Cycles of Shadow & Light: Working Through My Latest Anxiety Flare

Sometimes the craft teaches us our biggest lessons not through beauty or bliss, but through the moments when everything feels tangled, foggy, and fragile. I’m in one of those seasons right now — a familiar cycle of anxiety and exhaustion that seems to come around every few years like clockwork.

It creeps in softly at first. I lose motivation for the things I normally love — writing, working with herbs, even pulling cards. My self-care starts to slip. Then come the tougher bits: racing thoughts, lack of focus, short-term memory lapses, and the worst of all — the “false memories.” Those cruel little tricks of the mind that make me question what’s real.

Recently, I found myself convinced I’d had a phone call with a client that never actually happened. Another day, my brain simply stalled mid-reading — a heartbreaking tarot spread in front of me, and my words just vanished. And at home? The laundry piles up, dishes sit untouched, and I forget to water the plants. I’ll even forget to prep for a special meal I’d been looking forward to — only to realise, too late, that I needed to start the night before. These little lapses aren’t laziness or carelessness; they’re part of the fog that comes with burnout and anxiety.

But after a few rounds of this cycle, I’ve learned that it isn’t a sign of failure or weakness. It’s simply a signal. My mind and body are asking me to slow down, to recalibrate, and to listen. Of course, that’s not easy when you’re in a new job and feel the pressure to prove your worth — when every instinct tells you to push harder instead of pausing. But awareness, even in the chaos, is its own kind of strength.

The Mundane Magic: What I’m Doing Next

Because witchcraft isn’t all candles and crystals — sometimes the most powerful spells are the practical ones.

1. Owning the Pattern
I’ve tracked my flares and realised they come with big life changes and the darker half of the year. The shift from long summer days into the heavy stillness of autumn can pull my mood downward fast. Recognising that helps me prepare rather than panic.

Over time, I’ve learned a few key rules for myself. I deliberately avoid making major life-changing decisions during the darker months, because I know my perspective isn’t always balanced when my energy is low. My logical brain tends to lead in the lighter half of the year — measured, clear, and practical — but as the nights draw in, my chaos brain takes over.

No matter how carefully I plan my life, sometimes big changes bleed into the wrong time of year — and when they do, it’s the perfect storm for a flare-up. Knowing that doesn’t stop it entirely, but it lets me meet it with awareness instead of guilt.

2. Medical & Mental Health Support
I’m staying on my medication and have already had a full round of blood tests — thyroid, B12, iron, and vitamin D — just to make sure nothing physical is quietly making things worse. Those have all come back fine, but I’m still waiting on a few more answers.

My GP wants to rule out type 2 diabetes because I had gestational diabetes years ago, and there’s also a gynaecology appointment on the horizon after finding a small lump that needs checking. None of this is easy to sit with — waiting rarely is — but it’s part of the same healing cycle.

Sometimes the body joins the mind in saying, “slow down, pay attention.” It’s a reminder that self-care isn’t just spiritual or emotional; it’s medical, too. Our craft may work in harmony with herbs, energy, and intention, but our physical selves deserve the same devotion. Sometimes our brains and bodies need science as much as spells, and there’s nothing shameful about seeking both.

3. Boundaries & Small Priorities
At work, I can’t cut my task list in half, but I can prioritise wisely. Using our system’s priority markers means I can filter my tasks by urgency — one small change that already feels like a spell for sanity.

It’s a new job, and while it’s everything I wanted and more, I’m feeling the weight of not being great at everything yet. There’s a steep learning curve, and it’s hard not to feel like I’m fumbling through some of it. I suspect it’s imposter syndrome rearing its head — that horrible whisper that says everyone else knows what they’re doing, and you’re the only one pretending.

My logical brain knows this isn’t true. It tells me that no one expects perfection in a new role, that learning takes time, and that my skills are exactly why I was hired. But my chaos brain — the anxious, panicked part — insists otherwise. It tells me that explaining all this would only make my new employer think I’m weak, or unreliable, or using anxiety as an excuse for being “not good enough.”

Logic says, “You should just talk to them — they’d understand.”
Chaos snaps back, “Say nothing. You’ll just give them a reason to let you go.”

