The Work We Cannot See: The Hidden Forge of Transformation

The antidote I’ve been seeking amidst so much human-created chaos in our world has been to be present to two things: the apparent stillness of this season that often feels like more darkness than light, and the ever-present hum of change, and impending re-birth.?

There is an ancient Celtic festival called Imbolc, the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, traditionally celebrated in early February. It’s believed the word’s origins are “in the belly”, which referred to pregnant ewes and the first signs of lambing season. It was a festival dedicated to poetry, healing, and smithcraft (metalworking, i.e. heating, hammering, and welding) interestingly, the Celtic goddess Brigid is most associated with Imbolc; contrasting to male deities often related to war or destruction, her power is focused on becoming rather than ending. Life, in dormancy. The bridge between the old, and the new.?

If you’re like me, it’s easy to underestimate how much the hum of change is continuing in us, all the time. The modern concept of “productivity” has no way of naming or measuring what happens out of sight. The blacksmith works unseen in the dim glow of the forge, taking the time it takes to shift the shape of metal, through heating, cooling, and reheating. There is no rushing possible with this work. And the forge is never idle.?

Amidst what feels like a heavy shroud, between the long nights, the deep cold, or the despair, fear, and anger so many of us feel about the world, in addition to our professional foundations and practices being threatened, the smith in us is working away, working with some pretty darn powerful tools.?

I’ve been in the forge, experimenting with what I want to alchemize from my raw materials. What tool and shape do I need to be, to be most of service? When I emerge above ground, what tools will I need, to catalyze change??

I find it so helpful to remind myself of my many pivots, some very painful, through the loss of a dream, or feared loss of love, and of course career. The times I had to return to the forge, seemingly without tools that work, but with faith that I could be reshaped. This is such a necessary process, of being reshaped. While so many of us have met moments of crisis before with our beautiful hearts, our care, our vision, in a way that’s shone a light for many others, we’ve actually been reshaped, and found our calling in the process.?

We may need to reshape ourselves as tools to serve, but we’ve been in the fiery furnace before. Change is born out of challenge, pain, exclusion, and a deep desire to leave the world better for those who come after us.?

This is something we know how to do, and we can - and will - do it again.?

I have also wanted clarity and answers quickly, impatient with the time that alchemy takes. In my Catskill mountain home, I join my friend later this month to witness the maple sap beginning to run. She waits for that magical balance of sunlight and temperatures to hit the trees, touching off the process. These beauties have seemed to stand silent in the depths of winter, while so much that’s imperceptible to us has been happening - roots storing energy, pressure building as what’s been frozen giving way to a surge of life. The dance of freeze and thaw.?

Stillness is not stagnation. Dormancy is not defeat. What looks quiet is often preparing for something powerful.?

Moments of upheaval, as painful as they are, often crack open unexpected pathways to transformation.

I’ve lived through my fair share of these moments, returning to the forge again and again. Coming out was a threshold I had to cross, risking everything to live my truth. It was terrifying—but it led me to my purpose and to a community that felt like home. Years later, losing my voice as an opera singer. My dream career…it felt like everything I had worked for had turned to ash. But like the Phoenix, those ashes became the fertile ground for something new. They would become the raw materials I would reshape into the speaking career I now have, and cherish.?

Most recently, selling Jennifer Brown Consulting after more than 20 years felt like another moment of being stripped back to nothing. But in this return to the basics, I’ve been reconnecting with my roots—the parts of me that have always been there, beneath the surface. Trees are again a perfect metaphor for this. Their root systems stretch far beyond what we see above ground, silently supporting and sustaining them through every season. We, too, have hidden reserves of strength and possibility waiting to be tapped into, and as trees in a healthy forest show, we are not alone but send reserves to each other, shoring each other up, working with the nutrients in the soil. We are never without nutrients, ours and others’, even as so many of us feel depleted, and maybe defeated. It may require us to reach our roots a little deeper, or wider, to reach them. This of course makes our forest more resilient, with stronger roots.?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about resilience, and not just as an idea, but as a practice. We live in a BANI world (Brittle, Anxious, Non-linear, Incomprehensible), and navigating it requires more than just endurance, and that old definition of resilience that implied we develop strength through being tested over and over, and rise again like warriors. This isn’t the only kind of resistance, and I might argue, we need to work with a different framework given BANI, learning to bend instead of break, like trees that move with the wind rather than resisting it.

Real resilience isn’t just about taking deep breaths and scheduling self-care (though those help!). It comes from showing up for conversations that challenge us, staying curious, and allowing ourselves to be shaped by what we learn. It’s about extending dignity to others, and receiving this sustenance back. As one of us weakens, the other strengthens and can lend that strength - and vice versa. A sustaining give and take that has supported our ecosystem since time immemorial.?

So our job right now isn’t to have all the answers. Maybe it’s to listen more deeply, to stay present in the uncertainty, and to trust that even in moments of endings, something new is quietly taking root.

Want to dive deeper into this conversation? In my latest minisode, I explore how we can navigate uncertainty, embrace transformation, and cultivate real resilience in a world that feels anything but predictable. Listen here and let me know—what’s shifting for you right now?