That Time of Year
So many of us struggle around this time of year - have grace.
It’s that time of year that I both love and hate. The holidays are wonderful and I am always so grateful for the loving family I have been blessed with. It just also happens to be a very cold time of year - literally and figuratively. This season brings joyous reminders of those we have lost or the struggles we have endured. While being sweet, the pain that arises at those reminders is bitter. The cold that lays outside creeps its way into my chest, brings a frostbitten numbness to my thoughts and emotions, versus my fingertips and ears.
That could certainly explain my aversion to writing lately. Truthfully, I have been debating if it was a case of the winter woes, or even a lack of inspiration. Don’t get me wrong - there is plenty in my life that is a mess. I am a mess, and especially around this time of year. Everyday I am more and more proud of who I am. Yes, there is a mess. But it is wholly mine. Through the shame, pain, and regret, shone wisdom, experience, and kindness. My life is good - I mean so good. I am rich with the love of my family and dear ones. They help me see the beauty in the world and I am starting to get really damn good on seeing it on my own. Now that I have digressed, the long story short is that I am mostly happy with myself and life - even if it isn’t perfect.
When I thought on it harder, I realized the reason for some of the hesitation for my writing lies within a lesson I have been trying to learn for a long time. It is difficult for me to accept that I am writing for individuals who know me and have their own version of who I am. How does that reflect in who I am in these posts? Is there ever a disconnect? What if who they view me as, is so different from who I think of myself as, that my writing seems a farce? What if I write something true and fragile, and it is used as ammunition?
The answer is simple - ‘oh well’. At least, that is what I am telling myself. This is my story, my voice, my life. I have been different variations to different people - not all good. Who they view me as is both real and not. I am not that sole version but it was a part of me. So, oh well. As for the disconnect or ammunition? It is what it is. The best I can do is be authentic and genuine and let the rest be. I can’t change the past nor control others, but I can chose to be myself and figure out the rest from there. There is no wrong way to write, so long as it is truly mine.
The winter woes have played their part in this mess as well. I struggle around this time every year, but most especially since the suicide of my sister 4 years ago. I lean on my family, and soak up all the time I can because her loss taught me how important that is. To make the time, to be loving, to have grace. She was a bright, funny, spunky light that is dearly missed, forever and always.
Otherwise, it is just the task of growing into better habits when my mental is off. I know how to manage the peaks and valleys and have in fact implemented methods. I am so much better than I used to be. I have made progress, and I will always be proud of my growth. However, I am not perfect, and I do feel recently I have not been myself. The tricky part about getting better is I still have to remember to use those methods and to make myself uncomfortable. Unhealthy patterns are what I have grown accustomed to - they are comfortable. When I am struggling, I have to remind myself that I have to get more uncomfortable and push myself, before I can feel better.
All of that to say, this is me pushing myself. There isn’t a point to this post other than, this is me trying - and I am proud of that. Sometimes the best we have to offer is showing up. I hope you show up too, even if it’s all you can do. If it’s your best, it’s enough.
I adore you. Writing is an amazing and creative release, and sharing pain and pleasure may help readers find their own voice. Did I say it already? I adore you...