The silent season of becoming
I do not know at what exact moment the year passed so quickly. It feels as if time folded in on itself without asking for permission. I still remember the summer on my face, the warmth of the sun resting on my skin, the sense of expansion that comes with longer days and open windows, and now, almost without transition, I find winter quietly settling at my feet. Winter has always felt like a special season to me, not because of what it shows, but because of what it withholds. It is silent, calm, and invites introspection in a way no other season does. Its fertility is subtle and hidden, its strength never displayed outwardly, yet undeniably present. Nothing seems to be happening, and yet everything is.
Winter reminds me that power does not need to announce itself. Beneath frozen soil, life reorganizes, roots deepen, structures strengthen, and essential transformations take place away from the gaze of the world. This quiet, unseen movement feels deeply familiar, as if nature itself were mirroring an inner process that many of us experience but rarely honor. We live in a culture that celebrates visible growth, constant productivity, and external results, yet winter whispers another truth. Some phases are meant to be lived inwardly, patiently, without proof, trusting that what cannot yet be seen is still profoundly alive.
The invisible work within
This season inevitably brings me back to inner work. The kind of work that leaves no immediate evidence, that cannot be displayed or explained easily, and that often goes unnoticed by others. It is a slow, silent labor that happens beneath the surface, reshaping us from within. Just like winter, inner work does not seek applause. It asks for presence, honesty, and the courage to remain still long enough to listen. There are moments when it feels as though nothing is changing, when doubts appear and patience is tested, yet something continues to move quietly inside, rearranging priorities, dissolving old patterns, and making space for something more aligned.
I have come to understand that this invisible work is not passive. It requires strength to stay with oneself without distraction, to allow emotions to surface without immediately trying to fix them, and to accept periods of apparent stagnation without labeling them as failure. Eventually, as with the seasons, what has been nurtured in silence finds its way outward. Spring does not force its arrival. It emerges naturally, as a consequence of everything that winter held and protected.
Between connection and solitude
I recognize that I genuinely enjoy being with people. I appreciate shared moments, conversations, laughter, and the warmth that comes from human connection. At the same time, I deeply love my solitude. I have learned that these two states are not opposites, nor do they cancel each other out. We can hold both, inhabit both, and move between them without betrayal. There was a time when I believed I had to choose, when solitude felt like absence and connection felt like validation. That belief shaped many of my choices.
In the past, I filled my life with plans, commitments, and constant movement. My calendar was always full, my days always noisy. Staying busy became my way of escaping myself. External stimulation felt safer than silence, because silence had a way of revealing truths I was not ready to face. Noise protected me from questions, from feelings, from parts of myself that asked to be acknowledged. It took time to realize that this avoidance was not freedom, but another form of confinement.
Learning to listen to myself
When I began the path you already know, something shifted quietly, without drama, yet with undeniable firmness. I started to listen. Not to expectations, not to external demands, but to my own inner signals. Now, when I feel overwhelmed, I no longer dismiss it or push through it out of habit. There are moments when I feel a knot in my chest, a subtle but persistent sensation that tells me it is time to step back. And I listen. I allow myself to retreat, to rest, to leave situations that no longer feel aligned.
Before, I would have stayed almost anywhere, under almost any circumstance, even when my body and intuition were asking me to leave. I believed endurance was strength and self-sacrifice was maturity. Today, I understand that caring for myself is not a weakness, nor an act of selfishness. It is an act of respect. Giving myself permission to choose myself has changed the way I relate not only to others, but to my own inner world.
Walking forward with fear
One day I read a note by Jung that said something along the lines of this: if you cannot be yourself out of fear of loneliness, congratulations, you are already alone. I am paraphrasing, but the message struck something deep within me. It forced me to look honestly at the cost of my transformation. Not everyone around me welcomed my change. Often, without intending to, we reflect possibilities that others are not ready to face, and that can create discomfort. There were moments when I tried to soften myself, to hide parts of my growth, out of fear of rejection. Not so much from my family, but from my friends.
I felt a quiet distance growing, an unspoken separation. And yet, I carry in my heart all the beautiful moments that version of me loved and shared. Nothing is erased. Everything belongs. “Traveler, there is no path; the path is made by walking.”
— Antonio Machado I love this phrase because it speaks a simple and profound truth. Each step taken in honesty creates the path. I no longer live focused on the future. I focus on the present step, firm and conscious. Fear still walks beside me, as it always has. But I have learned that fear does not negate beauty. Often, it protects it.
In this seemingly inert month,
strength works in silence,
preparing
a new rebirth.
Do not let time
take possession of you,
because you are capable
of stopping it.
Open your heart
and pour it
into your path,
and it will return to you
the fullness
of remembering
that you were never separate.
Everything
has been waiting,
patiently,
to give you back
your vision.