The quiet in-between

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished” - Lao Tzu

The rush of the holidays has passed. The land is quiet. Mornings arrive slowly, wrapped in cold air and soft light. This morning, I found the herd lying down together, resting in the early winter chill. No urgency. No agenda. Just bodies folded into the earth, breathing, being.

It felt like a mirror.

At the moment they are very quiet, almost withdrawn. Often grazing quietly by themselves, occasionally coming together to move on or rest. And very little interest in interacting with me. It reminds me of going within, Being in contemplation.

We are in the final month of the Chinese year of the Wood Snake, with the Fire Horse arriving mid-February. This in-between time somehow feels important. A threshold. A pause that asks something of us.

Not to push forward yet, but to notice what is ready to be shed.

The essence of the Wood Snake

The Snake is not a loud teacher. It doesn’t force transformation. It waits.

The 2025 energy of the year of the Snake was about shedding old skins: patterns, identities, stories, and relationships that once kept us safe but now feel tight, restrictive, outdated. The Wood element adds a layer of growth and reflection. This isn’t about burning things down. It’s about noticing what has quietly run its course.

Shedding doesn’t happen through effort. A snake doesn’t decide to shed; it allows the old skin to loosen when the body has outgrown it. And that feels deeply relevant right now.

This past year has asked many of us to slow down enough to feel where we’ve been holding on. Sometimes without even realizing it.

A personal shedding

For me, 2025 has been a year of deep investigation.

I moved house in the summer, continued building Herd Essence. I showed up on Instagram, even when it felt uncomfortable, learning how to be visible while staying true to myself. And then, after the summer, I stopped.

I took a long trip through South East Asia and let myself disappear from the online world. I felt resistance to forcing myself to post every day. I wanted freedom. I wanted to simply be me.

And yet… there was always a quiet cloud in the background.

What about Herd Essence?
What about my Instagram account going quiet?
What about my desire to help people build better relationships with their horses and themselves?
What about my purpose?

Even in moments of joy, that question lingered.

I could have stayed away longer. But something in me wanted to come home for Christmas, to be with family, to return to familiar ground. After the initial warmth of reunion, I found myself in a winter slump; back in the cold, unsure how to move forward, questioning whether I truly wanted to be here at all.

Listening to resistance

One thing surprised me.

On the rare occasions I opened Instagram, if a post about horses appeared in my feed, I felt discomfort and scrolled past quickly. That caught my attention. Why would something so central to my life suddenly feel uncomfortable to look at?

Instead of pushing it away, I got curious.

With time, honesty, and the unexpected support of AI as a reflective tool, I began to see a deeper pattern. A childhood strategy of staying quiet and invisible to feel safe. A learned people-pleasing response shaped by unsafe relationships. A nervous system that once protected me brilliantly, but was still operating from an old rulebook.

My resistance to visibility wasn’t laziness or lack of commitment. It was protection.

And the thing about protection mechanisms is that they don’t disappear just because we’ve outgrown them. They soften when we show them gently that we are safe now in a different way.

No forcing, no fixing

This realization didn’t come with a dramatic “fix.” There was no sudden clarity about what to do next.

Instead, there was relief.

Relief in understanding that this phase isn’t a problem to solve. It’s a shedding. An invitation to let old stories loosen at their own pace.

This isn’t about shoulds. Or pushing myself back into visibility. Or demanding answers from a nervous system that’s asking for kindness.

It’s about listening more closely to the quiet inner voice, the soft one that encourages, that nudges gently. Not the loud, dismissive voice that asks why I haven’t done the thing yet.

Standing at the threshold of the Fire Horse

And this brings me to what’s ahead.

The year of the Fire Horse carries a very different energy. Where the Snake is inward, the Horse is forward-moving. It’s about vitality, momentum, courage, and choosing a path with clarity and heart. Fire brings activation. Aliveness. Direction.

But jumping into Fire without completing the shedding phase only leads to burnout or misalignment.

So I’m giving myself this final month of the Snake year intentionally.

Time to be in nature.
Time with the horses.
Time to observe what still wants to fall away.

Not to force a new identity, but to create space for something more honest to emerge.

When the year of the Horse arrives mid-February, I trust that movement will come naturally, not because I should, but because something inside me will be ready to run again.

For now, I rest.

Like the herd lying down in the cold this January morning, I allow myself to be held by the quiet. And I remind myself that this, too, is part of the path. The in-between pause.

Sometimes, the most powerful step forward is knowing when to stand still.

I invite you to do the same..

♡

If this resonates with you at all, or if you are interested in how to start your own gentle self enquiry with the help of AI, let me know below or send me an email. I am happy to help.