I was talking with a client recently about Easter, and we both agreed it’s probably the least good of the holidays.

Neither of us is religious, so we weren’t really talking about that side of it — more the vibe.

Christmas gets lights, warmth, atmosphere.
Easter gets insipid pastel colours, and a rabbit that delivers eggs (huh?).

At one point we were discussing the rebirth of springtime, and she said,
“Who even decided on bunnies and chicks? They could have chosen anything.”

And honestly… she’s right.

They could have chosen anything.

An image swam across my mind.
A phoenix.

And somewhere in that conversation, a different kind of Easter rebirth story started to take shape.

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🔥 The Easter Phoenix

This is a story told, not of gentle spring mornings and soft colours, but of fire, destruction and rebirth.

The phoenix does not always choose to burn.

Sometimes she senses the change coming. A restlessness, a knowing that something no longer fits. And sometimes, she even leans into it, allowing the flames to take hold.

Other times, she resists.

She patches things up. Holds things together. Tries desperately to maintain the shape of a life that is already cracking. She tells herself, “Not yet. I can keep this together. It’ll be fine.”

And for a while, it works.

Until it doesn’t.

Until the weight of everything unspoken, unfelt, or avoided catches, and suddenly (or perhaps not so suddenly) it all goes up in flames.

And in that moment, everything burns.

Not a clean ending. Not a meaningful one. Just loss. Heat. Ash.

Devastation. And what comes after the fire… is worse.

The noise is gone.

No more fixing.
No more trying.
No more distraction.

Just stillness. Emptiness.

And in that stillness, something unbearable…

The realisation that this might not pass.
That what has been lost is not coming back.
That this…

…is it.

Everything that once felt certain, hopeful, or worth moving towards, falls away. And nothing rises to take its place.

“What was the point of any of it?”

“Why did I try so hard for it to all fall apart anyway?”

“What’s left?”

A silent kind of desperation.
Not loud or dramatic – just… absolute.

The sense that there is no next step.
No version of the future that makes sense anymore.
No reason to believe things will be different.

And for a while, maybe days, maybe weeks, or even months, this is all there is.

Ash.
Silence.
Nothing.

---

And then, at some point, perhaps out of sheer exhaustion, the phoenix stops fighting.

She stops searching for what’s gone.
Stops trying to rebuild what cannot be rebuilt.

And reluctantly turns toward the nothing.

The emptiness.
The absence.

And in that turning towards, the acceptance, in the allowing, and the no longer fighting

something moves.

Not because anything has been fixed.

Not because hope has arrived. Not yet.

But a small space opens up.

And in that space… something almost imperceptible.

A tiny spark.

So small it could be missed.
So faint it almost feels like nothing at all.

But it is not nothing – and this time, there is room for it.

No rush to turn it into something bigger.
No pressure for it to mean anything yet.

Just a flicker, held in the quiet.

And from that – slowly, cautiously, bravely – something begins.

In a way that can’t be forced or predicted.

Perhaps it looks like rest.
Or anger.
Saying no where you once said yes.
Noticing something you might have ignored before.

It might be subtle. Or messy. It might not look like ‘rebirth’ at all.

But the phoenix does rise.

Not because she tries hard enough, or gets it right, but because something in her was never gone.

And after the burning, in the quiet and the dark, in the embers of a life, it becomes possible to see that tiny spark of ‘her’ again.

Not all at once, and certainly not perfectly.

But inevitably, inexorably, and in its own time.

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🌱 If You’re in the Ash

If you’re in that place right now where things feel like they’ve ended, and nothing new has taken their place yet, it can be incredibly hard to sit in.

We’re never really taught how to be there. Instead we’re encouraged to move on, stay positive, find meaning, fix it.

But sometimes, what helps most is something much simpler (and much harder):

Staying.

Letting it be what it is, without rushing to get past it or turn it into something else.

If that’s something you’re struggling with, you might find it helpful to read
👉 How do I know if counselling is right for me?

Or
👉 What is hypnotherapy?

Because often, the urge to escape the ash is what keeps us trapped in it.

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A Different Kind of Beginning

Some beginnings don’t come with a clear plan, or arrive fully formed.

Often, it doesn’t look like the versions of “starting afresh” that we’re usually sold.

If you’ve ever come through something you thought you wouldn’t… you’ll recognise it.

That moment where something starts to shift.
Not dramatically. Not all at once.

But just enough to start something new.

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If this resonates, and you’re navigating your own version of this, whether that’s feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure what comes next, and you feel you could use some help, you can find out more about working with with me here:

👉 Counselling with me