Still Here: A Birthday Reflection on the Sacred Work of Being

As October fades and November arrives, I find myself breathing a little deeper. The air feels different… crisper, calmer, more honest somehow. Maybe it’s the soft shift from “spooky season” into something gentler. Or maybe it’s that November always calls me inward, inviting reflection on life, death, and everything in between.

It’s my birthday—my personal new year! Every November, I feel both the weight and wonder of still being here. There have been seasons when that wasn’t guaranteed, when the darkness felt heavier than hope. So each new sunrise, each breath, each chance to create and serve feels like a sacred gift. This month always calls me back to what matters most: presence, purpose, and the quiet courage it takes to keep choosing life again and again and to honor how fragile that gift truly is.

I’ve seen firsthand that many helpers and healers know this terrain all too well. The path of purpose can lead us into deep exhaustion… not just of the body, but of the spirit. Burnout, at its depths, can look like hopelessness. Like moving through the motions when the light feels far away. Like wondering if all the giving, holding, and doing is still worth it. I’ve been there. And I’ve learned that healing begins when we remember this: your life, your light, your very being are not just tools of service. They are sacred in themselves. You deserve the same care and compassion you so freely offer the world.

That’s why, lately, each year around my birthday, I find myself reflecting on the sacred work of being. Not doing, not striving, not improving… just being.

It sounds simple, but it’s one of the hardest things to practice in a world that rewards production over presence. We measure worth in what we build, give, or accomplish, and yet the deepest work, the most holy kind, is often silent and unseen. It’s the work of staying. Of continuing. Of breathing through the ache of uncertainty and letting life hold you, even when you can’t hold yourself.

Being is the birthplace of every true becoming.

It’s where you remember that your existence alone is evidence of purpose.

So today, as I mark another trip around the sun, I’m pausing to honor the quiet miracle of still being here. The cells that keep regenerating. The spirit that keeps rising. The love that keeps me tethered to this human experience.

The sacred work of being doesn’t ask us to prove anything.

It just asks us to show up awake, tender, and willing to belong to the life that’s already ours.

From a spiritual lens, this month feels like resurrection energy… gentle, not grand. It’s the awareness that even after we’ve walked through our own valleys, something in us still reaches for light. It’s the soul’s quiet whisper: you are still becoming.

In this way, November isn’t just about aging, it’s about aliveness. It’s about honoring life in all its complexity: the grief, the gratitude, the growth.

From a coaching and healing perspective, this theme is woven through everything I do. Birth and life aren’t one-time events. They’re ongoing practices.

• Every time someone reconnects with purpose after burnout, that’s a kind of rebirth.

• Every time someone honors their limits and chooses rest, they breathe new life into their spirit.

• Every time we name a truth that once felt too heavy to hold, we resurrect a part of ourselves that was waiting to be seen.

If you’re reading this and feeling the weight of your own shadows or the ache of being human, I want you to know: you are not alone. The work I do, this coaching, this soul work is about learning to live fully because of what we’ve walked through, not in spite of it. It’s about coming home to the truth that your existence, right now, is a miracle.

Here are a few November reflections to sit with:

• What does “being alive” mean to me in this season of my life?

• What have I survived that I can now honor as sacred?

• How can I give thanks not just for the good, but for the growth that came through the dark?

This November, I’m giving thanks for life… messy, holy, ongoing life and for the privilege of walking beside others as they rediscover their own.

Here’s to being alive fully, fiercely, and with open hands. To honoring the shadows we’ve survived. And to giving thanks for every breath that still rises within us.

With deep gratitude and grace,

Rachel