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- celia05
- 1 day ago
- 9 min read
The moment I took my power back was when I began remembering everything that had been erased. December twenty-one marks the shortest day of the year, which is called the Winter Solstice. It is to honor the blessings from the past and future in the present moment—the moment of slowing down long enough to integrate everything learned, revealed, and discarded.
What I learned is that time runs in cycles and we activate it through our actions. We can slow it down through presence or speed it up through unconscious behavior. An example, scrolling on social media, and then realizing two hours have gone by in a matter of what felt like minutes. Presence seems to be more of a struggle every day, and this time of year it’s even harder. We create a monumental list of things to accomplish in a shorter period. And then hop onto social media to compare ourselves to unrealistic time loops. This year, I refused to participate in this illogical tradition; No tree, presents, or burnout. I am choking on consumerism, which leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Learning about sacred geometry, the Seed of Life, which consists of seven overlapping circles representing the seven days of creation, symbolizes fertility, divine creation, and the interconnectedness of life, helped me to see time differently. But I had one question: how do the circles interlink to form a flower? The circles aren’t just sitting on top of each other; they must integrate.
This question took me back to the astrological wheel and the twelve houses that represent our evolution through time. I studied the eighth house of death and rebirth, ruled by Pluto, the planet that destroys to transform. And the ninth house of higher mind, ruled by Jupiter, the planet of expansion. But how do we die and then be reborn as a person whose mind is enlightened? I mean, if the circle of life symbolizes fertility and interconnectedness, why doesn’t the astrological wheel show a house of integration?
The funny thing about consciousness is that when you have questions, the answer will appear if you are present enough to catch the synchronicities.
I heard my inner voice say Arizona, the resonance aligned within me as a place to discover for relocation. What I didn’t consider was that the trip was planned for December 6th to December 12th. Why does this matter? On December 6th, the energy of the Full Moon in Gemini, the zodiac of communication, was still potent. And on December 12th, the opening of the 1212 portal began. The 1212 portal represents the completion of an old cycle, and with the energy of the full moon still lingering, it would be through conversation that something would be revealed to me in Arizona.
Remember, the Winter Solstice is about everything learned, revealed, and discarded as the year comes to a close. So, the Universe wanted me to receive the answers to my questions without forgetting I was also closing out old shadows to integrate before the end of the year.
This year is a nine-year of endings, and next year reverts to one, a fool’s journey, and new beginnings. You can’t bring old shadows into a new year. Leaving the year of the Snake, which is wisdom, transformation, intuition, and rebirth, and entering the year of the Horse, signifying freedom, independence, energy, and adventure.
I recognize the same emotions stirring inside about how we use our time from last year. But I didn’t figure out how I would do things differently this year. I was still repeating an old, outdated loop that I do not align with. Today, I am sharing a secret I discovered and the reason why I haven’t broken a paradigm and integrated with a new version of myself.
Ophiuchus (pronounced off-ee-YOU-kus) is the secret. What or who is Ophiuchus? She is the 13th zodiac, located between the 8th and 9th astrological houses, the Serpent Bearer, the Divine Feminine healer, the Snake Goddess, the Divine Mother, the Caduceus. She is the house of integration, the shedding of old paradigms, the missing piece to heal the broken cycles, forming a new cycle, the circles of the Flower of Life. The Sun travels through the Ophiuchus constellation roughly from November 29th to December 17th. The same week, I visited Arizona.
You want to hear something really crazy? Her statue is in Sedona, Arizona! The place where I traveled during the time the Sun was in the constellation of Ophiuchus. During my revelation that shining my light makes other people feel uncomfortable. Shedding the belief that I need to dim to feel safe.
Why do women dim their light?
Most women didn’t wake up one day and decide to become smaller. The message was received, not chosen.
It came from many directions at once:
Early social conditioning
Girls are often praised for being agreeable, helpful, pretty, and easy to manage—long before they’re praised for being bold, authoritative, or unapologetic.
Relational feedback loops
When a woman expresses confidence, desire, ambition, or certainty and is met with withdrawal, ridicule, punishment, or abandonment, her nervous system learns: this is unsafe.
Cultural archetypes
Society has long split women into narrow categories: the good girl, the selfless mother, the supportive partner, the muse—but not the central force.
Inherited trauma
Many women carry unspoken memories from mothers and grandmothers who paid a real price for visibility—social exile, financial dependence, emotional or physical danger.
Dimming the light was never a weakness. It was an adaptation.
How it shows up in relationships
When a woman dims her light, it often appears as:
Over-explaining or softening the truth so others don’t feel uncomfortable
Shrinking desires to match a partner’s capacity
Confusing emotional labor with love
Being “low maintenance” at the cost of authenticity
Letting resentment build instead of risking conflict
Making herself palatable rather than powerful
In romantic relationships, especially, this can look like:
Choosing partners who feel safe because they don’t see her fully
Losing attraction when she begins to shine again
Feeling invisible, unchosen, or emotionally lonely while partnered
The tragedy is not that she gave less—it’s that she gave everything except herself.
What it is not
This is important to name clearly.
Dimming your light is not:
Humility
Kindness
Feminine receptivity
Emotional intelligence
Spiritual maturity
“Being healed”
Compromise
True humility doesn’t require self-erasure.
True femininity doesn’t require containment.
True love doesn’t ask for disappearance.
If your authenticity threatens a relationship that was built on performance, that is not intimacy.
What the shadow suppresses
The shadow is not evil—it is exiled power.
What many women suppress in their lives:
Healthy anger → becomes guilt or self-blame
Desire → becomes neediness or numbness.
Authority → becomes people-pleasing
Erotic life force → becomes anxiety or exhaustion.
Certainty → becomes chronic self-doubt.
