First Light

Reflections at the Winter Solstice

On warmer days, when I wake up in darkness, I’ll reach for my phone and look up the sunrise time. It’s precise, something like 6:43am, which designates the first time you can see the crescent of the sun appear on the horizon.

As I was sitting outside watching the sunrise one morning, I was taking photos on my phone and caught that moment where the sun breaks through. I happened to see it was the exact time I was told earlier while I was still in bed. I laughed to myself and said “of course it was.”

The sun didn’t care that I was sitting there watching. She didn’t show up faster or slower based on who was paying attention or taking photos. She didn’t adjust herself to the moment or the audience. She emerged on her time, with no apologies or excuses.

That tiny lesson stayed with me as the rest of the year unfolded. Not because the sun has impeccable timing, but because it was a reminder to stay to true to myself.

Before that precise sunrise time, there’s a lead-up known as first light. You’ll see the emergence of light from the horizon, painting the sky with color. This time isn’t any less spectacular than the sun’s first reveal, but in life we tend to focus on the big emergence rather than finding beauty in the path along the way.

Winter solstice has become a marker in time across many traditions. That precise arrival of winter — 10:03am on December 21st — means winter is here. It’s the darkest day of the year, which also marks the beginning of letting light back into our lives.

Letting the light back into my own life was a declaration I made last solstice. I had retreated and felt so much darkness that I decided last year would be my sunrise time. It came in the form of announcing Wellbeing by Tracey and sharing that I had created a website with a business to follow. I can still feel the nerves as I pushed myself to say, “Hey, I’m back. Look at this.”

As I look back at who I was a year ago, I was a bit like a newborn animal trying to figure out how to walk. I lacked the steadiness that comes with being sure of yourself. I was trying to find my way by following the paths of others, even though they never felt right. I knew I had to do something, so I showed up with the wounds of my past still in the driver’s seat. What I thought would be a fast trajectory, was more of a slowly unfolding path.

Despite this time of year being one that energetically asks us to rest, prepare gently, and settle in; society pushes us to stay busy, and then immediately get hyped about who we’ll become in the new year. Throughout my thirties, this forced reflection and preparation has always been hard. There’s the weight of how the year went, the squeeze of wanting to change it, and the trepidation of what next year’s story might look like. Part of my announcement last year was an attempt to force turning the page on another year that didn’t end where I wanted, while hoping I was welcoming something new.

Unlike Mother Nature, our timing in life is much less precise. Looking back, I can see that I tried to emerge faster than I was ready for. The version of me the world sees wanted to be back out there, wanted to find her way, and desperately didn’t want to feel another year of searching for her identity. So last solstice, I said, “I’m here.” By February, I had crashed again, caught up in anxiety and feeling lost all over.

Despite my ambition to show up, my nervous system, my soul, my inner knowing, and Saturn sitting on my sun in Pisces all said, not yet, my love. I probably should have known better than to try to force new beginnings in an energetic nine year, or a shedding year of the snake. Lessons learned.

While 2025 unfolded in its own magical way, it wasn’t the year I wanted or thought I was signing up for. I wanted connection. I wanted busyness. I wanted to be accepted by the world again. Instead, I learned to listen to myself in a much deeper way than I ever had before.

The introduction of fascia work in late January transformed my body and introduced me to a softer way of being. I was able to let go of so much tension from the past, while other parts of me released gripping as a form of protection against whatever the future might bring. Finding safety in my body, also meant I could listen to my body more closely. In time and with trust, my body became an instrument to navigate life. With a clearer internal channel, I could hold a higher standard for the people and energy I let into my life. I no longer had to tighten to fit in. I found strength in my voice and my power. I found safety in being seen again, which meant I found safety in being myself.

This year became the moment I settled into the fact that I’m here to be me. My views, ideas, and how I want to show up in the world aren’t footsteps I can follow, but a path I must create. Without the steadiness that found me in 2025, the world would miss a version of me in 2026 who owns her gifts and her purpose.

I leave this year not where I want to be, but steadier in my journey to get there. While I prematurely declared my emergence last solstice, I can now see that I was in my first light season. Cracks of light. Subtle emergence. My sun wasn’t quite ready yet.

Is 2026 the year I finally feel the shift and stop feeling like this? I’ve learned that isn’t always for me to determine.

What is for me to determine is how I continue to move through this first light phase. How gently I treat myself in the process. How much I listen to the nudges and the gut feelings along the way.

I share this for the person who might be reading this while setting their twelve magical wishes or getting ready to build a vision board for the year ahead. Before you rush forward, pause and check in with yourself. Not to question your dreams, but to feel into how you’re holding them.

Are you trying to force a version of yourself that’s still forming?
Are you gripping tightly because it feels unsteady?
Do you feel a mix of hope and dread about where you are?

If you do, you’re not doing it wrong. That doesn’t mean you’re behind, it means you’re human.

It’s a beautiful practice to imagine the life you want to create. It’s also a beautiful practice to give yourself the gift of rest. To find safety in your body. To learn discernment so you can trust your inner knowing, without surrendering to your urgency.

So whether this year took you on a path you didn’t want to be on, or you aren’t quite the version of yourself you thought would emerge by now, be kind to yourself. Take in something beautiful in nature. Find joy in connection with the people who remind you who you are.

You’ll find you arrive right on time.

Wishing you a peaceful and joyful Solstice.