The deep retreat of Winter

My to do list for life’s difficult moments

Welcome to Beyond Survival, a publication about life after trauma. This month, I’m planning essays on Catholicism & sexual trauma and sharing my advice for survivors through the holiday season. This edition is about Wintering, and the things that are keeping me well.

Photo by Kevin Dowling on Unsplash

I had another essay planned for today. But life happened.

I’m planning a wedding and hiring insulators to fix our mold problem¹ and chipping away at novel revisions and managing a crushing work disappointment and dealing with weird not-serious-but-still-strange health issues. I’m trying to squeeze in time to run and rest and spend time with the people I love. I’m trying to tick, tick, tick a list that’s simply too long for the number of days left in this year.

Last week, I took a break and went for a walk. I started the walk feeling overwhelmed and anxious, and ended it feeling better than I had in days. My brain needed some time to just be, to whirr away without my constant sniping about all the things I should be doing. I needed to listen to the birds and feel the icy wind on my cheeks and move through time on the rhythmic assurance of my own two feet.

I got home and thought I should stretch. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be in my body. I didn’t want to face my feelings.

I didn’t want to acknowledge how crushing it is to be planning a wedding that my mother won’t attend. She’s in our “run through” document only because I want to say a few words in her memory, not because she’ll be there to fix my veil or give opinions about the (lack of) prayers.

I didn’t want to feel the weight of my own self-expectations, the regret of projects that didn’t work out the way I’d hoped or the long list of things I wanted to do this year, but didn’t manage to.

I felt a tug of light-headedness every time I stood, and almost allowed it to keep me off the mat. But I’m glad I didn’t. Almost always, yoga helps me feel better. This was one of those times that 10 minutes on my mat turned the whole day around.

Maybe I’m not the only one feeling a little raw and threadbare as Winter tightens its grip.

Maybe I’m not the only one chasing a to-do list, knowing it’ll never be completed.

Maybe I’m not the only one hiding from despair as the air gets thinner and temperatures plummet.

One of my favourite books about this time of year is

Katherine May

Wintering. It’s a lovely book - a gentle ramble through the harshest months of the year which blends memoir, advice, nature-writing and spirituality. This quote encapsulates the book’s premise very well:

“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximizing scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but it crucible.”

It’s a book about Winter as a season, but also our own personal “winters”. The times when life feels bleak, painful and lonely. It’s a book about finding the most comfortable way to live through these seasons. It’s not about either denying or enduring the pain, but about acceptance.

This time of year has a lot to teach us me. Rather than pushing against it, I’m trying to adapt to nature’s rhythm. This isn’t the time of year to strive. It’s time to conserve our limited resources, to rest, to dream, and to “let the soft animal of your body love what it loves”.²

It’s time for a different kind of list. A list of things that will bolster me through this sparse time. Things that will help me find joy, humour, resilience and pleasure through the weeks ahead.

Sunrise winter walks & some colourful crafts to brighten the grey

Here are a few of the things I want to prioritise:

• Physical: Sleep. Stretching. Nourishing food. Mindful movement.

• Mental: Anything that gives my thinking mind a break. For me, that’s usually being in nature, cooking familiar recipes, reading, listening to audiobooks or doing easy art projects.

• Emotional: Crying when I need to. Journaling. Therapy (but not too much. At this time of year, I find it more useful to relax into the season rather than doing the heavy work of therapy.) Honesty, with myself and others especially about my needs and limitations.

• Psychosocial: Hugs. Intimacy. Time with the people who make me feel more like myself. Solitude. Making care packages for pals around the world. Hosting. Prioritising some gentle social plans. Giving thoughtful gifts.

• Sensory: Loose clothing. Cosy socks. Moisturising. Blankets. Gently scented candles. Crunchy things to nibble. Hot water bottles. Thermals. Prioritising comfort.

• Spiritual: Meditation, especially walking meditations. Gratitude. Quiet. Forest bathing. Poetry. Reflection.

• Creativity: Collaging. Playing in my fiction sandbox. Painting. Drawing. Trying new recipes. Dreaming.

• Play: Anything that’s fun but unproductive. Like rewatching old movies, puzzles and dance parties in the living room.

• Ecological: Caring for plants. Car-free days. Sea swimming. Hiking.

• Altruism: Anything you do without expecting something in return. Deep listening. Volunteering. Holding space for others.

This list was inspired by Nicola Jane Hobbs’ work on rest. If you’re interested in Wintering, here’s a link to the book. I got a lot from this Covid-era conversation with Krista Tippett too.

💕 If this piece resonated with you, please tap the heart below to help spread the word.

💬 In the comments, share the things that are keeping you going through the harsh Winter season. And if you’re enjoying the sunshine in the Southern Hemisphere right now, my best wishes to you! Not jealous at all 😉

1. I’ve been trying to write and then ….driiiiiiillllll… 😖

2. My favourite line from my favourite poem: Mary Oliver's Wild Geese.