Ceridwen's cauldron, the stories that shape us, and the possibility of becoming someone new.
Hi lovely,
Come sit with me for a little while.
I've been thinking about stories lately.
Not necessarily the ones we find tucked between the pages of a book, although you know how much I love those.
I'm thinking about the stories we carry within ourselves.
The ones that quietly shape how we see the world, how we relate to others and, perhaps most importantly, how we understand who we are.
I'm not a creative person.
I'm always the one who has to hold everything together.
I'm terrible at making decisions.
I'm too sensitive.
Sometimes these stories began with something someone said to us years ago. Sometimes they grew from experiences we had, expectations placed upon us or conclusions we reached when we were much younger.
And over time, we can begin treating them as facts rather than interpretations.
There's an old Welsh story I'd love to share with you today, because it has me thinking about transformation and the identities we carry.
It's the tale of Ceridwen and her cauldron.
🌿 The Cauldron of Inspiration
In Welsh tradition, Ceridwen is associated with a remarkable cauldron and a powerful tale of transformation.
In the story of Taliesin, Ceridwen prepares a magical brew intended to bestow extraordinary inspiration and wisdom upon her son, Morfran, who is also called Afagddu.
The brew must be tended for a year and a day.
A young boy named Gwion Bach is tasked with helping to watch over the cauldron.
But one day, three drops of the bubbling liquid land upon his thumb.
He instinctively puts his thumb into his mouth, and in that moment, the gift of inspiration meant for another becomes his.
Ceridwen is furious.
What follows is one of my favourite sequences in Welsh mythology.
Gwion flees, transforming himself into a hare.
Ceridwen becomes a greyhound.
He changes into a fish, and she pursues him as an otter.
He becomes a bird, and she follows as a hawk.
Finally, he transforms into a grain of wheat, hiding among other grains.
Ceridwen becomes a hen and swallows him.
In time, Gwion is reborn as the child who becomes known as Taliesin, the legendary poet.
It's a strange, beautiful and sometimes unsettling story.
And like many old tales, it doesn't offer us a neat little lesson wrapped in a bow.
There are questions of power, anger, destiny and transformation woven throughout it.
But one element has always fascinated me.
The person who begins the story is not the same person who emerges at its end.
🔥 Who Have You Believed Yourself to Be?
There's something about transformation stories that speaks to our own experience of being human.
Not because we literally become hares or hawks, although wouldn't that be something?
But because we change.
We grow through relationships, difficult experiences, discoveries, losses, unexpected opportunities and the ordinary unfolding of life.
Yet the stories we tell ourselves don't always change alongside us.
We might still describe ourselves according to something that happened ten years ago.
We might continue believing we're incapable of something we've never actually given ourselves the opportunity to explore.
Or we might hold onto an identity that once helped us feel safe, even though it now keeps us small.
In counselling, one of the things we can explore is the relationship between our experiences, the beliefs we've formed and the way those beliefs influence our thoughts and behaviour.
A child who is repeatedly told they're difficult may grow into an adult who worries that expressing their needs will make them a burden.
Someone who experienced rejection may begin expecting it, even in relationships where they are loved and valued.
And a person who was praised for always being strong might struggle to ask for help when they need it.
These patterns aren't simply a matter of choosing to think positively.
Our beliefs often have histories.
They may have developed for understandable reasons, and some have helped us navigate genuinely difficult circumstances.
But understanding where a story came from gives us an opportunity to ask whether it still reflects who we are.
🌸 The Stories That Once Protected Us
I believe this is where we need to be particularly gentle with ourselves.
It's easy to look at an old belief and decide it's something we need to get rid of.
But sometimes that belief was once useful.
Being quiet might have helped you avoid conflict.
Being fiercely independent might have helped you navigate a time when support wasn't available.
Being the person who always took care of everyone else might have given you a sense of belonging or purpose.
We don't need to shame ourselves for the ways we've learned to survive or belong.
We can acknowledge what those patterns once offered us while also recognising their limitations.
And we can begin exploring other ways of being.
Because the story that helped you through one chapter of your life doesn't have to become the story you live by forever.
🌿 A Little Journalling Practice: Questioning the Story
If you have a journal nearby, I'd love to invite you to explore one of the stories you've been carrying.
Choose something that feels manageable. You don't need to begin with your deepest wound.
1. Name the story.
Complete this sentence:
I've always believed that I'm someone who...
Notice what comes up.
2. Explore where it began.
Ask yourself:
When did I first begin believing this?
Was it something I experienced, something I was told or a conclusion I reached?
Did this belief once help me in some way?
You don't need to remember an exact moment. Simply notice what you know.
3. Look for another possibility.
Ask:
Is this story always true?
What experiences might challenge it?
Who might I be if I didn't have to keep proving this story right?
4. Write a more spacious story.
Rather than replacing an old belief with an affirmation you don't believe, try writing something that allows room for growth.
For example:
Instead of I'm not creative, you might write:
Creativity is something I can explore in my own way.
Instead of I have to do everything myself:
I'm learning that I can be capable and still receive support.
Instead of I'm too sensitive:
My sensitivity is part of how I experience the world, and I can learn ways to care for it.
You don't have to believe your new story completely today.
You're simply allowing another possibility to exist.
🔥 The Cauldron of Becoming
I often return to the image of the cauldron in my own spiritual practice.
A vessel in which different elements meet, are warmed, stirred and transformed.
And I love thinking about the ways our own lives hold that same potential.
Not every transformation arrives in a dramatic moment.
Sometimes it happens quietly, when we question something we've always believed.
When we make a different choice.
When we allow ourselves to try something new.
Or when we realise that an old description of who we are no longer feels quite right.
The story of Ceridwen and Taliesin is far more complicated than a simple tale of personal growth.
But it offers an image I find deeply meaningful.
Transformation doesn't always leave us looking or living as we did before.
And that doesn't mean we've lost ourselves.
Sometimes it means we're discovering parts of ourselves we haven't yet had the opportunity to know.
You are allowed to change your mind about who you are.
You're allowed to discover new interests, develop different boundaries, explore unfamiliar parts of yourself and outgrow roles you've occupied for years.
You don't need to become an entirely different person.
And you certainly don't need to reject everything that brought you here.
But you can give yourself permission to keep becoming.
Because you are not only the story of what has happened to you.
You are also the person who gets to decide what happens next.
Until next time,
Tash xx 🌿
