February is a complicated month. It hangs in the balance between the deep freeze of winter and the first stirring promises of spring. It is the month of Valentine’s Day, where we are bombarded with commercialized images of romance, and for me personally, it is the month of my birth, a time that always demands reflection on where I have been and where I am going.

But this year, the air feels different.

Here in the States, we are navigating a season of heavy collective emotion. Many of us are surrounded by daily triggers. Sexual assault survivors, in particular, are currently living in a space of suspended animation, watching the news with bated breath, waiting to see if predators will finally be held accountable.

It is exhausting. Every day brings a reminder of past trauma, and the collective atmosphere is thick with anxiety. In times like this, the instinct is to disassociate or to fight until we collapse. But we need to ensure we are making space to step away. We must refresh the spirit within, not just for our own sake, but for the sake of the whole.

In times of deep distress, our instinct is often to contract. When we see trauma play out on the world stage, or when we are reminded of our own past wounds, the psyche builds walls. We retreat inward to survive. But while solitude is necessary for rest, total isolation is a lie that trauma tells us.

The great mythologist Joseph Campbell often spoke about this connection. He believed that the ultimate goal of the human journey was the realization of the unity of life, that beneath our separate identities, we are all expressions of the same life force.

There is a profound story Campbell often told to illustrate this metaphysical truth. It takes place in Hawaii, where a man stood on the edge of a high cliff, ready to end his life. A police officer arrived just as the man jumped. In a split second of instinct, the officer lunged forward and grabbed the man’s arm.

The momentum was too strong. The man’s weight dragged the officer over the edge with him. Now, both were dangling, the officer holding on with one hand to a railing, his body sliding further down, moments away from death for them both. It was a terrifying stalemate against gravity. Miraculously, the officer’s partner arrived just in time, grabbing the officer’s belt and pulling them both back to solid ground.

Later, when the dust had settled, and the press asked the officer about those terrifying seconds, they asked the obvious question: “When you realized you were slipping, when you knew that holding on meant you would die too… why didn’t you let go?”

The officer’s response was simple and shattering. He said, “Because in that moment, I realized we were one, and I couldn’t.”

Campbell used this story to explain the philosophy of Schopenhauer, that in a moment of crisis, the illusion of separation vanishes. The officer didn’t save the man because of duty; he saved him because he realized, on a fundamental level, that man was him.

This is the essence of what we are fighting for right now. When we watch the news, when we hold our breath waiting for accountability, we are feeling that tug. We are feeling the oneness.

But we must remember the lesson here. The officer could not save the man if he did not also have a lifeline.

If we are truly one, then treating yourself with compassion is not separate from treating the world with compassion. When you tend to your own wounds, when you perform a ritual of self-love, you are not being selfish. You are strengthening your grip on the cliff edge. You are ensuring that you do not let go of the part of the collective that is you.

The Ritual: The Tether of Compassion

This ritual is designed to do two things: honor the love you deserve (Self) and acknowledge your place in the human family (Collective) without taking on the weight of the world’s pain. It is a way to say, “I am connected, but I am safe.”

What You Will Need:

• A Candle: Pink for self-love, or Red for vitality and strength.
• A Mirror: A small hand mirror or your vanity mirror.
• A Cord: A piece of red yarn, string, or ribbon (about 12 inches long).
• A quiet space where you will not be disturbed for 15 minutes.

The Steps:

The Flame of Witness Sit comfortably in your space. Dim the lights and light your candle. As the flame flickers, take three deep breaths—inhaling peace, exhaling the tension of the news cycle. Say aloud:

“I light this flame for the spirit within. For the parts of me that are tired, For the parts of me that are waiting, And for the parts of me that are healing. I am here. I am present. I am worthy of rest.”

The Mirror Work Pick up your mirror (or look into one). Look directly into your own eyes. This can be difficult when we are carrying trauma, but try to hold your own gaze with softness. Imagine you are looking at a dear friend who has survived a battle. Say aloud:

“I see you. I see your strength and your fragility. Just as I would not let go of another, I will not let go of you. You are safe in this body. You are loved in this moment.”

The Tether (The Knot Magic) Pick up your cord or string. This represents the connection Campbell spoke of—the realization that we are one. Hold it in both hands, pulling it taut. Visualize the thread glowing with light, representing the collective empathy of millions of others who are also healing right now. You are not alone; you are holding the line together.

Slowly tie a loose knot in the center of the cord. As you pull it tight, imagine you are anchoring yourself to that collective strength. Say aloud:

“With this knot, I tie myself to the web of compassion. I am the anchor. I am the hand that holds on. I release the pain that is not mine to carry, and I hold fast to the love that is my birthright.”

The Closing Wrap the cord around your wrist or place it on your altar as a reminder of your tether to the collective good. Blow out the candle, visualizing the smoke carrying your intention out into the world, adding your breath to the air we all share.

Author’s Note

As I mentioned, February is a powerful time for me personally, as it holds my solar return. Usually, we look outward for celebration during this season, waiting for others to fill our cups. But this year, with the collective heaviness we are all navigating, I feel called to do something different.

My birthday wish this year is simple: I ask that you take ten minutes to hold space for yourself using this ritual. We cannot pour from an empty cup, and we cannot fight for the collective if we are drowning individually.

Let’s turn the love inward this month. If you perform the Tether of Compassion, I would love to hear how it resonated with you. Let’s keep the web strong, together.

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A recognized and respected voice, Kim Gardner has been a practitioner of the Craft for over 30 years. Her journey has led her to become a High Priestess in the Gardnerian tradition and the Minoan Sisterhood. As a guiding light for others, she has led her own coven for over thirteen years. Kim’s commitment to the wider community is further demonstrated by her decade-long involvement with Pagan Pride, culminating in her current role on the Board of Directors for National Pagan Pride as the West Coast Regional Coordinator.