snake skin

I just logged into my old university email account from when I was a student in order to dig up some old documents and I came across a bunch of emails that I had never read. I barely used my student email so I hadn’t seen some of the messages sent to me 9 years ago. One of the emails was from a professor I respected so much who said she wanted me to take one of her classes because having me as a student was on her bucket list. I sat in my chair and cried after reading the email as I felt everything that 18 year old Hannah would have loved to feel. There was another email from someone on staff at the school who thanked me for a note I had written them when they were speaking one day. They said they kept the note on their desk and that I shouldn’t underestimate the power of a few words of encouragement. These emails were so kind and made me feel a little less alone in a very snowy February.

In two days there is a full moon.

Despite the season being cold and sort of isolating I feel like a snake

who is sitting on some rocks in the sun,

letting her skin begin to shed,

moving forward slowly and watching

the mesmerizing process take place

where what was once me

ceases to be identified as part of my being.

I’m reflecting on where I am and where I came from. My word for 2025 is Here. I am so tired and I am equally so curious. I feel lonely and I feel hopeful. I recognize the ways I have avoided intimacy for the last decade and I feel ready to lean in, even if it means meeting a new version of myself in the process. I am shedding skin and understanding the undeniable shade of green that exists for me underneath it all. There is always new growth happening, regeneration. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that - that there are layers and layers to shed still and always.