The winter I finally stopped waiting

There was a winter, shortly after we moved from California to our farm in upstate New York, that brought me to my knees in a way I didn’t expect.

Moving was hard. Harder than I had let myself admit. The cold and dark arrived so much faster than I was prepared for. My three year old, grief stricken from leaving everything she knew, stopped sleeping. A soul friendship I had invested many years in started to dissolve. We kept getting sick. Every day felt like I was wading through molasses. And even though we had done this beautiful, brave thing of choosing land and a slower life, I felt lonelier than I ever thought possible.

When we were talking ourselves into the move, I remember saying confidently, “I created community once, I can do it again.” And I believed that. Truly.

But when the dark season settled in, and my capacity shrank, and the days felt heavy and disorienting, I didn’t trust that part of myself as easily as I once had. I wondered if I had lost something essential along the way. Some spark or courage or ability to connect.

One early morning, after a particularly rough night of sleep for everyone, I walked outside into the cold just to breathe air that wasn’t thick with frustration and exhaustion. The trees were bare, the ground crunchy with frost, and I felt a familiar ache return — the longing for connection, for reciprocity, for a place where I could show up messy and still be held.

And I remembered the thing I have said to so many women for years:

What if I stop waiting for someone else to create the community I crave? What if I gather it myself?

And in that vulnerable moment, I did something that felt both small and wildly brave.

I reached out to the one person I had met in those early months who felt like a reciprocal connection. Literally one person. I told her I wanted to host a women’s circle. And then, almost embarrassingly, I asked: “Could I do it at your house? And could you help me find women to come?”

That circle, born out of loneliness, tenderness, and a shaky kind of hope, became the beginning of a sense of belonging here. It was the spark that led to so many beautiful friendships, fun witchy dinners, mothers who have gathered in our barn, the weaving of relationships that now root me to this place. Two winters later, I can trace so much of my current life back to that one moment of reaching out in the dark.

Winter can do that.
It can strip us down to the truth of what we need.
It can ask us to be brave in ways we did not plan for.
It can show us that we cannot wait for community to appear on its own.
Sometimes we must light the first match ourselves.

And it is this memory that always rises in me around this time each year, when the days contract and the inward pull becomes unmistakable.

Winter is the season that teaches us to gather.

Which brings me to why I am writing to you today.

In the spirit of winter’s inward pull — and in the clarity that comes with leaving Mercury retrograde behind — I am opening enrollment for the winter live round of Circle Craft, my program for women who feel called to lead circles in their communities with confidence, skill, and soul.

We begin in January, which feels like the perfect moment: a new year, a new cycle, and a fresh, steady, grounded place to step into leadership.

If you’ve been feeling the tug (gently, persistently, or with a full-body yes) I would love to spend this winter with you. A season of preparing, deepening, learning the craft, and tending the spark that wants to grow in you.

Enrollment is open now.

Thank you, always, for being here and reading along as I learn (again and again) what it means to build a village in these modern times.

With warmth,
Becca

Curious about leading your own women’s circle in your community? Circle Craft is a winter apprenticeship for women who feel called to gather and lead circles in their communities. You’ll learn the practical skills of facilitation — structure, boundaries, group dynamics, and ritual — while growing the confidence and presence needed to hold a steady, meaningful space. By spring, you’ll be ready to gather your people. We begin January 15th.

Learn more about Circle Craft