There is a moment, subtle and nearly imperceptible, when the earth begins to shift. The deep freeze of winter loosens its grip, and something stirs beneath the surface. It is not yet spring, but it is no longer the dead of winter. This is Imbolc—the season of thaw, the hinge between what has been frozen and what will bloom.
Imbolc is the ancient Celtic festival that honors this moment of transition. Celebrated around February 1st, it marks the midway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. The name Imbolc is thought to derive from “i mbolg,” meaning “in the belly,” a nod to the pregnant ewes who begin to lactate at this time, signaling the return of life. It is a festival of fire and water, of light returning, of seeds stirring, of ice melting. It belongs to Brigid, the goddess (and later saint) of healing, poetry, and the sacred flame. She is the keeper of the wells, the guardian of the threshold, the embodiment of renewal.
For those of us in recovery, Imbolc offers a language for the in-between. It is the season of softening, of beginning again when it still feels impossible. It is the thawing of what has been held too tightly, the loosening of what has long been clenched. There is something deeply vulnerable about this time. The ice does not melt all at once. It drips. It seeps. It soaks slowly into the earth. This is how healing happens, too.
The Celtic Calendar and the Rhythm of Recovery
The Celtic calendar is woven from the rhythms of the land. Rather than splitting time into rigid months, it follows the great turning of the seasons. The solstices and equinoxes divide the year into four quarters, and the cross-quarter festivals—Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasa, and Samhain—mark the midpoints, the moments of transition. Each season offers wisdom for those who pay attention.
Recovery, too, is seasonal. It is not a straight path but a cycle. There are times of reckoning and surrender, of expansive growth, of harvest, of quiet descent. And then, there is Imbolc—the beginning again, the return of light, the slow and steady movement toward something new. It reminds us that change happens before it is visible. That healing is underway even when we can’t yet see the evidence. That the work is in the daily tending, the drip-drip-drip of thawing ice.
Water and the Thawing of the Soul
If Imbolc belongs to any element, it belongs to water. Not the crashing waves of summer or the heavy rains of autumn but the delicate thaw of ice. The slow seep of moisture into the frozen ground. This is the water that revives the earth, that prepares the soil for what will come next. And this is the water of recovery—the gentle return of feeling, the willingness to soften, the tears that come when we stop numbing.
There is a kind of grief in this melting. When we first enter sobriety, or when we return to it after struggle, we are often still frozen. We have spent so long bracing against pain, locking it away, keeping it solid. And then, something shifts. The ice cracks. The tears come. The heart begins to feel again. It is terrifying, this thaw. But it is also necessary. Nothing can grow in frozen ground.
At Imbolc, people would visit sacred wells to seek healing. They would kneel at the edge of the water, dip their hands into its depths, and ask for renewal. This, too, is our work. To meet ourselves at the well of our own lives. To let the thaw happen. To trust that what comes next will be worth the softening.
Embodiment Practices for Imbolc
1. A Ritual of Thawing: Find a small bowl of water and place it outside overnight. Let it freeze. The next morning, bring it inside and hold it in your hands. Notice the cold, the solidity, the resistance to change. Then, place it near a candle or a warm windowsill. Watch as the ice begins to melt. Pay attention to the slowness of it. Reflect on what within you is starting to thaw. What has been frozen that is now beginning to move? What do you need to soften toward?
2. A Water Blessing: Fill a bowl with water. Sit with it. Speak aloud the things you wish to release, the things you wish to call in. Dip your hands into the water and press them gently over your heart, your forehead, your belly. Let the water remind you that healing is not something you force—it is something you allow. You do not have to pry yourself open. You only have to let the thaw happen.
Reflection Questions for Imbolc
- Where in my life do I feel the first signs of thawing?
- What have I been holding tightly that is ready to soften?
- How can I be gentle with myself as I enter a new season of healing?
- What would it mean to trust the slow work of change?
Imbolc is the quiet revolution of the earth, the promise that winter will not last forever. It is the season of tending, of preparing, of readying the ground. Recovery is no different. We do not go from frozen to blooming in an instant. We thaw. We soften. We allow the light to return, drop by drop, day by day. And slowly, steadily, something new begins to grow.
THIRSTY FOR WONDER: Anne Marie Cribben is a passionate recovery coach and spiritual companion based in Washington, DC. As the founder of Thirsty For Wonder, she offers 1:1 coaching, spiritual companionship, and recovery support rooted in compassion and empowerment. Creator of The Wellspring: A Celtic Recovery Journey, Anne Marie blends the Celtic calendar with sobriety, connecting participants to ancient wisdom and nature’s rhythms. A fierce advocate for sobriety as liberation and self-love, Anne Marie challenges the targeted marketing of alcohol to women and promotes authentic, joyful living. Her approach goes beyond addiction recovery, fostering a life of vibrancy and fulfillment.
In her personal life, Anne Marie enjoys baking, cooking, poetry, being a Swiftie, weight lifting, reading, embroidery, and creating mocktails. She treasures time with friends and embraces creativity in all forms.
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