Group ritual attuned to the seasons may sound woo-woo, but as Jana Beer finds out, it can offer women the support they need in a chaotic world.
After I accepted a special invitation to Gin’s house, my two friends fussed over me, ushering me to a seat and making me tea. Our friendship was forged in the beautiful slog of early motherhood, and I was used to casual get-togethers rather than these formalities. I nervously took a sip of tea as they beamed back at me. Lief finally popped the question: “Would you like to join our ritual group?”
I hoped my face looked somewhere between neutral and pleased. My friends had mentioned their ritual group in passing, and while it sounded intriguing, it wasn’t really my thing, and I hadn’t pressed them for details. However, the invitation was timely.
It was a mild winter’s day in Auckland in 2022 – the warmest winter recorded in New Zealand’s history. We were riding a wave of unprecedented upheaval, having experienced three COVID lockdowns and increasing social division following COVID mandates. Overseas, biblical floods had hit Australia, and I was looking forward to the day Trump wasn’t in my newsfeed. Given the state of the world, I was anxious about my kids’ future and, aged 41, was unknowingly experiencing the first symptoms of perimenopause (tingling hands and nasal fissures, anyone?).
I was in sore need of solace, and this beautiful gesture of sisterhood had appeared. We agreed I’d come along for a ritual and see if it was for me, and likewise, if I was a good fit for the group.
Beginnings
My friends’ group is comprised of women in their 40s and 50s who are mothers, predominantly of Scottish, English, and Irish heritage. To celebrate their ancestral roots and the land they live in, they reimagine Celtic seasonal rituals for Aotearoa New Zealand. They are guided by a well-thumbed copy of Celebrating the Southern Seasons by New Zealand artist, writer, and former psychotherapist Juliet Batten. She wrote the book after a decade of designing and facilitating rituals, aligning Pagan European traditions with the southern hemisphere calendar and sharing accounts of Māori myths, practices, and tohu (signs) in nature that signify seasonal change in Aotearoa.
In our group, each ritual is designed, hosted, and verbally led by one or two members, much like a uni project, but a lot more fun. It is based on a seasonal question or intention which, in winter, might ask, ‘What is quietly germinating within me?’ or, in tune with Matariki, remember loved ones who have passed away. Often, members weave in a topic they’ve been thinking about, perhaps prompted by a poem or an interview. Themes are explored through activities such as guided meditation, drawing, or journaling, followed by a ‘deepening’ which is usually a silent contemplation. Afterward, members share their experiences if they wish, which leads to thoughtful conversations.
For my first ritual evening, I arrived on a moon-lit September night and nervously knocked on Sarah’s door. A sparkly-eyed woman with elfin features greeted me like a long-lost friend and informed me I was the first of the group to arrive. As she multitasked, I shyly inspected the altar on the coffee table, an earthenware sculpture of women holding hands with a candle at its centre, garlanded with kōwhai flowers. One by one, members arrived, each greeting me warmly as we took places around the altar in a circle, replicating how ancient Celts joined in ritual thousands of years ago.
We began by reciting an invocation to call us in and leave the external world behind. I’ll admit I felt very self-conscious at this point – but I kept it together. We then lit the candle to signify moving into sacred space, characterised by deep presence and an open heart and mind. Beforehand, we had been asked to bring a symbol representing each of our children (I chose a striped tiger’s eye for my daughter, and a purple oyster shell for my son), which we then placed on the altar.
The ritual’s theme explored a theory that history is cyclical and generational roles rise from each of its four phases. It posits this phase as one of crisis, and our cohort as the ‘Repair Generation’, with a role to clear the path for our children to rebuild as the ‘Artist Generation’. In theme with spring growth, we contemplated qualities we wanted to nurture in this role to meet our children’s unique needs, and shared our hopes and struggles afterwards.
The ritual felt like it had been written for me (I checked, it wasn’t). The generational theory allowed me to reframe the world’s disruption as a season and focus instead on helping my children develop the skills needed to cultivate understanding and appreciate diversity. Meanwhile, looking inwards to identify my strengths flipped my inclination to fixate on what I wasn’t. Most importantly, I realised I wasn’t alone in how I felt. After we blew out the candle and closed the ritual, we shared food and caught up. I was hooked.
