Compost Me

a year end poem

Hello sweet community,

This week I wanted to offer up a poem that has been living in me for a while. As we enter the final few days of the year and the final weeks of the Year of the Snake, I can’t help but feel the deep annihilation of what 2025 brought.

I keep trying to wrap it up in a little bow but it just won’t happen. I cannot fit the learnings in a quippy little essay. Instead I feel like an ancient witch dragging herself to the finish line, clothes tattered, covered in mud.

Twelve months ago I was ready to build. Maybe you were too. But 2025 had other plans. She wanted to strip. She wanted the bare bones and the brass tacks. She wanted to see who we all really were. She wanted to compost the old skins. She wanted to feast on our old beliefs. She was not subtle.

Her gift? Refinement by fire.

And so,

You may feel that you too are the old witch slinking toward the new year. Still tired, and unequivocally not ready for resolutions and new me’s.

To this I say, that is okay. Let the darkness keep eating you alive. The promised light makes its slow return, as will you. Till then keep composting.

love me,

a scorpio rising, cancer moon in her luteal phase ;)

Compost me
Not gently
I am done asking for tenderness
from a year that wanted my bones

Take what I thought I was building
and lay it down in the dark
Take the plans the names the future facing verbs
I do not need them where I am going

This is the season where nothing performs
The sun bows low
The earth refuses productivity
Winter does not explain herself
She only breaks things down

Compost the identities I wore to survive
The stories that once kept me safe
but now keep me small
The selves I dragged with me
long after their medicine expired

Let the Year of the Snake finish her work
Let her be done with me
Let her loosen what clung
split what hardened
strip the skin that once protected
but now suffocates

This was a nine year
An annihilation year
No ribbon no recap
Just the slow undoing
of who I thought I had to be

Compost the beliefs that said
I must prove my worth through effort
That rest is earned
That exhaustion is the cost of devotion

Here in the longest nights
nothing is wasted
Grief becomes nutrient
Rage becomes alchemical
What was unbearable
becomes soil

I am not being erased
I am being eaten by the dark
and that is not a threat
That is how forests are made

Returned to the ancient intelligence
that knows decay is holy
Returned to winter
who never rushes the seed
never asks the witch to be new

So yes compost me
My certainty
My old myths
My need to arrive clean

Let me come undone
until only what is true remains

The light will return
without my help
So will I

For now
I rest
in the mud
in the not knowing
in the slow faithful work
of becoming

Stay tuned for a New Year/ Full Moon audio coming this week.

A reminder that The Retreat Blueprint starts Jan 6th - learn how to host your own retreats. See more here.

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