Of snowflakes, stillness, and the wisdom of slowing down
Today I knew I would wake up to a winter wonderland. I went to bed late – one of my “bad” habits, as I love the quiet of the night – and it had already started snowing heavily after midnight.
The Dream, the Snow, and the Soft Openning of a New Season
I took my time waking up, coming out of a wonderful dream that somehow matched the magic outside my window. The snow had touched the earth and the plants, bringing a sense of wonder to the otherwise grey winter landscape. It felt like a first taste of how beautiful this season can be at its best. A gentle preparation for the Christmas season – which I had to fall in love with again after hating it for many years.
Back to the dream: I was in the body of a young girl, yet carrying the wisdom I’ve gathered since my teenage years. I experienced the tender, innocent love of youth — a first love, a first touch, a first kiss. Like snowflakes brushing the earth for the first time that season.
I loved unconditionally. The teenage boy had a skin condition on his right leg and was applying ointment. I felt no judgment — only quiet care. Then, my older self stirred within me, wanting to guide him, to help him see the skin issue from a more holistic perspective.
If I were to interpret the dream — as I so often do with the images that visit me at night — I might see that boy as a part of myself. A younger part. A piece still healing.
Lately, I’ve been tending to some physical discomfort on the right side of my body — the side associated with the masculine, with doing, with moving forward. And yes, I’ve always been someone who likes to move, to act, to keep creating. Stillness can feel like stagnation. But winter, with its frozen hush and bare branches, asks something different of us.
When the plants stop growing, it doesn’t mean they’ve stopped living. Beneath the frozen ground, seeds are waiting. Resting. Gathering. Preparing for spring. And perhaps that’s what my body was trying to tell me. After launching my new website, after pouring myself into this next chapter of my work, there was a silence. The kind that settles in after the planting is done.
My old profession thrived on momentum. Constant doing. And in the right doses, I still love it — the creativity, the sense of purpose when I support clients in making their visions visible. When I believe in what they bring to the world, it feels good to help them to be seen. But the key — I’m learning — is dosage. Pace. Rhythm.
Holding Space Instead of Pushing Forward: A New Way of Being with Others
My new path as a transformational coach speaks a different language. It asks me to pause. To listen. To feel. When I sit with someone in a session, it’s less about what I do and more about how I’m present. It’s about sensing the powerful seeds resting quietly in their soil — waiting for warmth, for trust, for light. My role isn’t to push them into bloom. It’s to hold the space where they can root deeper, and rise when they’re ready.
I’ve been doing energy work since 2018 — and by 2020, I felt eager to share it with the world. But something held me back. A quiet winter of my own began. One that stretched on for nearly five years.
Back then, I didn’t understand why it felt so hard to step forward. I wanted to offer what I had learned, to help others move ahead. But I see now: I hadn’t yet fully understood my role. I was still trying to push, to lead, to fix. But that’s not what I’m here to do.
My place is beside someone — not in front of them. My work is about creating balance, holding space, and listening to what’s ready to shift. The transformation isn’t mine to make. It’s theirs. I simply help the energy move, gently and with presence.
That’s where the deeper understanding began to settle in. I can use QAS (the Quantum Alignment System based on Quantum Human Design by Dr. Karen Parker) to gently reveal where transformation is being blocked. I can guide someone through EFT (the Emotional Freedom technique) to help release emotional blockages. These tools are powerful — but they are only part of the process that I can offer.
At the heart of my work lies something quieter: energetic balancing. A presence that doesn’t push or pull. It simply invites the system into harmony.
For a long time, I wondered why this particular modality — energy clearing that balances the five elements and supports the integration of other modalities additionally — felt so natural to me. Now I know. It asked nothing of me but presence. It moved without force. And that absence of doing once felt unfamiliar, even uncomfortable.
Listening to the Quiet: Trusting the Pace of Inner Seasons
But like fresh snow softening the world, it teaches me something essential: not everything needs to be pushed forward. Some things unfold best when we get still.
I’ve always loved how snow muffles sound, setting the world on a pause. But I don’t need a snowfall to stop me anymore — I feel it in my body. A quiet signal that says: now is the time to pause. To sit. To reflect. To stop measuring the day by output and start honoring the invisible growth unfolding beneath the surface.
This is the inner rhythm I’m learning to trust. When I feel it, I don’t push through. I write. I rest. I listen. I feed the seeds in the dark soil of becoming — seeds that are not yet sprouting, but gathering their strength to rise.
And I definitely know, this is the season to heal my right side — the side that was taught to always do, always move, always produce. It’s time to honor its drive, but also to whisper gently: slow down. You don’t have to lead the charge. Everything will fall into place when the moment is right — when the snow melts, the shoots emerge, and the green reaches again for the spring sun.
Then, I’ll be ready.