New Year Intention Setting
- DeaBozzo

- Jan 3
- 3 min read

The turning of the new year often arrives with a quiet thud rather than a burst of clarity. After the intensity of the holidays — the gatherings, the expectations, the emotional and physical effort — there can be what many of us recognize as the Christmas crash: the calm after the rush, the grey skies, the shorter days, and the paradox of being told that now is the time to feel motivated, inspired, and ready to set intentions.
Usually, I welcome that ritual. I enjoy reflecting, visioning, and naming what I’d like to call in. But this year, something feels different.
Rather than leaping forward, I find myself drawn inward.
The Call of Wintering (Slowing Down After the Holidays)
Here in the Hamilton area, winter has made itself known — cold grey skies overhead, snow falling sometimes gently, sometimes violently. There is something honest about this season. Trees do not strain to bloom. The earth does not rush to produce. Life turns inward, conserving energy, protecting what is essential.
This time of year often leaves me in a bit of a funk, and I know I’m not alone in that. The stillness can feel unsettling, especially when the world around us is urging momentum and fresh starts. And yet, I feel a quieter invitation underneath it all: to winter.
To winter is not to give up. It is to listen. It is to pause and allow what is resting beneath the surface to take shape without forcing it into form too soon.
Inner Wintering: Listening Beneath the Surface
Alongside the seasonal shift, my own outer circumstances have invited me into a deeper quiet. With my husband currently on bed rest after a back injury, our much-needed family vacation and time with our daughter have been postponed. I’ve stepped more fully into the role of caregiver, and with that has come a practice of surrender — acceptance of what is, rather than what I had hoped for.
What I’m noticing is a call to access my own inner sun — to tend to warmth, steadiness, and light from within when it’s harder to find externally. I recognize this as the work of inner wintering: bowing to the present moment, quieting the noise, and listening for what wants to emerge in its own time.
A Different Way of Setting Intentions for the New Year
Because of this, I’m not rushing to create a vision board or define clear intentions for the year ahead. Instead, I’m allowing space for an empty bowl — a place of stillness where listening comes before naming, and presence comes before planning.
If you find yourself in a similar place, I offer this gentle reframe:
What if intention-setting doesn’t have to be about deciding what you want, but about noticing what’s already stirring?
Here are a few reflective prompts you might sit with, slowly, over time:
What feels tired or complete, ready to be released without force?
What is quietly asking for care, patience, or protection?
Where in my life am I being invited to slow down rather than speed up?
What qualities — not goals — feel supportive to carry into the year ahead? (e.g., steadiness, curiosity, compassion, simplicity)
You may find that no clear answers arrive right away. That, too, is part of the practice.
Honoring the Season of Wintering
In honoring this winter season, I won’t be offering workshops or groups over the coming months. I’m allowing myself the pause to listen more deeply and to let creative energy gather rather than be spent too quickly. I will continue seeing individual clients and have made space to welcome a few more into my calendar
If you feel drawn to go deeper — to explore your own inner rhythms, creative path, or the places where you feel stuck or uncertain — you’re welcome to reach out. Click here to set up a free 15 minute consultation https://calendly.com/deabozzo/15min
And if life has presented you with unexpected challenges this season, may you remember that surrender is not resignation. It is alignment with the truth of the moment. Winter reminds us that rest, too, is part of growth.
This, too, shall pass.
Sending blessings for a gentle and meaningful New Year.



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