Tending the Ashes

Hello friends,
This season holds so many layers. The year ends. The days grow shorter. The light fades. Things die.

And still, candles are lit. Tables are set. Laughter finds its way in. We gather. We celebrate. We reach for joy, even as part of us longs to rest.

December often asks us to hold opposites at once: the pull to hibernate and the pull to shine, the ache of endings and the hope stitched into tradition. If you feel tender, reflective, heavy, joyful, quiet, or all of it at the same time—nothing has gone wrong. This season is not meant to be one-note.

Grief has been close this season. In the world, in our communities, and in quieter ways in my own life as well.

I want to name this gently especially for those of you walking through the rawness of something still tender. Grief has many shapes, and no two experiences of it are the same. I’m not speaking for anyone’s loss, only making space for its presence.

For some, it arrives through sudden loss. For others, through quieter endings. And for many, it’s simply the weight of a year that asked more than we expected to give.

And maybe you’re not grieving a person. Maybe you’re grieving a job that ended. A relationship that unraveled. A version of the year that didn’t go how you hoped. A part of yourself you had to let go. Whether you realize it or not, you may be grieving that too. The life that passed by. The time that never slows. The memories you wished you’d made—or even the ones you did.

So what is grief? Grief is love with nowhere to go. It asks everything in us to change at once—our hearts, our identities, our nervous systems. And we are not built to do that quickly.

When something ends, we don’t just lose what was—we lose who we were inside it. The future we imagined. The story we told ourselves about how things would unfold. Even when the loss isn’t dramatic or visible, it can still quietly unravel us. Renewal doesn’t arrive on command.

So how do we grieve?

It often begins with allowing ourselves to be exactly where we are. With space. With time. With the honesty of admitting we are in the fog. That strange middle place where something old has ended, and the new reality hasn’t quite arrived yet.

So often we rush toward “what’s next.” Toward lessons, silver linings, transformation. We talk about rebirth like the phoenix rising—but forget that before that moment, there is just ash. And ash is not failure. Ash is what remains when something mattered deeply.

So we sit there. Not fixing. Not forcing. Letting grief move at its own pace. Staying soft enough to let it move through. And here’s what I keep returning to: even though we can’t rush grief, we can still experience joy.

Not as a distraction. Not as a betrayal of what we’ve lost. But because we are capable of holding both—light and darkness—without one canceling the other out. Darkness is not the absence of light. It is often what teaches our eyes how to recognize it. Moments of laughter. A warm meal. A shared glance. These don’t erase grief, but they remind us we are still alive inside it.

As I allow that truth, I begin to accept the new reality. The new person that might be forming, slowly, quietly, beneath it all. So in this final stretch of the year, let’s not rush. Not toward a fresh start. Not toward new goals or shiny identities.

Let’s honor this sacred pause—the space between endings and beginnings. The place where ashes settle, nourish, and become the ground for something new to grow. Not because we are ready. Not because we know what comes next.

For now, it is enough to trust the pause. To trust that love is rearranging us in ways we can’t yet name. To trust that joy and laughter are still real and authentic—even as we grieve. And to remember that none of this is something we have to carry alone.

A few gentle questions to sit with:

• What am I still grieving that hasn’t been named?

• What brings me authentic moments of light right now?

• And softly… how do I want to end this year?

Not with perfection. But with honesty. With space for the ache, the joy, and everything in between.

With space,
Mathilde

Upcoming Offerings

• The Grounded Leader Pilot — Willow Workplace

  Wednesdays, January 21st through March 18 • 7:30–8:30 PM

  I have one final spot available for this pilot! This is an intimate group of curious, seasoned leaders who are learning how creating space, listening inward, and building a personal AI Inner Coach can lead to clearer decisions and more sustainable success. Email me.

• AI Coach Studio — Willow Workplace

  Saturday, February 28th • 10:00–1:00 PM

  A hands-on, 3-hour studio where you get to build a first, condensed version of your own personal AI coach. This is a small, practical working session (not a lecture). You’ll leave with a personalized AI setup you can continue refining and using in your day-to-day decisions. Registration opens early January.

  12 spots total. $200 early bird (through Jan 25) $270 regular

• Winter Visual Meditation: 7 Chakra Class Series — Arrillaga Center

  Thursdays (every other week) • 12:00–1:00 PM • Jan 8 – Apr 2
  Explore the seven chakras through guided visual meditation. Open to beginners and experienced practitioners.

• Communing with Spirit Class Series — Arrillaga Center

  Thursdays (every other week) • 12:00–1:00 PM • Jan 15 – Mar 26

  An advanced visual meditation series for returning students ready to expand their intuitive practice and deepen communication with the realms of light. 

• Yin Yoga — Willow Workplace

  Tuesday, January 27 • 12:00–1:00 PM
  Melt away stress through long-held poses, breathwork, and visualizations.

  Only 5 spots • Please email me or reserve.

• Yoga Flow — Willow Workplace 

  Fridays, January 9th, 16th, 23rd, and 30th • 12:00–1:00 PM
  Vinyasa-style classes held in Willow’s garden (weather permitting) or the studio.