How Ritual & Living by the Moon Helped Heal Me

Bowl of sage and healing crystals

There was a time when my life felt like it had collapsed inward.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Quietly.

Lonely.

And in ways I didn’t yet have language for.

I had lost my father—the keeper of our family, the steady presence I thought would always be there.

Then I lost my brother.

And with them, a sense of safety I didn’t realize I had been standing on my entire life.

At the same time, I was navigating the aftermath of an emotionally abusive marriage—one where choices made by my ex-husband caused deep harm, not only to me, but to my daughter.

That pain cut in a way I don’t think words will ever fully reach.

My relationship with my mother felt unrecognizable and unhinged.

The person I longed to lean on felt unavailable, unsafe, or simply unable to meet me where I was.

I felt untethered.

Disconnected from family.

Disconnected from purpose.

Disconnected from myself.

The only steady lights in my life were Zolan and Sadie.

They were my anchor—but even with them, I felt like I was surviving, not living.

The Loneliness No One Talks About

Grief isn’t just sadness.

It’s isolation.

It’s anxiety.

It’s depression that doesn’t always announce itself clearly.

I didn’t feel dramatic enough to ask for help—but I felt empty enough to know something was wrong.

I was moving through my days, functioning on the surface, but internally I felt fractured.

I couldn’t feel connected to anything bigger than the pain I was carrying.

And I didn’t know how to fix that.

Finding Sarah

I didn’t find my priestess because I was looking for a spiritual path.

I found her because I was desperate to feel seen.

At first, it was simple.

Tarot readings.

A way to ask questions I was too afraid to ask myself.

But something was different.

Sarah didn’t tell me what to do.

She didn’t bypass my grief or wrap it in positivity.

She sat with me in the truth of where I was.

Slowly, our work deepened.

She became a mentor.

A guide.

Someone who helped me understand my anxiety, my depression, and the weight I had been carrying in my body and nervous system for years.

Through her, I learned that ritual wasn’t about escaping pain.

It was about creating a container strong enough to hold it.

The Path of the Priestess

Eventually, I stepped onto the path of priestess training.

Not because I felt ready.

Not because I felt wise.

But because something in me knew I couldn’t keep living disconnected from myself.

The training wasn’t mystical in the way people imagine.

It was grounding.

It was confronting.

It was emotional.

I learned how to sit with grief instead of outrunning it.

How to work with anxiety instead of fighting it.

How to honor the cycles of my body, my emotions, and my energy.

I learned that darkness isn’t something to heal away.

It’s something to be witnessed.

When Ritual Became My Life

Ritual didn’t arrive all at once.

It arrived quietly.

Lighting a candle before journaling.

Calling in protection before hard conversations.

Marking transitions instead of ignoring them.

And then something unexpected began to happen.

Connection.

Not all at once—but in moments.

“Coincidences.”

Signs.

Synchronicities.

The right person at the right time.

The feeling of being guided instead of abandoned.

A sense that I was not as alone as I had believed.

Ritual gave my grief somewhere to go.

It gave my nervous system safety.

It gave my intuition a voice again.

Living in Rhythm

Living in ritual changed how I move through life.

I no longer expect myself to be the same every day.

I honor when my energy is expansive—and when it needs rest.

I listen instead of push.

Ritual became the bridge between my pain and my purpose.

It helped me rebuild trust—with myself, with life, and with something greater than what I could see.

Why I Share This

I don’t share this because my story is special.

I share it because loneliness like this is more common than we admit.

Because grief doesn’t always look like tears—it looks like disconnection.

Because healing doesn’t always look like joy—it looks like honesty.

Because ritual isn’t about becoming someone new—it’s about remembering who you were before the world broke you open.

This is the foundation of everything I teach.

And if any part of this resonates with you, know this:

You are not broken.

You are not alone.

And connection is still possible.

Sometimes it just begins with lighting a candle—and telling the truth.

Ritual didn’t save me.

Connection did. (& Sarah)

Ritual just showed me the way back.

xoxo

Susan

How ritual and living by the moon helped heal me