“In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of Spring.”

— Durrell, Justine

It feels like the moment Spring began to nudge its way into our lives, we were thrown off course.

Long story short—we didn’t realize that our two-year contract for our flat wasn’t renewable. We had heard others had theirs extended, so we assumed ours could be too, and then forgot about it until we were notified of the termination.

Yes, our flat was tiny, but it had everything we needed. In the time we lived there, we made it cosy. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. But leave we had to. Looking for a flat in a country with a housing shortage is not fun. What made the process easier was that we had all the required paperwork and both had stable jobs. This meant we could apply for places right away, but whether we got chosen or not depended on a number of factors—some of which were beyond our control.

It was a bit of a rollercoaster, but after a few weeks, we developed a stoic routine. We would go see a place, express interest, and then mentally move on. It was the only way to stay level-headed when we were competing with dozens of others wanting the same thing.

The flat we eventually got was one we didn’t expect to get. It was beautiful and included so many things we’d learned to live without: big windows and a balcony, two bathrooms, actual storage space, even parking. At the viewing, couples walked around with tape measures, already planning where their furniture would go. They barely acknowledged anyone else. I had a sudden feeling of wanting to leave because I knew how much we wanted it, and that lingering chance we wouldn’t be chosen made it hard to stay.

A couple of days later, I picked up the phone to my husband shouting that we got the flat and that we could move in right away. But first—the floors.

In the Netherlands, floors are considered private property, so tenants usually take them when they leave. Installing laminate oak flooring ourselves was a huge learning curve. Much bigger than we initially thought but with help from friends and YouTube tutorials, we managed to get there in the end.

Now, with the DIY mostly done, furniture in place, and our things unpacked, it’s time to get back on the path and intentional align with the season of Spring to feel more grounded.

What I gained from my myth work of Winter was clarity. I realized what was truly important to me, and what I needed to let go of in order to give those important things my full attention. The myth work of Spring—a season of emergence, reclaiming, and renewal—is about putting those insights into action.

As I was reflecting on Inanna’s ordeal in the underworld—her death and subsequent resurrection—the part of the myth that resonates with Spring, I realized something I hadn’t before: one of the keys to her release is empathic listening.

Realizing that Inanna had not yet returned, the god Enki sent Kurgarra and Galatur to the realm of the dead to help her. They approached Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld and Inanna’s sister, not with demands or force, but with profound empathy. They held space for her, validating her pain and bearing witness to her suffering.

Moved by their compassion, Ereshkigal—who is usually unseen and ignored—relinquishes Inanna’s body, allowing Inanna to resurrect. There are two points in the myth where listening plays an essential role. Inanna’s journey begins with intuitive listening. She attunes herself to a call beneath the surface of things, aligning with the part of herself that longs to go deeper. At the end, empathic listening secures her release and allows for her transformation.

In myth work, both forms of listening are essential. The first is inward listening—a turning toward our own depths. It teaches us to honor the subtle stirrings within: our intuition, our longing for meaning, and our call to grow, even when the path is uncertain or frightening. This kind of listening draws us closer to the truth of who we are.

The second is outward listening—the kind that creates space for us and others to simply be. It allows us to move through what we must, while being held in the presence of others who do not try to fix or change us. It is witnessing without judgment, accompaniment without intrusion. In this listening, we are seen not for who we should be, but for who we truly are.

This second listening is important because it meets one of the most profound human needs: to be seen, heard, and accepted without judgment. In the context of myth work—and life—it creates a space where transformation becomes possible not through analysis or fixing, but through presence. This kind of listening allows us to move through experiences honestly and vulnerably, without the pressure to explain, justify, or change ourselves to make others more comfortable.

Here’s why it matters: rhythm.

It honors the pace of the soul – Growth and healing don’t happen on demand. This kind of listening respects our inner timing, letting us unfold at our own

It breaks isolation – When someone listens without needing to solve our pain, we no longer feel alone in it. We are reminded that we can be held in our humanity without needing to be “better” to be worthy of love.

It allows authenticity – In a world full of roles and expectations, this kind of listening gives us permission to drop the mask. It says: You are enough, just as you are, right now.

It reflects our inner truth – Often, being truly heard helps us hear ourselves more clearly. In the silence and stillness of another’s presence, our own wisdom can surface.

It nurtures trust and depth – Whether in myth work or relationships, this kind of listening fosters safety, depth, and connection. It creates sacred ground where real transformation can take root.

In essence, the second listening is a quiet act of love. It reminds us that we are not projects to be completed, but stories to be witnessed—and that sometimes, simply being heard is the medicine we need.

So these are the insights I’m bringing with me into my myth work for Spring and these are the questions I’m asking myself: Where is more empathic listening needed in my life? Where am I being invited to reclaim something I set aside?

- In what areas of my life do I feel new energy stirring?

- What symbols or synchronicities are appearing as signs of renewal? How might I honor them as guidance?

- What does reclamation look like in my life right now?

- How can I support what is quietly unfolding, even if I don’t yet understand where it’s leading?

- What old story or heaviness am I ready to gently lay down, to make room for something new?

Spring, after all, is not just about blooming—it’s about choosing what to carry forward, and how to offer it back to the world.