There are seasons when nothing moves. Even when I ache for it to.
I wake up.
I do the things.
I answer the emails.
I make the soup.
I stare at the sky.
And yet…
I feel paused.
Not broken.
Not collapsing.
Just… underground.
I was tempted to call it stuck.
But that word feels violent.
As if something is wrong.
As if I should be blooming already.
And then I remembered Persephone.
The Underground Is Not Failure
Persephone did not fail when she descended.
She did not “lose momentum.”
She did not “fall behind.”
She was not “less spiritual” because she entered the underworld.
She was becoming Queen.
But here is what no one tells us about becoming Queen:
It happens in the dark.
The seed does not look impressive.
The bulb does not perform.
The root system does not post about its progress.
And yet, everything essential is happening.
This late-winter season carries that same quiet tension.
The almond trees are almost blooming.
The earth is softening.
But the miracle is still invisible.
We are culturally allergic to invisible growth.
We want proof.
Output.
Evidence.
Expansion.
But roots grow in silence.
The Lie of Visible Progress
We are taught that healing must look radiant.
That creativity must look productive.
That transformation must look like movement.
If nothing is visible, we assume nothing is happening.
No one congratulates a bulb for doing absolutely nothing above the soil.
And yet the bulb is reorganizing its entire existence.
What if our current pause is not stagnation…
but reorganization?
What if the silence is not absence…
but composting?
We Do Not Gallop
And honestly?
Fuck the Chinese Fire Horse “galloping” into 2026.
We do not gallop just because the sky declares fire.
Not every energetic forecast needs to become a command. Not every cosmic narrative requires our obedience. We do not have to rush because the sky says accelerate. We do not have to gallop because some collective momentum declares it is a year of fire.
The sky has long represented authority, father-energy, decree, patriarchy — move faster, aim higher, conquer more.
But we are not solely creatures of the sky.
We are women of the earth.
And the earth does not gallop.
The earth softens.
The earth warms.
The earth waits until the conditions are right.
Maybe this year we follow soil instead of stars.
Maybe we listen to the mothering rhythm beneath our feet rather than the injunctions shouted from above.
Persephone does not rush her return.
She rises when the ground releases her.
And so can we.
The Emotional Texture of the Underworld
Let’s be honest.
The underground does not feel glamorous.
It feels like:
• Doubt
• Fatigue
• Not knowing who we are becoming
• Letting go of a skin that no longer fits
• Being too big for the old version of ourselves and not yet anchored in the new
It can feel lonely.
Even when we are loved.
Even when our lives are objectively “fine.”
Persephone did not descend as Queen.
She descended as Maiden.
She emerged with authority.
The underworld was not punishment.
It was initiation.
And initiation always strips before it crowns.
You Might Not Be Stuck
You might be integrating.
You might be digesting everything you lived through last year.
You might be recalibrating your nervous system after expansion.
You might be quietly shedding roles, identities, expectations.
You might be preparing to bloom in a way that would have been impossible six months ago.
The problem is not that nothing is happening.
It is that you cannot see it yet.
And our culture does not know how to honor unseen phases.
But nature does.
And you are nature.
Magico-Pragmatic Ways to Honor the Underground
If you suspect you are in an underground season, try this:
Reduce visible expectations.
Not forever. Just for now.
Choose one tiny ritual and tend it daily.
Light a candle.
Walk slowly.
Journal what is dissolving.
Instead of asking What should I build?
Ask What is softening?
Instead of forcing clarity, notice subtle stirrings.
The underground does not respond to pressure.
It responds to patience.
The Stirring Before the Bloom
There comes a moment when the soil warms just enough.
Not a dramatic explosion.
Not fireworks.
A small crack.
A breath.
A green tip pushing through.
If you are starting to feel that…
If something in you is stretching toward light…
If you sense that your underground season is ending and you are ready to cross into something new…
That crossing deserves intention.
It deserves witnesses.
It deserves sacred space.
Into the Bloom
This is exactly why I am holding Into the Bloom – A Spring Rebirth in April.
Not as a productivity workshop.
Not as a self-improvement bootcamp.
But as a conscious threshold.
A space where we move from underground to emergence.
Where we honor what has composted.
Where we step into bloom gently, embodied, sovereign.
Persephone does not explode into spring.
She rises.
If you feel the stirring…
If you know you are ready to emerge, but want to do so held and supported…
You can step Into the Bloom with us here:
https://isayabelle.com/into-the-bloom-a-spring-rebirth
And if your underground season feels deeper, more personal, more intimate — my 1:1 coaching containers remain open for women navigating these thresholds with intention. https://isayabelle.com/11-coaching
You are not late.
You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You may simply be underground.
And underground is sacred.
Sacred seasons are not meant to be lived alone.
If you feel the stirring and know this is your moment to rise, know this too: both my 1:1 coaching spaces and the remaining spots for Into the Bloom are intentionally limited.
I work intimately. I hold small, potent containers. And once they are full, they close.
The retreat in April is approaching, and the circle is forming. My private coaching containers are also filling as women feel this seasonal shift.
If you are reading this and something in you whispers yes, do not wait for perfect certainty. Initiation rarely feels tidy.
The bloom does not stay hidden forever.
I believe that is all for today.
I would be so happy to hear from you.
If this spoke to your heart, I’d love for you to share it with a sister, a friend, a fellow Goddess on the path.
I send, as always, love, light and gratitude,
Isaya