Spring Equinox — The Balance

I did not rush the thaw. At Imbolc, I made a quiet agreement with myself: to soften at my own pace, in my own way. No forcing. No performance of becoming. Just the slow, sacred return of warmth.

And now, the wheel turns.

The Spring Equinox arrives not as a demand, but as a balance point— light and dark holding equal space, neither rushing the other off the stage.

This month, I have lived inside that balance. I have stood in uncertainty—unemployed by choice,
unsteady in identity, learning to sit with the question marks instead of frantically trying to turn them into answers.

And still— life moved. Not in sweeping transformations, but in small, undeniable proofs of aliveness: A wheelbarrow assembled with laughter and Jeopardy in the background. The simple satisfaction of being useful, of being in rhythm with another human. A “lost” wallet found in plain sight— a reminder that sometimes what we are searching for has not gone anywhere at all. A kitchen filled with food made for others, thank-you cards written one by one— small acts of connection, threads tying me back into the world. A quiet step into responsibility, holding steady in the role of treasurer even while the ground beneath me feels uncertain.

This is what balance looks like in real life: not stillness, not perfection— but movement held gently between opposites. I am not who I was. I am not yet who I am becoming. And that is not failure. That is the crossing point.

Like an Etch-a-Sketch shaken mid-drawing, the lines I thought defined me have blurred—
not erased, but loosened. Ready for something new to take shape. There is trust growing here, too— fragile, but persistent. Trust that I do not have to rush into proving my worth. Trust that support offered might actually hold. Trust that I can exist in this in-between space without collapsing it into something smaller just to feel safe.

The light is returning. Not all at once. Not in a blaze. But in lengthening days, in laughter that comes easier, in moments of quiet competence, in choosing to stay. This is my Equinox: not a beginning, not an ending— but a steadying. A hand placed gently on the center of the scale. And for the first time in a long time, I am not trying to tip it.

I am learning to stand here.