the power of pause: releasing, reclaiming, remembering

Last Sunday, under the darkness of a new moon and on the eve of the autumn equinox, a group of us gathered to honour a sacred pause, that liminal space between seasons, between moon cycles, between what has been and what is becoming.

Together, we moved through intentional breath and movement. We set an intention. We released what no longer served us through the alchemy of fire, smoke, and ash. Though the act was private, it was witnessed. Though deeply personal, it was held in community.

I left that gathering feeling clear, grounded, and energized.

My own intention was to release the way I had been consuming the news, a daily habit that had begun to erode my peace and hijack my mornings. I knew it wasn’t serving me, but it had become ritualized in all the wrong ways: replacing mindfulness with mindless scrolling, and connection with cortisol. Each morning, instead of anchoring into stillness, I found myself starting the day with anxiety and outrage.

Ask me how the day then unfolded.

The day after our gathering, I woke up early, lit a candle, and sat with my journal. And yet, almost as if on autopilot, I watched my hand reach for my phone and open the news app.

In that moment, a movie reel of the day before flashed through my mind: the writing, the release, the fire, the witnessing. I saw the words I had burned: “I am releasing the way I consume the news,” and without hesitation, my hand flung the phone away like it had scorched me.

Of course, my inner critic chimed in immediately: “Wow. Couldn’t even make it one day? Hypocrite.”

But then, a softer voice stepped forward, the one I trust more deeply now, and said: “This is why ritual matters. This is why being witnessed in community is so powerful. This is why we pause.”

And that truth resonated deeply.

The old pattern tried to do its thing that morning, and my intention interrupted it. Ritual made space for the remembering. The pause made space for the choice.

I had known all summer that my morning news habit was draining me. But I didn’t change it until I paused long enough to articulate what was no longer working, and dared to let it go.

That morning, rather than losing myself in a newsfeed, I returned to something far more sacred: my candle, my journal, my coffee, my self.

It felt like magic.

Because every intentional act is a magical act.

When we pause, especially at potent turning points like the equinox, solstice, new moon, full moon, or first thing in the morning, we open the door to our own unique essence, truth. We remember what matters. We reconnect to our values. We balance our doing with our being.

And from that place, we can meet the day and our lives with a full tank.

Since the gathering, I begin my mornings not by reacting to the world, but by designing the kind of day I want to have. I protect my nervous system, give myself space to be, and build a container that can hold whatever the day brings.

I’ve also been weaving rest and play into the fabric of my day. Five minutes with legs up the wall when I’m tired. Deep belly breathing while walking my dog. A salty plunge into the ocean before a shower. Small (free) acts that bring pleasure, presence, and restoration.

My new ritual is this: phone in another room, journal in hand, candle lit, coffee warm. Me first. And then once I’ve returned to myself, the world can have what’s left.

To those who joined me in that circle last Sunday: thank you. Your presence helped move the dial, and my nervous system is deeply grateful.