In the Quiet Between Breaths

Foggy Forest

Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been walking through a thick, unending fog. The air feels heavy, the path ahead hazy, and each step takes more effort than I want to admit. It’s not one big storm that’s drained me, but hundreds of small clouds that have quietly rolled in, one after another, until I could no longer see the sun.

It’s touched everything — my energy, my creativity, even my connection to my spiritual practice. Things I normally look forward to, like writing for my blog or crafting with my hands, now feel like I’m reaching for them through the mist — familiar shapes I can’t quite grasp.

And maybe the hardest part to admit? I’ve been moving through this fog for a while now. My mind and body don’t easily know how to stop. Somewhere deep inside, there’s a voice that says, You have to keep going. You can’t rest yet. When my little blog hasn’t gotten the response I once dreamed of, I’ve pushed even harder, convinced that if I just do more, maybe the clouds will break. But all I’ve done is wear myself thinner.

I also can’t ignore that menopause has been playing a role in this. The changes in my body seem to heighten everything — the fatigue, the mood swings, the emotional weight of even the smallest things. It’s as if the fog grows denser on certain days, my patience wearing thin and my feelings simmering just beneath the surface. I’m trying to find ways to cope with it, to offer myself more grace than I have in the past, but some days feel harder than others.

The fog is tricky that way. It makes you believe that pushing harder will clear it faster — but all it really does is tire you out until even the smallest steps feel impossible. And the longer you stay in it, the easier it is to forget what clear skies even look like.

I’m learning that the only way out is to slow down. Not to force the fog away, but to let it lift in its own time. Part of that is giving myself permission to write on my blog only when I feel truly called to. I don’t want to write just to fill space. I want each post to come from a place of genuine inspiration and connection. That’s why I will continue to write my Tarot, Shadow Work, and new Crystal series — because these are journeys I’m taking alongside all of you. We’re learning together, step by step, and that’s the kind of writing that feels alive for me.

I’m hoping meditation will help me find those rare moments where the mist parts, even just enough to see a few steps ahead. I’ve been holding my crystals again, feeling their quiet, grounding presence in my palms. And I’ve started walking on my new walking pad — a small act of movement that reminds me I’m still here, still moving, even when it feels slow.

This isn’t a quick fix. The fog may linger longer than I want it to. But I’m beginning to see that there’s a kind of beauty in these muted days — a chance to listen more closely, to notice the soft shapes in the distance, to honor the stillness I’ve been avoiding.

If you’re reading this and you’ve found yourself in your own kind of fog, I hope you’ll check in with yourself. Let your body rest without demanding it earn the right. Trust that even if you can’t see the sun right now, it’s still there, waiting for the moment when the mist finally begins to thin.

Blessed Be,

Bobbi Ann 

🌿Rooted in stillness, slowly finding my way back to the light.