"I didn't expect Brigid to be the month that made me cry the most. Not sad crying — the other kind. The kind where something that's been locked up for a long time finally gets to breathe."
I've been a quiet person my whole life. Not shy exactly — more careful. I learned young that saying the wrong thing could cost you something, so I became very good at staying small. Brigid had very little patience for that.
I started writing this month. Nothing structured — just honest words, often ugly, often surprising. I wrote letters I'll never send. I wrote what I actually thought about things I'd been diplomatically silent about for years. And somewhere in those pages, I found a voice I didn't know I still had.
The creative fire Brigid brings isn't about being an artist. It's about being honest. It's about making something — anything — that's genuinely yours rather than shaped to please or to be acceptable. I made a playlist this month for the first time in years. I danced to it alone in my kitchen at midnight. It was one of the best things I've done in a long time.
"Brigid's fire doesn't destroy what you've built. It burns away everything that wasn't really you to begin with."