Elements of ritual
You likely engage in ritual every day. Rituals are culturally universal and are found in all areas of life, including religion, sport, business, family gatherings, and daily routines. You know it when you see it – once you know what it is.
Rituals have two main components: a purpose and a set of action sequences. The kicker is that a ritual’s actions are not overtly linked to its purpose. These actions might be unconscious, such as tennis player Rafael Nadal’s obsessive hair tucking before he served. Or they could be intentional, such as lighting the candle to signify holding sacred space in our group’s rituals. With repetition, these actions transform into symbolic expressions. But why do we perform them, and what do they do?
Engaging in a ritual, especially before a stressful situation, can help regulate emotions and improve performance, according to The Psychology of Rituals: An Integrative Review and Process-Based Framework. How? It can block out anxious and intrusive thoughts by acting as an intentional distraction. It helps to focus attention, restore a sense of control, and boost confidence, among other benefits. When practiced as a group, ritual can lead to joint attention and feelings of emotional synchronicity, which promotes trust.
Seasonal lessons
Basing ritual on seasons helps us to understand ourselves better. Consider how you feel in winter as opposed to summer. When I visited ritual practitioner Juliet Batten and asked why the seasons are important to her rituals, she explained. “We live in a culture that prescribes relentless productivity, but our energy is not constant throughout the day, let alone the year. When we attune ourselves to the seasons, we give ourselves realistic expectations about what we can do.”
Transitions between seasons, on the other hand, teach us that change is inevitable. Take the Autumn Equinox, when Māori and Pagan European cultures give thanks for the harvest as they enter the dormant phase of the year. A ritual focus might ask, ‘What am I gathering to sustain me through winter, and what am I leaving behind?’ In Celebrating the Southern Seasons, Batten elaborates that marking the shift in seasons allows us to ”live in the present moment rather than drag our heels in the past.”
Lastly, seasons serve as a powerful metaphor for the stages of our lives, particularly for women who go through distinct hormonal phases. Contextualising perimenopause and menopause as the ‘autumn’ of our lives guides us to reserve our energy to weather the physical and psychological changes. “This is the moment to tune into the mystery of the changeover, knowing that what appears to be a time of dying is really part of the movement forward into renewal and rebirth,” writes Batten.
Connecting and expanding
Five years after they established the group, I asked Sarah and Lief how it had benefited them. Sarah shares, “I find I can enter the ritual in many different psychological and energetic states, but I always leave feeling grounded, peaceful, and connected”.
For Lief, who is studying psychology, an unexpected benefit is the therapeutic element that comes from the collective experience. When members share what comes up for them during ritual, it can be intensely emotional. Both women describe these vulnerable moments as being beautifully held and responded to. Lief muses, “Societally, we live our lives in highly individual ways, but in our ritual group, we grow and learn as a collective.”
When asked why group ritual is beneficial for women in particular, Batten responds, “It’s fragmenting being a woman; we have busy lives, juggling too many things. Women have a strong need to find a sanctuary. A safe space where the intrusions of the world are left at the door, and they can be still and connect with themselves and others. To do that is one of the most nurturing, and ultimately, growthful things they could give themselves.”
I agree. The minute I arrive for a ritual, my anticipation builds about what will be explored and unearthed that night. By tuning into our inner worlds, each other, and the wider forces around us, we collectively create a safe space in which to be explorative and vulnerable.
In this space, unexpected feelings in response to themes have provided threads of self-discovery to pull, such as grief on the topic of ancestors. The activities have helped me question self-limiting beliefs about what I’m capable of. Attuning myself to the seasons and their energies reminds me to be kind to myself, and group discussion has allowed me to receive the wisdom of others. I’m getting to know myself better, which helps me feel more present and resilient in everyday life. Between Trump making more headlines and perimenopausal heart palpitations, I can find pause… and flow.
Contributer Bio: Jana Beer
Jana is an artist and writer with a special interest in the natural world, conservation, and creative practices. A career highlight is winning the NZ Writers’ College Digital Journalist of the Year for 2025. Jana lives in Tāmaki Makaurau / Auckland with her husband, two kids, and their new pup, Moss.
