The seasons are changing—yes, from winter to spring. The days are getting longer, the weather is warming, snow is melting into crystal streams, and flowers are birthing through the dark earth. But in the realm of our human experience, the season of collective consciousness is shifting onto a trajectory we’ve never seen before on this planet.
When I was a kid, no one taught me how to socialize consciously. I wasn’t asked about my day. And if I was—and expressed myself the only way I knew how, limited and fumbling—I wasn’t truly heard. I was explained to. My feelings went unmet. And instead of feeling connected, I felt more alone.
My mother struggled with her own demons, and her pain poured onto us like a waterfall—loud, messy, and uncontained. It flooded our home with unhealthy coping mechanisms and unmet needs. My father, absent more than present, was mostly critical—of us and of her. The cycle was endless. Misery sat shotgun in my heart.
I had many struggles growing up, but beneath them all was a deeply rooted belief that I wasn’t lovable. That belief led to difficult behaviors and painful choices. The full scope of my struggles is more complex than I’m ready to share. But what I do know is this: we’re meant to face hardship. We’re meant to learn how to hold ourselves through the storm. And we need adults—elders—who can show us how to do that. To hold us, love us, and remind us that even when we don’t have the answers, even when we show up in ways we regret, we are still worthy of love.
When we grow up in unstable homes, we become unstable. We don’t learn how to regulate our emotions. We develop poor social skills. We use manipulation to get our needs met—because that’s what we were taught. I’d say the majority of us have lived in, or still live in, manipulative homes, unaware of how we use our own dysregulation to control those around us. We become unwilling to look deeper at how our behavior affects others. Because if we do, we can no longer lean into our ignorance—we’d have to face the pain we’ve caused the people we love.
And that may be the most painful part of healing: making amends to those who mean the most to us and understanding that unconditional love doesn’t mean tolerating poor treatment. Sometimes it means loving from afar when we can no longer love in the presence of.
My daughter is quick to point out when I’m coming at her with impatience or frustration that I’m not conscious of. She triggers my healing by saying she doesn’t like the tone of my voice. Instead of justifying myself, I find myself confessing that how I’m showing up has nothing to do with her. My pain is rising to the surface, and I need to take full responsibility for that. Still, I ask that both she and I create space for each other when we’re not able to act from love. When fear is driving us, we’re both learning how to hold each other through it.
My experience isn’t unique. Many of us are trying to heal the pain we’re perpetuating in our own families as we learn to parent our children. Our old wounds rise to the surface as we navigate the challenge of parenting, friendships, and relationships. Many of us are trying to heal deep wounds without passing them on to our beautiful children.
Change comes when we allow the parts of the mind that have lingered in the subconscious to rise to the surface. The boldness of our wild thoughts, and the habit of letting the mind act as dictator over the soul, are beginning to shift.
The real human challenge is no longer just the rare, exalted moments when existential questions bubble up. Now it’s the realization that these questions go beyond, “What do I do for a living?” or “What’s the point of all this?” It’s the dawning awareness that something bigger is at play—and that the desire to hide behind our limiting beliefs is no longer sustainable.
We must be cautious not to normalize confusion as a desirable end state. Confusion is not something to avoid, nor something to sit in forever—it’s a fertile space, the liminal moment before something new is born. It’s important not to numb ourselves in these moments with busyness, screens, conflict, certainty, or pleasure. This is the time to open ourselves to a new way of seeing. Humanity is evolving.
But this evolution of consciousness isn’t guaranteed—especially not because we’re a “superior” species. We are not. In fact, the belief that any one species is superior is a fallacy born of ego—a mechanism we’ve used to feel powerful and dominant over the very thing that sustains us: the Earth and her mystical workings.
Consciousness is an ecosystem. What we think, how we act—it affects all beings. The evolution of consciousness is about understanding that how we speak to ourselves and others, what we consume—materially, physically, emotionally, and relationally—impacts everything. The belief that we can do whatever we want, whenever we want, to satisfy ourselves, is exactly what has led us to this tumultuous moment—politically, environmentally, economically, and socially.
Focusing only on what we can get for ourselves is part of the old way of being. The new way—what we’re evolving into—is about how we support each other. It’s about seeing ourselves as part of a living ecology and honoring our relationship with the Earth. These ideas may seem worlds apart, but they’re intimately connected. The way we behave and what we consume directly impacts our ability to evolve with this new world—if we’re willing to be part of the solution.
When I say the world is changing, it’s not a metaphor. It’s not something for our grandchildren’s lifetime. It’s happening here and now. The only thing holding you back from seeing it—is your willingness to see. That’s it.
What I’m saying is: I’ve wrestled with my own demons, and I continue to work through both the pain I carry and the pain that arises from living in these times. This is not the moment to turn inward and hide from the world—this is the time to become an activist of the heart. To wake up to your own struggles and commit to healing—not in isolation, but in community. To be part of the change that is already happening. To take small, local steps that keep you awake, present, and kind. This is not the time to retreat into the comforts of your life—it’s time to rise.
with love, Noelle