our identities. Within our dreams.

We are constantly becoming.

And perhaps the heaviness I feel isn’t evidence that something is wrong.

Perhaps it’s simply the feeling of transition.

And this is where I get to choose.

I get to choose whether I push this feeling away, distract myself from it, or try to convince myself that I should be somewhere else by now.

Or…

I can sit with it.

I can let myself feel the ache of summer ending.

I can honor the grief that comes with watching something beautiful change.

I can allow myself to be uncomfortable without needing to immediately transform the discomfort into a lesson.

Because if I’m honest, transitions have always been hard for me.

There is something in me that wants to know what’s coming next. To hold onto what I know. To make the unknown feel safe.

But time and time again, I’ve noticed something.

When I finally stop resisting the discomfort…

When I lean into the unknown with a little more faith…

The most wild, unexpected, deeply beautiful moments seem to emerge.

The magic doesn’t always happen when I have everything figured out.

Sometimes it happens in the in-between.

In the liminal space.

In the moment when one version of life is ending and the next hasn’t quite arrived yet.

So, my loves, perhaps that is my invitation to you today:

Instead of rushing through your discomfort, sit with it.

Let yourself be still enough to notice what it might be showing you.

Maybe there is something asking to be released.

Maybe there is something asking to be born.

Or maybe, for now, you simply need to sit beside yourself and let the season change.

Because perhaps the beauty isn’t in avoiding the endings.

Perhaps the beauty is in witnessing them.

And trusting that even here…

something new is already becoming.

In Peace, Love and Service,

Rebecca