The medicine of the snake and the irritability of transformation.

Love Letters

Oct 28

Here we are nearing the final exhale of October. As you read these words, I invite you to receive them as an invitation to slow down and take this moment to gently turn within.

Perhaps place your hand on your heart.

Rest your eyes…soften your jaw.

Receive your breath.

Deeeeep sigh-sound on the exhale.

I want to start this newsletter today by naming that it's okay if you're not okay. And it's okay if you can't quite put words to your experience in this moment.

These past few weeks have been incredibly heartbreaking and heart-wrenching bearing witness to the violence and horror in unfolding across our world. I am not a political expert nor do I pretend to be - my heart is simple and my prayers join the ocean of whispers and cries from mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers, friends and beings of all expressions, faiths, religions, and denominations who are hurting and calling for ceasefire and root-deep peace right now. And in the midst of what seems like a never-ending news cycle of horror, I repeat: it's okay if you're not okay.

I've included a few of the writings and actionable resources that have reached me at the bottom of this newsletter in hopes that it may encourage or assist…and while this small and seemingly trite practice of taking a moment to slow down may seem too simple - I encourage you to return to it again and again throughout the coming days and weeks to honor and acknowledge that your body and all of its tender-true parts matter even and especially in uproar and war.

In the midst of this transformational era, I am called to share a short story with you on shedding skins and the medicine of the snake. There are some reflection questions to consider coupled with facts about snakeskin shedding I recently learned. Perhaps hearing this will help validate your experiences through changing times…

A few weeks ago, I told one of my mentors that it feels like I am shedding a lifeless, old-yet-familiar skin and how uncomfortable and isolating that feels.

My mentor happens to have a snake for a pet and shared that whenever her snake is about to shed a skin, he becomes incredibly inward, irritable, and particular. His humidity has to be set to the perfect degree. He doesn't like to be social, play or be picked up. He gets very quiet, still, and easily irritable. She has learned to give him the space he needs while accommodating his physical and energetic needs.

About a week after he sheds his skin, he is much more playful, social, extroverted, and doesn't mind the changing range of humidity. Once he has crossed the threshold from the old to the new, he has more capacity to engage with his outer world.

By observing the snake's cycle, nature teaches us to go inward during times of transition and change - it also shows us that irritability is sometimes a byproduct of change.

I'm curious, in your experience…

In what ways, if any, have you felt irritable lately? How has this shown up?

If you give that irritability a voice, what does it have to say?

What is changing in your world? What feels uncomfortable and challenging right now?

What feels like a snakeskin that's ready to be shed?

If a miracle were possible, what would it be?

What is one small step you need to take right now?

When you are about to shed an old skin, when you are in the proverbial chrysalis – that liminal space between no longer and not yet – it's literally nature to go within.

In the process of 1:1 Mentorship, I refer to shedding skins as imprints. These are the familiar-yet-depleting habits and ways of being that no longer serve you, and yet have become so familiar and habitual that you might have fully identified with them as “just the way I am.”

In the intake process of Mentorship, together we attune to an overall archetypal name for these imprints, these old skins. Some of the identity names that have come up in previous mentorships:

Bright Burnout

The Depleted Rescuer

Hyper Self-Sufficient

People Pleasing

And some of the habitual behaviors coupled with these archetypes are:

I've placed more attention on helping and holding space for others, on meeting their needs, then acknowledging and meeting my own.

I avoid confrontation and feel pressured to immediately react and respond rather than giving myself time and space to process what I'm feeling...especially in the midst of figures I've deemed superior.

I over-give and sometimes feel on the verge of burnout.

I have a tendency to either blow up or shut down when I don't feel safe.

I've felt safer keeping quiet – I notice I haven't fully metabolized earlier life experiences. I feel like I have to hide or shrink to stay present in some moments.

Imprints and old skins aren't something to shame and blame yourself over, nor are they something to fix. They can be an essential part of maturing, growing, and emerging into something newer and truer to the season of life you find yourself in.

At the same time, when you're attuned to the process of becoming, of shedding skins in the darkness, there's often something new whispering to you in the dark.

I'm reminded of Valarie Kaur's words, “The future is dark – but what if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb?”

What if… people pleasing and burnout could learn healthy boundaries to nourish and protect a compassionate and empathetic heart?

What if … hyper self-sufficiency could celebrate its capacity to get things done while leaning evermore into community assistance and support?

What if the ways of being that you perceive as “flaws” are leading you to your biggest breakthroughs? What if they are your wisest teachers?

Shedding skins doesn't unfold just individually. There are times of collective shedding: friend groups, local communities, and nations reconciling with an old-yet-familiar, habitual way of being that simply no longer fits or works.

So if this letter finds you feeling uncomfortable, irritable, and uneasy, spending time in the dark of the unknown, I hope that this is encouragement: what you are feeling is a natural part of change. Of shedding an old skin so you can grow a new one.

Lean into this moment and remember that by giving yourself stillness and time to be quiet and go within, you'll access more peace.

And like my mentor's snake, on the other side of the shedding lies your capacity to engage with the world again. To play. To feel even more like yourself than before.

With love,

Madeline

P.S. If you're intrigued by what I've shared about 1:1 Mentorship in this letter, I have two spaces currently open for new clients. You can learn more about mentorship here, and book in time for an obligation-free conversation about how it might ease your transition in shedding your current skin and stepping into your next.