Since the early days of my recovery, I've always had an altar of sorts set up on the dresser in my bedroom, or on the top of a bookshelf in my office. The artifacts on my altars are sentimental and meaningful, and most of them reach back into the past.
My current altar hosts a tall ceramic goddess figure, a glass candle of the Virgin Mary, a large amethyst crystal and a small rose quartz one, a picture of my late mom, a rosary, a rollerball bottle of frankincense, and my favorite tarot deck. My altar rituals are simple.
I light the candle when the world feels upside down or in honor of loved ones who have passed or who are unwell or struggling, and I pull from my tarot deck most mornings. I take a moment every so often to anoint my wrists with frankincense and inhale the scent slowly and purposefully.
For me, an altar is an intentional space to honor life and love, a visual reminder to breathe and be grateful. My altar is also a tradition of sorts, as I've heard it said that the tops of our mothers' and grandmothers' dressers were types of altars too.
My altar is a sacred space that both represents and influences my personal energy.