Shedding the Year of the Snake
Recognition that happens when you show who you are, rather than say who you are
I have ended 2025 with a feeling of good riddance. Yes, while acknowledging that a shitty year does magically alchemize myself into a better one, but requires work. And there is a lot of work to be done.
In the midst of a chapter where I’ve had a strong, bitter taste of what it’s like to be in my “Not Self,” I dipped my toes back into what felt to be a temporary reminder of me, unfiltered, in Iceland.
Open heart, open sacral — for myself and my creativity, not to be fed on to appease the appetites of others.
But even landing me feet on foreign soil, it took time for the layers of Not Self to begin to shed. But shed they did, under a sky wrapped in the rainbows of the Northern Lights, and caressed by the morphing curtains of geysers.
At Völur Retreat, we sat in a circle to share our introductions, and at the end of our opening ceremony, I realized with disappointment that I hadn’t shared what I do for work. As I sat in a self-made concoction of discomfort as a result of not honouring myself, I came to an even more uncomfortable conclusion that who I am is not defined by my work or what I do. It’s about who I am, how I show up, my compassion and empathy and care.
For a past version of Savannah, this would not only be comforting, but familiar. I have long held the stubborn stance that I don’t particularly care about what supposed truths pour out from between someone’s lips. The real truth is spoken through action.
But perhaps for the first time ever, in this place of Not Self, I have felt a gaping hole between who I say I am (i.e. who I have been up to this moment), and how I show up in my daily life. The activities that once were the foundation of my identity have been increasingly difficult to execute in my life. Over and over again, I’ve met resistance, and I’ve wandered around in the dark trying to find my way back to my magic.
In place of my usual empathy, I’ve found bitter defensiveness. A voice in my head has been scolding me: that I used to be a kind person until the world broke me. At the level of logic, I know that this is not a helpful narrative; but the emotions are attached to a different story — one that is not rooted in logic.
Now, sitting in Iceland, I found myself in a household full of women. A place that felt anything but comfortable, and one where I felt shutdown. I was a timid, meek deer amongst a pride of hungry lions.
When would they see me for what I really was? An imposter to prey upon.
Over the next couple of days, I did what I do best: sat in corners, stayed quiet, read, and wrote in my journal. Attempting to unpack a feeling of belonging an arm’s length away.
After a couple of days, the discomfort became too strong, and too consuming… until I began to share the feelings that burdened my heart.
I remembered the empowerment that comes when we give a voice to our struggles, instead of suffocating them to death. (They always are reborn with two extra heads, anyway.) Communication is the bridge that builds connection, woven with the thread of words. When we share our voice with others, we open a door of possibility — that is, the possibility to create understanding between one another.
The weight lifted, but I still found myself drowning in grief — longing for the life in the Nordics I had worked so hard to build and abandon, and feeling like I had nothing to show for my way of being. When my goal to live abroad failed, a part of my identity died with it.
Who was I besides sad and lost and confused and resentful? It’s a narrative that has been on repeat the last few years, and one that I know I have continued to share. Excuse me if my grief is stuck on repeat.
(This is an apt example of the bridge of communication I mentioned above. I recently asked a friend about the value he sees in what I write, and he emphasized the way that I share my internal processing with the world. This is, unfortunately, a place where I get stuck — most often when I have been struggling with the same problem or narrative or unhappiness for what I deem to be too long, and I worry that my internal processing is going to bore people to death. But… this is the beauty that comes from building bridges of communication. It’s like having a conversation with a friend about relationship problems; every time you get together, you complain to your friend about the same things. Hopefully, a good friend will eventually slap you across the face and ask when you’re going to do something about your situation, instead of mope about it. Now, you may never write to me to insist such a thing, but the scenario can be applied anywhere in your life… The question is: when are you going to stop reflecting about your endless conundrums, and actually kick yourself into action to change something? This is where I’m at. Recognizing that only I can initiate the change that I need. No one is coming you save you, or me, or anyone.)
The pinnacle of this retreat was having our own individual empowerment shoot with Nona Limmen and Daria Endresen.
When the day came, I hoped that a stray spark of magic might somehow float its way into my heart — because I felt anything by empowered.
Not only did I feel like a deer amongst lions; I felt like an imposter.
