polarity is divinity

a part of you has died, but never forgotten

“comfort zone” by Nana Bruce, 2025

Earlier this year, I sat with my lovely teacher and friend Davika, asking her (not for the first time) what my purpose is. I told her I felt myself splitting into two, and that this split had seeded a well of confusion and chaos within me. With all the warmth in the world, she simply smiled and said, “You are on your way. You’ve already boarded the plane. We’re just sitting on the runway, ready for it to take flight.”

And you know, my many years of travel have taught me to see life as one big airport. It’s crowded and loud, full of distractions. Delays are inevitable, often happening for your own safety, even when you don’t understand why. You’re asked to open your bags and sift through what you’ve been carrying—self-doubt, old stories, heavy traumas—deciding what can be reorganized or released before you move forward.

We arrive at life’s airport when we’re ready to transition from one adventure to the next. We come in with our bags full of misery and hope, tired yet excited, ready to board the next plane that will carry us closer to who we’re becoming.

For a long time, I tried to plan every detail before my flight. I stressed when things didn’t go my way. Now I see I was only creating my own personal hell. Because just like in an airport, there’s no way of knowing how the day will unfold. You don’t know if you’ll be seated next to a crying baby or a passenger with a cute, cuddly cat. You don’t know if there will be a storm, a blizzard, or a foggy runway that dissolves all your plans.

I used to think the worst part of flying—and of life—was waiting on the runway. I ached with anticipation right before takeoff. But now I understand that the in-between, the uncertainty, is where the magic lives. The runway is where there’s nowhere left to run. Nothing left to do but sit with yourself and notice what’s tucked at the bottom of your bag, and what you’re hoping to make room for.

This pause is a critical part of the shedding process. It’s where we come closest to who we truly are, and more importantly, to our purpose.

2025 has been a year of shedding, but also of questions. I’ve been questioning my path, my art, my purpose, my intentions, and the intentions of others. All of it has brought awareness, and with it, confusion. Truthfully, it’s been overwhelming. I feel like I’m losing my sense of right vs. wrong. Like I’m building a whole new playbook to life, one that honours both the light and dark within me.

So when I met with Davika and told her about the rebirth ritual I felt myself moving through, and how desperately I wanted answers no one could give me, she helped me see that I needed to let God steer the plane for a while. To rest in the fact that I made my flight. That I packed just enough to get me through. And sometimes, that’s the hardest part.

Right after our session, I was washing dishes when an old plate broke perfectly in two. I held both pieces up and saw myself reflected in each half: the old and the new, the inner child and the divine womban I’m becoming. I couldn’t help but laugh at how funny spirit can be. And how life mirrors the inner world so precisely. The answers are always within me. All I have to do is slow down and listen.

At the time, I thought something in me had died. So I performed a burial ritual. It gave me an immense high. But soon after, I felt my shadow circling me again. I guess you can never really run from the things that ache you. No matter how sunny or flowery life feels, if you don’t take time to shed consciously, there will always be a quiet layer of shame lingering beneath the surface.

I’ve seen a lot of talk about 2025 being a year of shedding—and boy, is that true! But we must also remember to mourn the skin left behind. To honor it. How did your old mask keep you safe? How did it hold you back? How can you meet your former self with gratitude instead of judgment?

Because shedding without accepting the pain we once carried doesn’t free us from it. Instead of imagining one part of you dying so another can emerge, what if we saw them as two halves of the same coin? What if 2026 is the year we finally understand how they support one another?

Meeting our shadow with disdain and blame is something we’ve been taught through colonialism, punishment, and systems that reward perfection over wholeness. But if you’re still reading, I imagine your soul aches for something more tender. A more holistic understanding of yourself. A sigh of relief, rather than cringing at your own faults.

The answer is acceptance. The answer is balance. The answer lives inside of love.

As we prepare to ascend into a new year, I keep returning to that conscious split I experienced months ago. I thought I was laying to rest a part of me that had been holding me back. But now I see I was meeting my shadow for the first time. Looking back, I don’t think I was meant to bury her. I think I was meant to sit beside her while the plane taxied forward. I was meant to hold her hand, give her a hug and a kiss, and tell her everything will be alright.

Instead, I buried her, because on some deeper level, I was afraid she’d cause turbulence. But as I feel her reemerge, I understand she was never the danger. She was part of the balance. She will always be with me. And my work now is to keep these two parts in balance, because without that harmony, chaos inevitably follows.

2025 felt like a descent into the underworld. And just like Persephone (one of my favourite Greek myths) teaches us, we can find hope among the dead and love in the dark.

2026 feels fiery. Alive. And for the first time, I feel ready for takeoff!!