I find myself in a metaphorical winter.
A friend pointed it out in a conversation this week, and at first, I was annoyed (who needs this shit??), and then, I was relieved. Of course I am wintering. My whole body sighed because I stopped arguing with myself.
Katherine May, who wrote the book Wintering, defines this phenomenon as a fallow period that is, “part hibernation, part resignation, part devotional activity.”
Culturally, we don’t winter well.
I am impatient with myself, believing that if I understood WHY I am here, it would provide a way out. Could it be perimenopause? Is it finally having the space to process repeated moves and the residual exhaustion or deployments that left me a single parent for years at a time? Maybe it is the eerie quiet of a nest recently empty? Or grappling with the realities of aging parents. I reach and stretch out and away from the swirl, trying to escape the waves of grief, anger, and confusion.
I don’t know why we try and escape these particular hard feeling states, but I know why I do - a part of me is terrified I’ll *always* feel this way. Not only that, but it seems that embracing wintering is a sure fire way to be avoided by other humans - like it’s a contagion.
The only way through is through.
I recall saying that to a dear friend many years ago when she was struggling, and this is the phrase that returns to me. This is where I find myself and the only place to be is where I am - winter inevitably ends and spring will arrive. I know this from weathering many proverbial winters - in fact, I wrote down the “big winters” I recall and somehow, that helped me take a deep breath and claim my place.
If I can trust that winter is just another season, then I can surrender and trust that all will be well. I create a nest, making ready my trusty supply of books, candles, journals, and cashmere blankets so I can turn toward the depths of winter and rest. The irony is that in doing so, I find a sweet wellspring of joy in the aliveness of my winter.
May you allow yourself the grace of wintering when the season is upon you.
"If I can trust that winter is just another season, then I can surrender and trust that all will be well... The irony is that in doing so, I find a sweet wellspring of joy in the aliveness of my winter."
It blows my mind how many times my sweet, dopamine-seeking brain forgets that there can be relief even in the darkness. In fact, that relief is at its core a byproduct of surrender, not of sunshine and rainbows. This simple difference between pain and suffering makes a world of difference. Thank you Nona for this reminder today.
Ah, wintering:-) I feel I spent the last year wintering. I too resisted, until I didn't and I felt that sigh. Spring comes again:-)