The Courage to Gently Unfurl

Last May, when my mother and I were in Ireland, I was captivated by the tightly spiraled ferns just beginning to unfurl. This spring, I’ve been watching the magnolia blooms open in much the same way—slowly, tenderly, in their own time.

Unfurl has become my word of the year.

Merriam-Webster defines furl as “to wrap around something,” and unfurl as “to release from a furled state.” I find myself returning to that image again and again—the gentle loosening, the quiet opening, the trust in what is ready to emerge.

As a girl growing up in a strict evangelical culture, I had many expectations placed on me. I am also someone who does not like to disrupt, and over time, I placed many expectations on myself. I learned how to be agreeable, how to stay within the lines, how to keep parts of myself tucked away.

Over the last ten years and even - more so in this transition of menopause - I have begun to see how those expectations caused me to furl. To wrap up pieces of my true self. There were thoughts I didn’t voice. Dreams I didn’t fully follow. Parts of me that felt easier to keep hidden than to bring forward.

This image of unfurling - of the fern slowly opening, of the magnolia bloom softening into fullness - feels like a powerful reminder. That we don’t have to rush. That unfolding doesn’t happen all at once. That there is wisdom in the timing.

And that even after years of being tightly wrapped, we can begin again.

For me, this unfurling has not happened in isolation.

It has happened in quiet moments, but also in the presence of other women. In spaces where I feel safe enough to soften. Where I am witnessed without needing to perform. Where I can speak what is true, even when it feels vulnerable.

There is something deeply healing about being in community while we unfold.

Are you feeling tightly wrapped right now?
Do you sense something within you that is ready to unfurl - just a little, or maybe a lot?
What might it feel like to gently loosen your grip and allow something new to emerge?

Unfurling can be slow. It can be tender. It can happen in small, almost imperceptible ways.

And you don’t have to do it alone. Wherever you are in your own unfurling, you don’t have to do it alone. If you’re longing for deeper support, I offer 1:1 sessions and women’s circles—spaces where you can soften, be witnessed, and unfold at your own pace.