Enter the Year of the Fire Horse - Personal Post

The Year of the Snake has officially come to an end, and honestly, it took a lot with it.

If this past year felt like one long process of shedding, you’re not alone. Between the symbolism of the Snake and the “universal year 9” energy (which is all about endings and closure), it seemed like life was determined to strip away anything that wasn’t aligned. Old thought patterns. Limiting beliefs. Relationships that drained more than they gave. Even the subtle habits we didn’t realize were keeping us small.

Some of what fell away was obvious. Some of it was outright heart wrenching. But all of it felt like preparation.

I can speculate about what this means on a collective level—but right now, I’m still in my own wintering season. So this is personal.

I truly did not expect the mental, emotional, and spiritual shifts that came with this year.

For me, the most visible change was physical. I let go of the weight I had been carrying for years—weight that wasn’t just about health, but protection. It was armor. It was hiding. It was safety. And when it came off, I realized how much more I had been carrying underneath it: fear, old narratives, and beliefs that had quietly shaped my identity for decades.

What surprised me most wasn’t the physical transformation—it was the clarity.

Clarity about who I am.Clarity about where I’m going.Clarity about what I will and will not tolerate anymore.

I panic less. I recover faster. I let go more easily. I move forward with intention instead of hesitation. That kind of internal shift is harder to measure—but infinitely more powerful.

But let’s be honest—shedding isn’t graceful.

When you stop pouring energy into things that no longer serve you, not everyone applauds. Some people preferred the quieter, smaller, more palatable version of me. (If you know, you know—we’ll call her “Jackie.”) And when they realized she wasn’t coming back, they quietly exited.

That part hurts. It’s painful to finally feel safe being your full, authentic self, only to discover that authenticity makes some people uncomfortable. But if this year taught me anything, it’s this: be unapologetically you. Even if you’re not everyone’s cup of tea (at this point, I’m more double espresso anyway).

And now, we step into the Year of the Fire Horse.

If the Snake was about shedding, the Horse is forward movement.

Fire Horse energy is bold, intense, fast, and sometimes unpredictable. It pushes independence, courage, momentum, and decisive action. It’s not subtle. It doesn’t whisper—it charges.

The message I keep receiving is simple: Keep moving forward.

The momentum is real. The energy is high. It’s a little terrifying, a little electric, and very exciting. I don’t know exactly what’s coming—and that’s OK because I do love surprises. I do know what I need to do to flow with the new energies that just arrived after a full year of shedding, letting go, and getting real with myself. 

Recently, a friend said something to me that stopped me in my tracks:“You were always beautiful—but now your outside matches your inside.”

I have never felt more seen.

That one sentence felt like confirmation of all the invisible work—the healing, the releasing, the growth. Because the biggest transformation wasn’t physical. It was alignment.

2026, Year of the Fire Horse

On a broader scale, Fire Horse years are known for intensity and rapid change. They can bring breakthroughs, bold pivots, and unexpected shifts. There’s passion. There’s volatility. There’s transformation. It’s the kind of energy that rewards courage and punishes hesitation.

So what did you shed last year?

And what are you ready to charge toward?

I am gearing up for the next phase of maintenance, muscle building, and yes, I will be scheduling some much needed surgeries in the near future (first of 4 before the end of this year). My doctors say they’re essential due to previous health issues. Insurance is… less enthusiastic. So the next few months I will be lazer focused on TMI, both products and services to make that expense a little less painful. I’m excited. I’m overwhelmed. I’m a little terrified.

But I’m going to keep moving forward—with purpose, direction, and maybe just a touch of reckless optimism.

Because if the Snake taught me how to shed, the Horse is teaching me how to move.