When I first returned to the US post-expat life, I came to the conclusion that part of the reason I struggled to assimilate was because, at my core, I am more European than American. I felt a cultural gap between myself and those in the country in which I was born. The truth is, I’ve probably spent half my life outside of the country, so the feeling that the puzzle pieces don’t quite fit together is not founded upon nothing. Returning to the Nordics, I could feel the familiarity of the culture that felt so much like the “home” of Sweden: the quiet confidence, the cultural permission to be introverted, the tendency to be quiet and reflective. I couldn’t fully connect to the Americans, but I also felt like a fraud trying to connect with the Europeans. Though I have spent so much time of my life there, I had never been away for as long as three years, and I felt like I had turned my back on the continent — with no leg of connection left to stand on.
The other disconnect I felt was that of my art. I was a self-portrait artist, right? A photographer? A writer? But in this place of disconnect from myself, I felt like I was nothing and no one. Spending years' admiring Svala’s modeling work, I finally met her… but when I was at one of my lowest points, and not creating work in any rhythm close to consistency.
While other photographers were taking pictures of the retreat, I hadn’t touched my camera, and was instead spending time with books and paper. How could I call myself a photographer?
Alas, the shoot was rescheduled because of wind, and so, there was time to wait. But it turned out that waiting wasn’t what I wanted. Eager to step into some creativity, I told my fellow photographers that if they wanted to make some art, I would pose in the freezing lake below our cabin.
Pose I did, my heart catching that wandering ember from a fire far, far away.
During our opening ceremony, I hadn’t introduced myself as a model or a self portrait artist or a photographer, so when I wandered into the lake, warping and bending and wrapping mesh around me, the voices of awe erupted. It helped to feel my limbs turning into ice — finding my natural comfort in doing hard things.
Ahhhhhh, I know what I’m doing! Apparently, it was a reminder that I needed to hear echoed around me from the lips of others — and this time, the others being fellow feminine muses. The ember lighting my heart grew with kindling from the fire of other beautifully creative women, and for the first time in my life, I felt seen in a new, unique light.
Over the next hours, the spark grew brighter — helping others to find the courage to strip their clothes away, to experiment with how to pose in ways that express different power dynamics and emotions. My strength began to wrap around me in the recognition that happens when you show who you are, rather than say who you are.
The next day, I stepped into the empowerment shoot like a burning phoenix, reborn. (I don’t care if it’s cliche, it’s been my cliche for 9 years and I’m keeping it.)
With my body draped in a golden mesh dress (photos to come, hopefully soon), I walked through the clay, feeling the soggy earth squish between my toes, with geysers erupting around me. As I moved through the embodiment of the Empress, I shed away my snakeskin, stripping bare to crawl into clay. My fingers clawed into the earth as my body twisted and contorted, clay clotting in my hair and smeared across my skin.
Only later did I learn it was the year of the Snake.
As the year has turned over, I have felt the depth of pain that comes from losing your Self. Losing others is something you can recover from, but one of the hardest lessons in the last few years is learning that it’s the pain of losing your Self that is the hardest to heal from.
I don’t know what the next steps are, or where they will take me, but I do know that the path back to myself is going to be one of the hardest ones for me to climb…
And it is one I have to go all-in on.
Thank you again to Beth Gilleon of Golden Bee Photo for capturing such beautiful photos post-snakeskin shedding.
As I sit with the first days of 2026, I’m doing my best to unravel external influences from what matters most at my core. No matter where my interests and curiosities wander to, I always come back to my love for rucking.
I feel stubbornly committed to figuring out how to integrate that into my life on both personal and professional levels… For now, if you are curious about rucking, you can read more about Goruck here!
As always, thanks for being here and following along with my journey in a time when people have the attention span of a goldfish. I appreciate you being here.
xo,
Savannah
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My invitation to you…
Sometimes love whispers, and sometimes it roars.
When we stand in courage, love holds us and asks us to show up fully.
When we courageously build a loving relationship with ourselves, we step into soul-deep integrity, even through the turbulence. We are our own anchor.
That’s the heart of my personalized self-love coaching in The Sophrosyne Journey: embodied practices, deep inquiries, and fierce support to guide you toward a more loving, authentic life.
If this sparks curiosity, let’s chat — email or book a free consultation. I can’t wait to meet you, heart to heart.
Letting that internal processing shine 🤩