A Spell for Discovering Your Soul Craving

This year, I’m observing Lent.

Not as a Catholic, but as a curious soul.

I gave up sweets again—something I also did last year—and once more I’m struck by how much a simple abstention can reveal. Lent, I’m learning, isn’t about punishment or denial. It’s about creating just enough quiet to hear what’s been drowned out.

Last year, giving up sugar was… loud at first. My body protested. My mind negotiated. I watched cravings arise with surprising intensity, and then—after the initial storm passed—I gained just enough distance from them to start asking better questions.

Why this craving?
Why now?

What I discovered was less mysterious than it was illuminating. Some cravings were rooted in habit: eating cake pops in the car had trained my nervous system to expect sugar every time I got behind the wheel. Other cravings emerged when I wanted immediate gratification—especially when the work I was doing was challenging and the rewards were far off. Sugar had become a shortcut to relief, a fast answer to discomfort.

As the sugar signal quieted, something unexpected happened: subtler signals began to return.

First, thirst—for water. Actual, physical thirst that I hadn’t realized I’d lost touch with.
Then, thirst of a different kind—for sex, for aliveness, for embodied connection.
And finally, in the last days of Lent, something I can only describe as a soul signal: an unmistakable impulse to write.

It felt like remembering a language I hadn’t spoken in a while.

This year, the sugar cravings faded much earlier. I knew what was waiting on the other side. And with the dopamine noise dialed down again, I started to notice something new—not in my body this time, but in my life.

I saw other places where I’ve been settling for sweet snacks instead of deep nourishment.

Specifically: my relationships.

I’ve begun to see how often I’ve chosen quick fire over slow burn. Intensity over intimacy. Sparks over steadiness. I want to be very clear here—there’s no shame in this for me. I’ve had extraordinary, beautiful, catalytic experiences in the realm of quick fire. They shaped me. They taught me. They were real.

And.

With more clarity—helped along, surprisingly, by the absence of sugar—I can see what I want now.

I want devotional intimacy without possession.
I want partnership that feels like home.
I want love that is safe enough to hold me and sturdy enough to challenge me to grow.

The work of living isn’t easy. Learning to tolerate the slower pace of real nourishment—whether in food, creativity, or love—requires staying present with discomfort instead of immediately soothing it. It asks us to trust that depth will come, even when gratification isn’t instant.

Maybe one day I’ll share some of the gutting moments that brought me to this clarity. The heartbreaks, the reckonings, the times I mistook sweetness for sustenance. But for now, I’ll simply say this:

It was all worth it.

Every shortcut taught me something.
Every craving pointed toward a deeper hunger.
Every fast answer prepared me to recognize the slow, enduring yes.

Lent, for me, has become less about what I give up and more about what I make space to receive. When the noise quiets, the body speaks. The heart speaks. The soul, patiently, raises its hand.

And if we’re willing to listen—really listen—we might just discover what we’ve been hungry for all along.

A Spell for Discovering Your Soul Craving

(with an optional 42-Day Fast from Your Favorite Anesthetic)

Purpose:
To quiet the loudest signal long enough to hear the truer hunger beneath it.

You may need:

• A journal or blank paper

• A pen you like using

• Water

• A willingness to be curious (not cruel) with yourself

Step I: Name the Anesthetic

Settle somewhere comfortable. Place one hand on your body—your chest, your belly, or wherever feels right.

Ask yourself, gently:

What do I reach for when I want to feel better immediately?

This might be sugar, alcohol, scrolling, work, fantasy, situationships, productivity, over-giving, or something else entirely.

Write it down.
Not as an accusation.
As a fact.

This is not about moralizing comfort.
This is about noticing where relief has replaced nourishment.

Step II: Set the Container

Choose your fast.

You may choose:

• 42 days, if you want to give your nervous system and habits time to truly reorganize

• 7 days, if that feels more accessible

• One intentional pause, if that’s where you are today

Write your choice at the top of the page.

Then write this (or speak it aloud):

For the next [X] days, I am not removing comfort from my life.
I am removing noise.

I choose to create space—
not to punish myself,
but to listen.

Drink a glass of water slowly, as if sealing the spell.

Step III: Meet the Cravings

When the urge arises—and it will—do not rush to banish it.

Instead, pause and ask:

• What moment am I in right now?

• What do I actually want to feel?

• Is this hunger for ease, for relief, for pleasure, for reassurance, for connection?

Write down what you notice.

You are not required to fix the craving.
Only to witness it.

Cravings are not enemies.
They are messengers who learned to shout because no one was listening.

Step IV: Listen for the Fainter Signals

As the loud signal softens, subtler ones may return.

You might notice:

• Thirst (for water, rest, movement)

• Desire (for touch, creativity, sex, beauty)

• Longings you haven’t felt in a while

• A quiet but persistent pull toward something meaningful

When you notice one, write:

Beneath the craving for ___, I am thirsty for ___.

Do not rush to act. Let the signal clarify itself.

Step V: Name the Soul Craving

Near the end of your fast—or at any moment of clarity—answer this question:

If I trusted that deep nourishment is allowed, what am I actually hungry for right now?

Write your answer as a sentence beginning with:

My soul is craving…

It might be devotion.
Safety.
Depth.
Rest.
Creative expression.
Partnership.
Truth.

Let the sentence be simple. Let it be true.

Closing the Spell

Place your hand over your heart and say:

I honor the ways I learned to soothe myself.
I thank the shortcuts that kept me going.

And now, I choose to practice the slower love—
the kind that feeds me for a long time.

Fold the paper. Keep it somewhere you’ll find it again.

This is not the end of the spell.
It’s the beginning of a different kind of listening.