Wintering

There is something about winter that has always felt like coming home to me.

Perhaps it is the slower pace.

Perhaps it is the warm rugs, steaming mugs of tea and hearty meals prepared by hand.

Or perhaps it is simply the permission winter gives us to stop striving for a little while and just be.

This year, winter has arrived carrying a deeper meaning.

Many of you have reached out with beautiful messages, prayers, kind thoughts and well wishes over recent months. I want to say thank you.

Truly thank you.

Your kindness has wrapped around me in ways you may never fully understand.

For those who may not know, this year has included a journey with cancer, surgery and recovery. Even writing those words feels strange because, until now, they have largely lived within the safety of family and close friends. Today is the first day I have actually written them - or spoken them out load, outside my comfort space. 

Like many journeys in life, it wasn't one I would have chosen, though I am mindful I did help create the situation. 

Yet it has become one of my greatest teachers.

As I sit here today, recovering slowly and steadily, I find myself looking back over the path that brought me here.

In many ways, the journey began in 2024.

• A year of questioning.
• A year of exploring who I was becoming and where I belonged in the world.
• A year of releasing old stories and old energies.
• A year of moving home and moving inward.
• Then came our beautiful trip to Croatia.
• A healing journey in every sense of the word.

Rob walked beside me as he always has. That man has held my hand for almost my entire life. There is something profoundly comforting in knowing someone is simply not going to let go.

Together we created what we called our living list.

Not a bucket list.

A living list.

A reminder to keep living fully while we are here.

By the end of 2025, I found myself once again sitting in hospital rooms with far too much time to think.

• There were moments of fear.
• Moments of overwhelm.
• Moments of self-pity.
• Moments when I wondered what came next.
• But somewhere amongst all of that, something shifted.
• I stopped asking.
• Stopped questioning.
• Stopped trying to control every outcome.

Instead, I simply allowed.

And when I allowed, something beautiful happened.

• People appeared.
• Old modalities returned.
• Forgotten tools found their way back into my hands.
• Conversations arrived exactly when they were needed.
• Support appeared from places I had not expected.

And through it all, I was reminded of something I have always known.

The greatest healer in my life has always been me.

Not because I do it alone.

Quite the opposite.

Healing comes when we allow ourselves to receive.

To listen.

To soften.

To trust.

To participate fully in our own recovery.

Today I am home.

Still recovering.

Still navigating what comes next.

Still not entirely out of the woods.

But stronger.

Much stronger.

And perhaps more grateful than I have ever been.

One of the greatest lessons has been recognising how many people have walked beside me.

I do not have enough hands to hold onto everyone who has held me.

• Family.
• Friends.
• Clients.
• Students.
• Healers.
• Medical teams. ( I cannot thank our medical teams enough, when you are unwell, they are your light)
• Strangers who became companions.

Each one carrying a small piece of light.

At the same time, I have come to understand that not everyone stays for every chapter.

Some people walk beside us for a season.

Some for a reason.

Some for a lifetime.

And somehow I have become completely at peace with that.

Because those who are meant to remain are connected by something stronger.

I often imagine it as a beautiful purple ribbon. (another story for another day x)

A ribbon that stretches across time, distance and circumstance.

A ribbon connecting me to those who matter most.

Wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

A reminder that I am never truly alone.

Perhaps that is why wintering feels so important this year.

Winter is my favourite season.

It is the season of returning.

• Returning to ourselves.
• Returning to our homes.
• Returning to what nourishes us.

The world outside may be cold, but inside there is warmth.

There is soup simmering on the stove.

Tea poured into fine china cups.

Handmade food prepared with love.

Blankets draped over chairs.

And the gentle comfort of knowing the people you love are nearby.

This Winter Solstice, I am choosing gratitude.

Gratitude for my body.

• A body that has carried me through far more than I have ever thanked it for.
• A body that continues to heal.
• A body that continues to show up every single day.

I am choosing gratitude for the lessons.

• For the people.
• For the challenges.
• For the unexpected gifts hidden within difficult seasons.

Most of all, I am choosing gratitude for life itself.

• Not the perfect version.
• Not the planned version.
• Not the version I imagined years ago.

The real version.

The messy, beautiful, complicated, miraculous version.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I feel as though I am truly living my own story.

And what a privilege that is.

As the longest night arrives and winter settles around us, my wish for you is simple.

May you find warmth.

May you find rest.

May you find gratitude.

May you find your people.

And may you remember that even in the quietest seasons, life is still unfolding beautifully around you.

The next chapter is already waiting.

And I cannot wait to see where it leads.

There is one final lesson I have come to appreciate this year.

The Fire Horse year carries intense energy. It encourages movement, action, ambition and momentum. At times, it can feel as though life is urging us to run faster than we are ready for.

Yet perhaps the greatest wisdom of the Horse is not found in speed.

Perhaps it is found in direction.

We get to slow the energy down.

We get to pause.

We get to catch our breath.

We get to remember, or perhaps re-learn, what truly deserves our time, attention and precious life force.

Not everything requires a response.

Not every opportunity requires a yes.

Not every path is ours to follow.

This year is asking us to become more intentional about where we place our energy and who we choose to share it with.

For me, that has become one of the greatest gifts of this journey.

To understand that life is not measured by how fast we move, but by how fully we experience the moments that matter.

So as we move through the second half of 2026, my gentle reminder to all of us is this:

Slow and steady, with direction and meaning, will win the Horse race of 2026.

Email us at Hello@fengshuistoreandmore if you would like the Winter Solstice Wintering Tea &  Story Ritual "Do For You" PDF.