How to reclaim your voice

Find hope & meaning in winter

Jan 20, 2026

I turned 33 last week; what a magical number. The kind of fun, quirky, confident and joyful energy I’m seeing for myself and this space this year. I had a beautiful blogpost/newsletter planned full of 33-ish reflections and lightbulb moments that helped me step into a more authentic version of myself in 2025. That post is not coming anymore; it’s cancelled and will appear as a series of single notes over a few weeks instead.

My brain needs a break from “useful stuff”.

Because I lost my voice. Literally.

Not just because of a nasty cold that’s tied me to my bed. Also shattered by the news that find their way out of Iran in shutdown.

The bravery of the Iranian people shakes me deeply. I wouldn’t be ready to risk my life, die. I still have my best years ahead of me. And so do they. And do you!

They risk everything, and many pay with their lives, for basic freedom.

We have dictatorships, wars and crime in many places. Yes, it’s true, when you have parts of your heart involved, you cry differently. You cry for the faces you know, the names you whisper at night. It simply doesn’t matter what country or which conflict.

So I lost my voice, temporarily.

I know people on the ground, you see. I’m not sure if they’re alive or dead. Saying this feels weird, like I’ve already shared too much, should keep it to myself. I don’t write a political blog, and I don’t want to talk about the news. If I break my own rules once, will I be expected to use my voice every time, for every issue? Without my context?

Shaken and reminded of how life won’t last forever, I want to live it even more. Days like these serve as a humble reminder that humans are not here on earth to only work, hoard money, and pay bills.

We’re here to live!

And while some of us have an unarguably better foundation than others to actually live joyfully, freely and healthily, we owe it to ourselves and those who risked their lives to simply exist that we do LIVE.

Unapologetically. Wholeheartedly.

In between sneezing, coughing and grasping for air, I type.

I reclaim my voice!

And so I want to remind you, and me, that we have a voice.

And a choice!

Let’s use both.

It doesn’t matter what you envision for your life, but use your voice to claim it as your own. Say nice things, do wonderful stuff. Dream!

It’s hard to see the magic in everyday life sometimes. But we cannot stop actively searching for it. Beauty and meaning are wherever we choose them to be. In the way the winter sun shines through the bare trees, the odd carrot between all the greens in the fridge or the way the bored train conductor mumbles their incomprehensible announcements, which force everyone to look up from their phones to read other people’s faces… and smile in confusion.

When all there’s left is our own voice, we need to share it and name the magic we still choose to see ♥️

(typed into my phone in between naps; no AI, no grammar corrections. Is it a poem, is it spoken word? Is it an essay? Who knows. It doesn’t really matter! Simple words from my heart to yours during the last stretch of this cold, dark January.)

If you wish to share or simply reflect in your own time:

Where can you reclaim your voice and share it authentically this week, month or year?

What does it mean to find beauty in moments of grief, despair, or deep winter?

How can you show up for your life and live it more fully?

What else can you do for yourself?

If you wish to dive deeper into the energy of winter and tending to your inner flame, you might enjoy the Seasonal Companion - Winter.
It’s full of practices for body, mind and heart, reflections, rituals and rhythms that deeply nourish you in winter. Use WELLRESTEDWOMAN for 10% off 💛

Hi, if you’re new here, or have been forwarded the email, thank you for reading til the end. I’m an experience designer, consultant, and writer, exploring the intersection of wellbeing, creativity, ritual, and (self-) leadership. I create seasonal companions that guide women like you toward rest, reflection, and embodied connection through the changing year, remembering this lost art that already lives within. You’re invited to join the reader community by subscribing and reading more about me and my ever-evolving work here.