Right now, chaos-brain is winning more often than I’d like. And that’s okay — it’s part of the process. I know it will quieten as I settle in, as the unknown becomes familiar. But in the meantime, I’m setting boundaries where I can: pacing my workload, focusing on what truly matters each day, and reminding myself that being new at something doesn’t make me a failure — it makes me human.

4. Routine Grounding
I’m keeping a short “proof log” — five lines at the end of each day about what really happened. It’s a small charm against confusion and false memories, reminding me that I’m present, I’m real, and I’m doing my best. Some days, it’s just the basics: “Fed the cat. Sent that email. Remembered to eat. Forgot to water the peace lilly again. Lit a candle before bed.” Simple truths that stop my mind from rewriting the day into something far worse.

Logic-Brain knows that speaking to my employer is something I should be doing, but right now Chaos-Brain is having none of it. Logic says, “Just be honest — they’ll understand,” but Chaos insists, “Don’t you dare. You’ll look unreliable.” I’m sure my boss already thinks I’m “sacking things off” sometimes, and the last thing I want is to play what my inner critic calls “the mental health card.” I’d advise anyone else in my position to do the total opposite — to be open, to speak up, to ask for help. But I’m not ready for that yet. Fear and Chaos-Brain wont allow it yet.

Instead, I’m putting my energy into prevention — making it less likely that I’ll forget things or drop the ball. I’m trying to be extra diligent with my scheduling and record-keeping (though the fog makes that sooooo damn difficult — ironically, that’s what landed me in this mess to start with). I’m journalling regularly, getting all the negative thoughts out of my head before they fester. I’m forcing myself to tackle at least some of the chores I’ve been leaving — setting reminders, ticking them off one by one. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about building a little momentum again.

And the truth is, I do feel better when I’ve managed even one small thing — a load of laundry, a cleared sink, a clean mug for my morning brew. When I don’t, the guilt rolls in like a stormcloud, feeding the spiral. So for now, this is my grounding: small things, small wins, small steps back to myself.

The Witchcraft: Gentle Magic for Shadow Seasons

Alongside the mundane, I’m weaving small rituals to soothe my spirit and invite light back in.

Restoration Candle Spell: I light a white candle anointed with a few drops of protection oil, or use some of the oil in a burner. I sit before it and close my eyes. Breath deeply and slowly for a few minutes, then say:
“Flame of calm, flame of green, restore the balance in between.”
Fifteen minutes of quiet with the flame and the fragrance from the oil feels like a soft reset for my nervous system.

Smoke & Steam Cleansing: When my head feels crowded, I take a bath (or if time is short, lean over a steaming bowl) with rosemary and eucalyptus, repeating:
“Mist of clarity, clear my mind, leave confusion far behind.”
It’s half spell, half self-care — and it works.

Return to Joy Jar: I’ve made a small jar charm with rosemary, cinnamon, rose petals, and citrine. On a paper slip inside, I wrote: “My spark always returns.” It sits on my desk as a promise to myself.

Moon Release: During the waning moon, I’ll write my fears on paper and burn them safely:
“I release what weighs me down. I welcome rest, renewal, and grace.”
The ashes go back to the earth — a simple act of release and trust.

Taking a Break: Knowing that this is always a rough time of year for me, I have booked a weeks annual leave for the end of October. The plan was to visit the University my eldest kiddo plans to attend, but the tour day booked up so fast that he missed the chance to go this time round.  Instead I am going to use that time to rest and recharge. Lots of self care. Lots of daylight and fresh air. I’ll do all I can to reset myself so when I go back to work, I’ll be myself again with Logic-Brain taking the reigns! And maybe then I’ll have that conversation with my employer too!

Holding Space for Recovery

When this flare passes — and it will — I know what to look for. Life stops feeling frightening. The tightness in my chest and the ache in my bones ease. I start to laugh again, to want again, to create again. That’s when I know I’m thawing.

Until then, I’m keeping my world small, my rituals gentle, and my expectations kind. Healing isn’t linear — it spirals, just like the seasons. And every time I move through this shadow, I emerge a little wiser, a little softer, and a lot more human.

If you’re in your own fog right now, know this: you’re not broken. You’re simply moving through your own cycle of shadow and light. And somewhere ahead, the spark waits patiently to return.

(FYI, if things get too much, these guys are a great help: MIND. In my HR days this was our go-to referal!)