February is taking off without me.
And honestly? That’s fine… but man I hate the feeling of being behind. Like the calendar flipped and the world moved on, and I’m still standing in last week’s weather—trying to catch my breath, trying to catch up, trying to feel “on time” again.
This is why I love Imbolc.
Imbolc isn’t spring. It’s not the big reveal. It’s the first spark—proof that light is returning, even if everything still looks like winter. It’s the season’s quiet reminder that change doesn’t start when it’s obvious. It starts when it’s true.
One of the meanings tied to Imbolc is “in the belly.” And it makes so much sense when you look at the old seasonal markers: the ewes. Pregnant, not yet birthing, carrying what’s coming next before anyone can see it. It’s also the return of ewe’s milk—small, practical nourishment returning to the world. Not the whole harvest. Not the whole bloom. Just enough to say: life is moving again.
And maybe that’s the real gift of this season.
Imbolc doesn’t demand a finished product. It doesn’t ask for proof. It doesn’t require you to be ready.
It just invites you to notice the ember.
If you’re feeling behind right now, consider this your permission slip:
You can be in process.
You can be slow.
You can be quiet.
You can be full of unseen work.
Because some things change the moment they’re conceived—not the moment they’re posted, published, launched, cleaned up, or made public.
A tiny Imbolc reset (2 minutes)
If you want a way to mark the shift without overwhelming yourself, try this:
- Light a candle (or turn on a lamp if that’s what you’ve got).
- Put one hand on your chest or belly.
- Ask: What’s stirring in me that I don’t have words for yet?
- Choose one small, doable thing for today (not for the week). Even if it’s: drink water, answer one email, post the draft as-is.
Imbolc is the season of “not yet.”
The season of “in progress.”
The season of the unseen becoming real.
And if February is running ahead of you?
Let it.
You’re allowed to arrive at your own pace.
Journal prompt: What’s one small thing waking up in you right now—quietly, without proof?