There’s something about Yule that invites us to exhale.
As the full moon rises in the longest nights of the year, the world feels quieter—heavier with stillness—and suddenly the rush of December softens at the edges. The ancient world understood this instinctively: midwinter was a time to pause, to gather closer to the fire, to honour the slow rhythm of nature, and to take stock of what the year had carved into us.
I’ve found myself craving that softness more than ever this winter. After months of juggling school, making, parenting, planning, and creating, this moment between the dark and the light feels like a much-needed doorway. A place to sit with a warm drink, breathe deeply, and just be for a moment.
Yule isn’t about grandeur or elaborate rituals—it was always about the simple things:
a candle lit against the dark, a shared meal, evergreen branches brought inside as a promise that life continues even when the earth sleeps. These gestures are grounding because they’re human. They remind us to step back into the flow of something older, steadier, and far less complicated than the modern December whirlwind.
This full moon feels like the perfect companion for reflection.
It hangs there in the cold sky, bright and honest, gently illuminating the story of the year behind us.
So here’s what I’m asking myself this Yule:
What did this year teach me?
Some lessons arrived gently, some not so gently, but all of them shaped me. This year has been full of creativity, growth, new work, renewed focus, and a return to the things that matter. It’s been busy—messily, beautifully busy—but it’s also been a year that reminded me that I can hold many things at once.
What do I want to let fall away with the dark of the year?
Old habits, harsh self-talk, overcommitting, the instinct to rush……. Yule encourages us to recognise what has been weighing us down and quietly set it aside. Not with drama—just with honesty.
What do I want to carry forward as the light begins to return?
There is a spark of excitement in me as I move toward my 50th. A sense of possibility, of clarity, of wanting to shape the next year with intention instead of pressure. I’m entering a season of alignment: more making, more writing, more joy, more laughter, more living at my own pace.
A simple Yule practice for grounding
Nothing complicated. Nothing performative. Just something real:
- Light a candle at dusk and allow yourself a few minutes of stillness.
- Hold something natural—a pine cone, a piece of wood, a sprig of rosemary—and take one slow breath.
- Write down three things you’re grateful for this year, no matter how small.
- Write one sentence about what you want from the coming year.
- Step outside for a moment if you can. Look at the moon. Let it remind you that everything moves through phases—your life included.
These tiny rituals are enough. They’re ancient in their own way, rooted in attention and presence rather than complexity.
As the year folds itself into its final chapter, I’m choosing to welcome the quiet.
To trust that rest is part of creation.
To honour both the darkness and the returning light.
And to step into my 50th year with a little more intention, a little more softness, and a heart open to what comes next.
Blessed Yule, and may this full moon guide you gently into the year ahead.
Ena Green Designs 