2025 was the Year of the Snake, and for me, it embodied its meaning in ways I could never have planned, predicted, or prepared for. The snake does not grow by forcing itself forward or proving its strength through endurance; it grows by shedding, slowly and instinctively, when something no longer fits the body it has become. This was the lesson unfolding beneath the surface of my year, long before I consciously understood that I was living it.
For most of 2025, I kept going.
I had been putting off a surgery for almost a year, not because I didn’t need it, but because I was afraid of stopping, afraid of slowing down, and afraid of what might unravel if I allowed myself to step away from the momentum I had worked so hard to build. I told myself I would deal with it later, once things were quieter, easier, more spacious even though those moments never truly arrived.
So instead, I worked, and my work became my distraction, my way of coping, so I didn’t have to sit with the discomfort of what my body was asking of me. I pushed through pain, through ongoing discomfort, through the subtle but persistent signals that something wasn’t right, convincing myself that resilience meant endurance and that rest could wait until some undefined point in the future.
I kept telling myself it was temporary until, one day, I couldn’t any more. There came a point where I couldn’t work at all, where my body no longer allowed me to distract myself through productivity, where I couldn’t even walk without pain reminding me that I had crossed a line I could no longer ignore. In the end, my body made the decision for me, not out of punishment, but out of protection.
At the very end of 2025, I had no choice but to surrender and in that surrender, the shedding truly began. This was not only on a physical level, but emotionally, energetically, and creatively too. What started to fall away wasn’t just exhaustion or pain, but deeply held beliefs I hadn’t realised were quietly shaping the way I worked. This year taught me something I now hold as truth: you cannot build a considered business while abandoning the body that holds it.
Rest wasn’t a pause from the work, or an interruption to my path forward; it was the work itself. It was the initiation into a different way of building, creating, and leading, one that honours capacity, intuition, and sustainability rather than constant output.
As I recovered, something else began to shift quietly alongside my body, my relationship with comparison. I stopped watching everyone else online, stopped measuring my pace against timelines that were never designed for my nervous system, my life, or my personal season. I began to see more clearly that different people are in different phases, carrying different responsibilities, bodies, capacities, and thresholds for movement.
During this time, I kept returning to a simple truth from Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a story that gently reminds us that fulfillment doesn’t come from flying faster than everyone else, but from choosing a way of moving that feels honest, embodied, and true to who we are. When you stop living for approval, you finally learn how to fly, not higher, not louder, not faster, but truer.
Now, we step into the Year of the Horse.
A year associated with movement, momentum, and forward energy, but for me, not the kind that comes from force or urgency. This is movement rooted in alignment, momentum earned through listening, and strength guided by intuition rather than pressure. It is about honouring the body instead of overriding it, and trusting that progress does not have to hurt to be meaningful.
For me, this year is about moving differently.
No comparison.
No pushing through pain.
No proving my worth through endurance.
Just staying in my lane, doing the work with care and presence, and trusting the rhythm that unfolds when you finally stop resisting yourself and if you’re reading this and recognising yourself somewhere in these words, let this be your reminder: slow does not mean behind, quiet does not mean small, and surrender is not the end of momentum, sometimes, it is the beginning of the truest, most sustainable form of growth.
With hugs, Niobe x
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If you’re navigating a season of slowing down, rebuilding, or listening more closely to what your business is asking of you, you’re not alone. I share more reflections like this alongside intentional brand guidance through Studio Kynd.
You’re always welcome to step inside when it feels right.
