In the cycle of the Celtic calendar, we are in the season of Lughnasa (LOO-nah-sah). It is the festival of the first harvest, the moment when the land itself begins to give. Grains ripen, fruits swell, fields tilt toward abundance. It is a season of generosity and also of invitation to notice what the land is offering and to practice the art of receiving.
That practice is not always simple. Many of us know how to give until we are emptied out. We know how to work, how to strive, how to tend. But to receive? That can feel uncomfortable, even disorienting. To receive joy without brushing it aside. To accept help without apology. To let praise land without deflecting. Each requires softening into our own worthiness.
The land teaches us here. The earth does not ask whether it is too much to bloom. The apple tree does not downplay its branches heavy with fruit. The barley does not diminish its golden shimmer in the late-summer light. The land gives, and in giving, it asks us to be in relationship. To notice, to harvest, to be nourished, to give thanks.
In recovery, this lesson cuts close. So many of us arrive to sobriety carrying the belief that we are not deserving of abundance or that joy is fleeting and untrustworthy. Receiving becomes a risk. Yet, just as Lughnasa marks a turning toward harvest, recovery teaches us that we are allowed to gather what has grown. We are allowed to savor the sweetness. We are allowed to let ourselves be fed by life.
The Hard Work of Receiving
Receiving is not passive. It is not standing still with open hands while the world fills them. Often, receiving is active work. It means unclenching the jaw, releasing the instinct to argue and learning to believe that what is being offered belongs with us.
Receiving joy can stir up grief. A sudden swell of laughter might remind us of seasons when joy felt impossible, when darkness pressed in, when celebration felt far away. Receiving help can awaken shame. Accepting a ride, a meal or a listening ear can feel like evidence that we have failed at independence, as if we should be strong enough to carry it all on our own. Receiving praise can feel almost unbearable. For many of us, old scripts still whisper: “Don’t be too proud. Don’t take up space. Don’t shine too brightly.”
This is why receiving is labor. It is a practice of loosening the grip on self-protection and allowing ourselves to be nourished. It means standing at the table of abundance without shrinking away. It means tasting what has been laid before us and trusting that it will not be taken back.
The land in Lughnasa gives freely. The grain ripens, the orchards sweeten, the fields tilt toward harvest. Nothing in nature holds back its offering. The difficulty is not in whether the earth will give. The difficulty is whether we will allow ourselves to take it in.
Practices for Receiving
Like any practice, receiving takes repetition. Here are a few small ways to begin:
- Pause before deflecting. When someone offers you praise, notice the instinct to brush it off. Instead, breathe and simply say, “Thank you.”
- Name your joy. At the end of the day, write down one moment that delighted you — a flash of sunlight, a laugh with a friend — and let yourself feel it twice: once in the moment, and once in memory.
- Accept help without apology. When someone offers to carry a bag, make a meal or listen, practice saying yes. Receiving help strengthens connection.
- Harvest something tangible. Pick blackberries, buy seasonal peaches, bring flowers inside. Let your hands practice gathering what is given.
A Season of Belonging
To receive is to be in relationship — with land, with community, with our own hearts. Lughnasa reminds us that abundance is not selfish and joy is not a distraction. They are gifts that keep us alive. The land is giving, right now, without hesitation. What would it mean for us to do the same?
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.
