What else needs to be shed?

Hi, friend!

I hope I’m finding you snuggled up somewhere - journal nearby, snacks within reach, and if you’re in Toronto, with the heating turned all the way up.

We’re far enough into January that the “new year, new everything” noise has softened… but not so far that we’ve fully landed yet. That in-between space - where things are quieter, slower, but with an air of change, is where today’s email finds us.

This might be the first year I’ve noticed Chinese astrology showing up so pervasively in everyday conversation (TikTok, I’m looking at you). If you’ve been scrolling lately, you’ve probably seen mentions of the Year of the Snake, the Year of the Horse, energetic shifts, shedding, rebirth, all of it.

I’m here for it.

What I didn’t see mentioned as much is that this wasn’t a January 1st reset. Things didn’t shift on NYE; in fact, the astrological new year doesn’t arrive until mid-February (the 17th, to be exact).

Which I also love.

I’ve never really resonated with the start strong January energy. As I’ve gotten older and more attuned to my own rhythms, I’ve noticed my year tends to begin slowly, then gathers momentum as we enter Spring. January feels less like a launch and more like a clearing.

Which works well, as we’re technically still in The Year of the Wood Snake. Before the next energetic chapter begins, there’s still time to shed those final pieces that are still hanging on, blocking the new blessings that are on their way.

Those things you’re still clinging to, even though deep down you know they no longer fit.

That’s what we’ll be exploring today.

As always, I have a lesson, three questions, and a dare for you!

Let’s get into it :)

[LESSON]

In Chinese astrology, each year is associated with one of twelve animals and one of five elements: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water. The Year of the Wood Snake carries themes of growth, renewal, wisdom — and, most importantly, shedding.

Shedding isn’t instant. It also isn’t optional.

I went down a (rather disturbing) rabbit hole for this newsletter - you’re welcome. I wanted to understand the snake’s process. Turns out, it’s long, uncomfortable, and uncompromising. During the shedding seasons, snakes become incredibly restless. Many lose their sight, their vision clouds (their eyes literally turn grey). They’ll try to hide. The skin doesn’t fall off gracefully; it splits. They have to rub themselves against rough surfaces to loosen what no longer fits, then use all their remaining strength to free themselves.

It felt… painfully familiar.

Because human shedding is a lot like that, too.

Outgrowing identities, friendships, roles, and versions of ourselves is HARD. It’s painful and confusing. There’s deep grief. Even when we know it’s necessary.

What I’ve noticed in myself, and in humans generally, is that we often try to shed the small things first. Surface habits. Easy distractions. As if tidying the edges will spare us from facing the bigger truth underneath.

But that in-between stage — where something is ending, and the next thing hasn’t fully formed yet, is often the hardest. The waiting. The disorientation. The discomfort. The temptation to rush, hide, or ignore.

The thing is: snakes don’t shed to lose something. They shed to make space for growth.

And that’s exactly what we’re doing too.

So today, I’m holding space for this question:

Is there anything left to shed, even one last layer, so you can walk into this next season feeling freer, clearer, and with more room to expand?

[3 QUESTIONS]

1. Looking back on last year, what have you already shed, identities, habits, relationships, expectations, that you don’t always give yourself credit for?

2. Is there something small you’ve been trying to let go of that might actually be distracting you from shedding something bigger?

3. If you imagined entering the next season of your life a little lighter, what would not be coming with you?

[A DARE]

Building off those questions, set aside time sometime this week to create a small shedding ritual.

Nothing elaborate. Just intentional.

Sit somewhere quiet and make two lists on a physical piece of paper:

• First: everything you’ve already shed. Name it. Honour it.

• Then: ask yourself, gently, if there’s anything else that’s still attached — something you’ve been circling, avoiding, or half-letting-go of.

Then rip it up.

Not to force yourself to be “done,” but to mark the intention. To acknowledge the process. To make space.

We don’t do enough rituals as adults, especially ones that help us metabolize change. Let this be a moment of honesty, not pressure.

Notice how you feel afterward. In your body. In your breath.

That feeling? That’s information.

See you on a Sunday,
L