Seven Snakes, Seven Sheddings

It was a phone call that broke something open in me.

Not because of what was said—but because of what I finally saw.

The patterns. The attachments. The residue of someone I thought I had already released.

This call didn’t change anything.

But it revealed everything.

And in that moment, I realized—I’ve been shedding all along.

But this one…

This one had taken me fourteen years.

It made me wonder:

How many skins have I shed without even knowing?

How many versions of me have already died, so I could become this one?

So here they are:

A season of release so ancient, it might as well be coded into my DNA.

Because what the snake knows is what the soul remembers—

We are always becoming.

But only if we’re willing to let go.

---

First Snake: The Illusion of Belonging

I used to bend myself into shapes that didn’t fit.

Laugh when I wasn’t amused.

Nod when I didn’t agree.

Stay when my spirit was halfway out the door.

I thought proximity meant belonging.

I thought approval meant love.

But now I know—

True belonging is a resonance, not a performance.

It cannot be forced. It cannot be faked.

I no longer need to sit at tables where I feel like a guest in my own skin.

I no longer crave permission to take up space.

What I shed here is the Skin of Pretending.

The one that smiled so I wouldn’t be abandoned.

Now I tell the truth.

And that is where my belonging begins.

---

Second Snake: The Mask of the Good Girl

I used to be so good.

So palatable. So nice.

So afraid to be misunderstood.

I watered myself down to be digestible.

I made myself smaller, so others could feel big.

I forgot that the wild woman in me was not a threat—she was a compass.

Now, I let her speak.

Now, I let her howl.

Now, I trust her wisdom more than I trust anyone’s opinion of me.

What I shed here is the Skin of Compliance.

The one that smiled while swallowing her own fire.

No more.

I am not here to be pleasing.

I am here to be whole.

---

Third Snake: The Battle for Control

There was a time I believed safety could be constructed.

If I planned it just right—controlled every variable—then nothing could hurt me.

But the body keeps the score.

And the soul keeps the truth.

And the truth is: control is a contract with fear.

Now I make peace with uncertainty.

Now I let life surprise me.

Now I trade rigidity for reverence.

What I shed here is the Skin of Hypervigilance.

The one that confused control with protection.

I don’t need to be in control.

I just need to be in alignment.

---

Fourth Snake: The Armor of Resentment

I used to hold grudges like sacred scrolls.

Proof of the ways I’d been wronged.

I thought it made me strong.

But resentment is a slow poison.

It hardens the heart while pretending to protect it.

It builds walls where there could be bridges.

I learned that forgiveness is not letting someone off the hook.

It’s letting yourself off the leash.

What I shed here is the Skin of Bitterness.

The one that clung to old pain like it was identity.

Now I reclaim my softness.

Now I choose peace, even if the apology never comes.

---

Fifth Snake: The Addiction to Compartmentalization

There was a time when I lived in pieces.

This part of me was spiritual.

This part of me was sensual.

This part of me was angry.

This part of me was maternal.

This part of me was fierce.

But they never got to meet each other.

I was a mosaic of contradictions.

Until I realized: none of it was contradictory.

It was only my shame that kept them apart.

What I shed here is the Skin of Fragmentation.

The one that feared being too much, and so stayed small.

Now I walk as one whole woman.

Everything belongs.

Everything is holy.

---

Sixth Snake: The Belief That Betrayal Destroys Me

There was a time when betrayal shattered me.

I took it personally.

I wore it like failure.

But I have learned that betrayal is not the breaking of me—

It is the breaking of illusion.

The breaking of contracts I never actually signed.

Betrayal revealed who could not meet me.

And who I was not meant to carry.

What I shed here is the Skin of Powerlessness.

The one that made me feel like a victim of someone else's choices.

Now I meet betrayal with clarity.

Now I say thank you for the unveiling.

Now I take only what is mine and leave the rest.

---

Seventh Snake: The Surrender to Ease

For so long, I believed I had to fight for everything I have.

Push. Prove. Persevere.

As if life itself were a battlefield,

and worth was measured by endurance.

But something quieter has taken root in me now.

I no longer need to grip so tightly.

I no longer need to brace.

I no longer believe that grit is the only language the universe understands.

When my mind is still—

when my nervous system softens—

I see it all.

Every synchronicity.

Every angel visitor disguised as coincidence.

Every whispered dream delivered at precisely the right moment.

Nothing is lost.

Nothing is missed.

The universe does not misplace messages.

There is a precision here—

a clean efficiency—

that moves far beyond force.

My spirit works differently now.

Not through strain, but through attunement.

Not through effort, but through alignment.

Not through grit…

but through magic.

Humans have been taught that everything valuable must be earned the hard way.

But I have learned something else:

I would rather have an ounce of magic

than a ton of grit.

Because magic listens.

Magic responds.

Magic collaborates.

And now, I allow life to meet me—

not because I stopped caring,

but because I finally learned how to receive.

What I shed here is the Skin of Struggle—

the belief that suffering is the price of creation,

that ease is lazy,

that rest must be justified.

No more.

I move with grace now.

I trust the unseen.

I let the current carry me where force never could.

This is the seventh shedding.

And it feels like freedom.

---

Ceremonial Prayer to the Snake

Oh ancient one—

who coils in the dark like the first breath of time,

who slithers between the worlds,

carrying the medicine of endings and rebirth—

I honor you.

You, who lives without armor,

yet carries the wisdom of a thousand deaths.

You, who teaches that transformation is not a performance—

it is a quiet, sacred molting.

Snake of the underworld,

of shadow and shimmer,

of silence and spiral—

I see you in the dark places within me.

In the spaces I have feared.

In the skins I’ve shed.

In the breath that winds and curls deep inside my belly.

You are the one who teaches me to leave what no longer fits.

To outgrow with grace.

To trust the cycle.

To slither, naked and new, into the unknown.

Can you hear it?

The first whisper of life?

The original spiral?

It lives inside the breath.

And the breath lives inside me.

May I always remember:

Transformation is not a crisis—

It is a return.

And I am ready.

Tina Chabot

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