The shadow holds the parts of a woman that were too much for the environments she survived.
And here’s the paradox:
What was once too much is often exactly what is needed now.
Reclaiming the light (without burning everything down)
Reclaiming your light doesn’t mean becoming harsh, aggressive, or unrecognizable.
It means:
Allowing your presence to take up space without apology
Letting disappointment be felt instead of managed
Telling the truth before resentment calcifies
Being seen before being chosen
Trusting that the right relationships expand when you expand
When a woman stops dimming, some relationships will fall away—not because she failed, but because they were calibrated to her absence.
Loved vs. Managed — the core difference.
Love meets you as a sovereign being.
Management relates to you as a variable to be controlled.
One honors who you are.
The other tolerates you as long as you remain predictable.
How being loved feels (even when it’s uncomfortable)
You are being loved when:
You can express truth without rehearsing it.
Your emotions are received, not optimized or corrected.
Conflict doesn’t threaten the bond—it deepens it.
You’re not punished for evolving.
Your “no” doesn’t trigger withdrawal or manipulation.
You don’t have to make yourself smaller to stay connected.
Your presence is welcomed, not managed for mood stability.
Love allows friction.
Love expects growth.
Love does not require you to stay the same person to remain worthy.
You feel:
Grounded
More yourself
Calm after expression
Seen even when misunderstood
How being managed feels (even when it looks “nice”)
You are being managed when:
Your tone matters more than your truth.
You’re praised for being “easy,” “low maintenance,” or “understanding.”
Emotional reactions are subtly discouraged.
You sense invisible rules you must follow to keep the peace.
Your partner regulates you instead of themselves.
You’re rewarded when you comply, and destabilized when you don’t
Your power, clarity, or certainty creates distance.
Management often hides behind:
Calmness
Logic
Spiritual bypassing
“I just want harmony.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Let’s not make this a big deal.”
You feel:
Tightness in the chest or throat
Hyper-aware of timing and delivery
Afraid of being “too much.”
Confused about why you’re tired or resentful
Management doesn’t ask who you are—
It asks how to keep you manageable.
A simple litmus test
Ask yourself this:
When I become more honest, more alive, more myself—does this relationship strengthen or destabilize?
If it strengthens → you’re being loved
If it destabilizes → you’re being managed.
Love can handle your expansion.
Management depends on your containment.
What makes this hard for women to see
Many women were conditioned to confuse:
Emotional regulation with emotional suppression
Kindness with self-erasure
Safety with predictability
So management can feel like love at first—especially if it’s calm, consistent, and socially acceptable.
But love doesn’t require you to dim your light to be kept.
The quiet truth most women feel but don’t name
If you find yourself asking:
“How do I say this without upsetting them?”
“Is this worth bringing up?”
“Maybe I should just let it go… again.”
That’s not intuition telling you to be mature.
That’s your system responding to conditional safety.
What changes when you stop being manageable
When you stop managing yourself for others:
Some relationships end
Some relationships deepen
Some people reveal they loved the version of you that didn’t need much.
This is not a loss.
This is calibration.
Exiting a managed dynamic without drama is less about what you say—and more about what you stop negotiating.
Drama feeds on reactivity.
Clarity starves it.
Here’s how to leave cleanly, power intact, and nervous system steady.
First: understand why drama happens.
Drama usually erupts when:
You announce a boundary instead of living it.
You argue for permission to change.
You try to be understood by someone invested in your predictability.
You explain your evolution to someone who benefits from your containment.
Management collapses when you withdraw participation—not when you confront it.
Step 1: Regulate before you communicate
Before any conversation, stabilize your body.
Signs you’re regulated:
Your chest is open, not tight.
Your breath is slow
You’re not rehearsing rebuttals.
You don’t need a specific outcome.
If you’re seeking validation, you’re still inside the dynamic.
Step 2: Make the decision privately
Do not workshop your exit with the person you’re exiting.
Once you’ve decided:
Stop over-functioning
Stop emotional cushioning
Stop preemptive apologies
Stop managing their reactions.
Your nervous system must know: I am no longer negotiating my reality.
Step 3: Name the shift, not the history
You do not need to explain the past to justify the future.
Use statements that:
Are present-focused
Are brief
Don’t invite debate
Examples:
“This dynamic no longer works for me.”
“I’m choosing something different for myself.”
“I’m not available for this pattern anymore.”
Silence after the sentence is part of the boundary.
Step 4: Expect destabilization—and don’t fix it
When management ends, the other person may:
Become emotional
Become logical
Become spiritual
Become victimized
Suddenly, offer a change.
This is not proof you’re wrong.
This is a withdrawal from a control system.
Do not:
Reassure
Over-clarify
Debate tone
Collapse into caretaking
Regulation is not cruelty.
Step 5: Let your consistency do the talking
Boundaries aren’t speeches.
They’re patterns.
Drama fades when:
You repeat yourself less.
You don’t explain new decisions.
You don’t rush to resolve discomfort.
You let others manage their own emotions.
The cleanest exit is boringly consistent.
Step 6: Grieve without romanticizing
You can honor what was without reopening the door.
Grief doesn’t mean doubt.
Missing someone doesn’t mean you made the wrong choice.
You are allowed to leave even if:
They didn’t mean harm.
They love you in their way.
They don’t understand
You were once happy
Step 7: Re-anchor in self-trust
Ask yourself daily:
“What would staying true to myself look like today?”
Each aligned action rebuilds authority in your body.
That’s how you exit without drama:
Not loudly.
Not defensively.
But decisively.
The truth that few people say out loud
People who loved you won’t need drama to process your departure.
People who need to manage you will.
Your calm is not avoidance.
It’s evidence you’re no longer available for containment.
So, during the time of slowing down and taking inventory of your year, ask yourself,
