December Collective: Introspection, Solitude, and The Hermit

The Season of Inward Turning: Winter, Truth, and The Hermit

There’s always a moment at the start of December when the world shifts into a familiar rhythm—lights go up, dinners get planned, the calendar fills itself without asking. There’s a collective exhale into celebration, into togetherness, into warmth.

And yet, every year, I feel something else move beneath the surface.
A quieter call.
A tug inward.

This season asks for more than festivities. It asks for honesty.

It asks for introspection.

I’ve always loved the contrast of December—the outer world buzzing with holiday cheer while the inner world slows to a whisper. It creates this strange duality: connection on the surface, solitude underneath.

And I’ve learned to trust that solitude.

There’s something magnetic about the way winter rearranges our priorities. The days are shorter, the cold sharpens the senses, and without even realizing it, we start drifting inward. Not out of isolation, but out of necessity. Our bodies and minds naturally shift into inventory mode:

Where am I right now?
What have I been carrying?
Who have I become in the past twelve months?

These questions require stillness. They require honesty. They require us to pause long enough to hear the answers.

The Monthly Collective theme for December is Introspection. Solitude. The Hermit.

The Hermit archetype has been following me for months—the quiet guide who retreats not to escape, but to illuminate. The Hermit doesn’t fear solitude. The Hermit uses it to sharpen awareness, deepen reflection, and reconnect with inner wisdom.

And so today, we launch IX. The Hermit—a companion for this season of inward turning.

A sensory reminder to withdraw with intention.
To tend to your inner landscape.
To listen to the parts of you that only speak in stillness.

This candle is not about ritual.
It’s about resonance.
It’s about anchoring presence in the most honest moments of your winter.

I’ve never felt that the new year begins on January 1st.

To me—and to the old rhythms of the earth—the real new year begins in the spring. When light returns, when warmth returns, when everything from seeds to dreams finally has the conditions to rise.

Winter is not the rebirth.
Winter is the dark before it.
The death before the new.
The necessary quiet that helps life reorganize itself.

This season isn’t about resolutions or performance. It’s about preparation.
It’s about telling the truth to yourself before the world asks you to step forward again.

And truth requires time in the dark.

Every December, I can feel the full weight of the year settling in my body—the moments that shaped me, the moments that stretched me, the moments I wish I could revisit and the ones I’m glad I survived.

We all carry a silent archive of our lessons.
Winter invites us to open it.

To sit with what we avoided.
To honor what we overcame.
To name what we outgrew.
To acknowledge what still hurts.
To admit what we want next.

This is the season where clarity is born—not in sparkly affirmations or aesthetically pleasing rituals, but in the uncomfortable decision to sit with ourselves long enough to understand what needs to be released.

I always come back to the Starks from Game of Thrones:
“Winter is coming.”

They weren’t warning of doom. They were naming a truth:
Winter is inevitable.
Winter is sacred.
Winter is preparation.

It’s the season that strips everything down to the essentials.
To what’s real.
To what’s ours.
To what must go so something new can eventually come in.

And there’s a strange comfort in that.
A reassurance that nothing you release now is meant to accompany you into the next cycle.
Winter clears the path.

The deeper I move into my own healing, the more clearly I see how essential this season truly is. Transformation doesn’t happen in bright, sunlit chapters. It happens here—in the cold, in the quiet, in the moments where nothing external validates who we are becoming.

This is where identity shifts.
Where new beliefs take root.
Where old self-concepts dissolve.
Where the next version of us begins to form.

Introspection is not optional if we want real change.

It is the work.

Even though spring is the true rebirth, winter is when we plant the invisible seeds.

Now is the time to ask:

What direction feels aligned?
What needs to be simplified?
What am I building toward?
What am I ready to receive?

The answers don’t need to be polished. They just need to be honest.

Winter isn’t the season for execution.
It’s the season for clarity.

Spring months will bring momentum.
Summer months will bring acceleration.
Fall months will bring harvest.

But December…
December brings truth.

As the world sparkles around you, give yourself permission to step into the quiet corners of your life. Light a candle. Sit with your breath. Journal the things you’ve been avoiding. Let the year show you who you’ve become.

Let the cold sharpen your clarity.
Let the darkness hold your healing.
Let solitude bring you home to yourself.

Winter is coming—and that’s not a warning.
It’s an invitation.

An invitation to return to the self.
To honor the endings.
To prepare for the beginning that’s on its way.