January Edit: Circles, Cycles, and Starting Again
From me, the founder of Menteath
If you’re reading this and today feels heavier than you expected, I want you to know you’re not alone in it. I’m writing from inside it too-sad, a little slowed down, and aware of how the low light, cold air and long nights of January in the UK can press on even the steadiest people. Still, alongside that sadness, I’m holding a quiet intention: by the end of the day I want to feel more like myself again, not by forcing brightness or pretending I’m fine, but by doing a few small, honest things that shift the chemistry of my mood in the gentlest possible way.
What helps me most at this time of year is choosing refinement over reinvention. I’m not trying to become a new person in January; I’m trying to return to the person I already am, and for me that return is always physical first-breath, warmth, water, food, movement, contact with people I trust.
Earth, Air, Fire, Water: a language for real days
When I’m low, I come back to the four elements because they give me a practical way to understand what I’m missing without turning it into a big story. I don’t use them as something I have to “believe in” perfectly; I use them as a clean map for the mess.
Earth is the body, home, nourishment, boundaries-anything that makes life feel solid and held. Air is breath, thought, perspective, words, and the simple relief of fresh oxygen. Fire is heat, will, courage and momentum, the part of you that can still choose one small action. Water is feeling, softness, cleansing and repair, the permission to be tender and let things move through.
On days like today, I don’t ask myself to snap out of it. I ask a kinder, more useful question: what element is missing right now, and what’s one small way I can invite it back in?
Why my home is full of circles
Most of my house is caked in circle art, and it wasn’t a plan so much as a pattern I kept choosing. Over time I realised I was surrounding myself with the shape of return-something without sharp edges, something that doesn’t demand linear progress, something that reminds me I can begin again from wherever I am.
A circle has no corners to get stuck in and no finish line to chase. It holds rhythm rather than pressure, and it makes space for cycles: the seasons, the breath, the skin renewing, the way we recover after a hard week and then dip again and recover again. It also makes room for the deeper recoveries-the kind you don’t post about because they’re too tender, too private, too slow. Heartache doesn’t resolve neatly; neither does divorce, separation, or that specific ache of perceived failure when life hasn’t gone the way you planned. Those experiences don’t move in straight lines, and you don’t “get over” them once and for all-you learn how to live around the edges of them until, one day, you realise the edges aren’t as sharp. That’s why circles feel like home to me, and why they show up in the visual language I’m drawn to-because they whisper the same message I need in winter: keep returning.
The universe as pattern, and astrology as orientation
I know astrology means different things to different people, and I’m not interested in using it as a rulebook. For me it’s most useful as orientation, a reminder that everything we live through has a rhythm, and that phases are real. The sky is mapped in circles, seasons move in circles, and whether you take that literally or symbolically, the wheel itself can be comforting because it gives permission for variation.
Some phases are for building and structure, some are for clarity and conversation, some are for ignition and courage, and some are for repair. January often leans toward repair, and when I feel sad I try to stop demanding the wrong thing from myself. If today is a tending day, I’m allowed to treat it like one.
If you’re a circle person, this is what I think it means
If your space is full of circles, I think it often points to a desire for integration-for wholeness, containment, and softness around the edges. It can be a quiet refusal of harshness and a preference for rhythm over pressure, a way of building a home that holds you rather than challenges you. It’s not just aesthetic; it’s a kind of nervous-system intelligence, especially in a culture that can glorify sharpness and constant reinvention.
A gentle January protocol: one small move per element
If you want something practical for today, this is what I’m using myself, not as a perfect routine but as a menu. You can pick one from each element, or simply choose the one you need most.
Earth - grounding
Eat something warm that feels doable—porridge, soup, toast, anything you’ll actually eat. Tidy one tiny surface so your eye has somewhere to rest. Put on clean socks and a jumper that makes your body feel safe.
Air - breath + perspective
Open a window and take ten slow breaths, then, if you can, step outside for ten minutes and look up at the sky long enough for your nervous system to register space. If you’re craving contact, message one person and keep it low pressure: “Fancy a quick walk or a cuppa this week?”
Fire - gentle ignition
Light a candle and let one flame be enough to change the atmosphere. Put on one song that lifts you slightly rather than asking it to fix everything. Do one small task that makes tomorrow easier—wash a mug, prep something simple for dinner, set out clothes-so future you feels a little more supported.
Water - soften + restore
Run a bath, or take a long shower with the lights low. Make a hot drink and actually sit down to drink it. Wash your face slowly, without multitasking, and finish with moisturiser as if you’re sealing in calm.
Things that help in real-life UK winter
When I’m trying to pick myself up by the end of the day, I keep it simple and human. I’ll see a friend in the lowest-effort way-thirty minutes for a cuppa, a short walk, or even a voice note that doesn’t require me to be “on.” I’ll take a walk even if it’s brief, because movement and daylight-however limited-shift something. If there’s a dog available to borrow, I’ll walk the dog, because it’s companionship without pressure and it pulls you into the present. I’ll plan a lovely meal that’s warming and easy-traybake comfort, soup and bread, pasta with garlic and olive oil-and I’ll end the day with water and warmth, ideally a bath, or at least the bath-adjacent version of clean skin, clean clothes, and a calmer room.
If today is really hard
If you’re having one of those days where everything feels too much, the kindest thing you can do is lower the bar until it becomes reachable. Choose one action: drink water, eat something warm, step outside for a minute, text someone “I’m having a tough day,” shower and change into clean clothes, or simply wash your face and moisturise slowly. None of that is nothing; it’s the work of tending the vessel when the weather and the season are asking more from you than usual.
Closing: return is the point
Circles aren’t about going nowhere; they’re about coming back. This month, I’m letting my rituals be elemental-Earth, Air, Fire, Water-and I’m trusting repetition to do its quiet work. If I can return to breath, return to body, return to now, I can usually find my way to a slightly steadier place by nightfall, and if you’re reading this feeling sad too, I hope you can feel that same permission: you don’t have to leap-just return, gently, one small step at a time.
With love, Flick
