Witch, its been rough

Happy New Year, witches. Circle cast, candles lit, intentions set.

If the past year taught me anything, it is that transformation is rarely aesthetic and almost never gentle.

The year unfolded like a long eclipse. Everything felt muted, suspended, caught between what was and what refused to arrive. I was not broken, but I was tired in a way that sleep does not fix. There were blessings, yes, but most days were about endurance, not enchantment.

Still, magic found me. I made a pilgrimage to New York City and witnessed one of my favorite actresses step into the underworld of Hadestown, not just for her opening weekend but her closing weekend too. A full ritual cycle completed. Proof that timing, when aligned, is its own kind of spell. I also made a protective choice this year and welcomed a new car into my life. My previous car was still new, but it was never meant for snow, ice, and mountain roads designed by trickster spirits. Safety is sacred. Choosing protection is not fear, it is wisdom. I do not take that privilege lightly.

Then the veil thinned in the worst way.

The shutdown arrived.

I watched people already living on the edge lose their paychecks for weeks, then far longer than anyone should be asked to survive without stability. Compassion was nowhere to be found. Homes, cars, and livelihoods hung in the balance. It was a collective wound, and I carried more of it than my body knew how to hold.

As someone who is always reaching to help, I was forced into stillness. I had to say no. I could not help. I was also without a paycheck, and that truth rattled me to my core. My mental health frayed. The final months of the year were spent navigating anxiety, grief, and the constant effort of not letting myself fall apart completely.

When the world finally began to move again, I received news that a family member had been diagnosed with cancer. It was not my body, but it was my history. That word carries ghosts. It took my mother, shaped years of mourning, and left my nervous system on permanent alert. I spiraled, fighting memories as much as fear, doing everything in my power to stay out of the darkness I know too well.

The outcome was good, something we were told from the beginning, but the body remembers what the mind tries to soothe. Old wounds opened. The panic was real.

And still, I remain.

It is 2026.

Rooted. Resilient. A little sharp around the edges.

This year, I am choosing intentional magic. I am studying tarot, listening when my intuition speaks, and honoring the truth that lives quietly in my chest. I am capturing moments instead of letting them disappear, because memory is a spell worth preserving. I will try something new each month, even if it scares me or challenges an old story I told myself. Growth does not need to be cruel. It can be steady, deliberate, and deeply powerful.

This is the year of sovereignty. Of boundaries drawn in salt and self-respect. Of choosing joy, rest, and pleasure without apology. Of releasing expectations that drain me and people who do not honor my energy. Opinions dissolve here. Approval is irrelevant. Access is sacred.

So here is to 2026.

The year I tend my mind, body, and spirit as holy ground. The year I cultivate chosen family, soft spaces, and safety. May anything toxic be banished, my peace remain fiercely guarded, my magic deepen with every season, and my heart stay open to the blessings already finding their way to me. ✨🖤