Wintering

 

This month’s theme is kind of a personal one for me — but the term is not my own.

“Wintering” was coined by British author Katherine May to describe those difficult chapters in our lives when the wisest response (and sometimes the only possible one) is to rest and retreat.

Of course we all do a bit of wintering too during the actual winter months. As the outer world draws into itself, we often can’t help mirroring that quieter energy.

As in nature, the pause to go inward and renew ourselves — and perhaps to reflect more deeply on our lives during that pause — is one that yields meaningful rewards and, in time, can birth beautiful new things.

But this is especially crucial to do when we hit those hard times in our lives — when loss comes in its many guises — loss of a loved one, loss of health, of home, of hope, of an identity or ability or freedom or certainty, or of something else more precious to you than you may have realized.

Winter looks like loss. The leaves and the light are gone. The landscape is barren, the colors faded. Snow, ice, and cold hinder our ability to venture out.

Yet “winter” is a perfect metaphor for the hard times in our lives, because in both cases the season brings certain gifts alongside the hardships.

We’ll explore those gifts together this month as we slow down to spend time with this introspective theme.

We’ll also explore — or maybe it’s better to say “face” — the truth that our winters are inevitable, although rarely predictable. That sometimes they’re brief and fairly mild, and at other times difficulties pile one on top of another to make for a long, cold, dark winter indeed.

And — here’s the personal part — sometimes we’re fighting so hard to survive the winter that we don’t slow down as nature has taught us is necessary. And I can tell you from personal experience what happens then…

Over the last ten years, I’ve had a lot of winters hit — some of them one right after the other, some even simultaneously. Some were things I stepped into willingly, not realizing how tough they would be; others were gut punches that came out of nowhere. In any case, they often felt like such crises, or like responsibilities I couldn’t possibly put down for a while, that I didn’t stop when I should have. I didn’t “rest and retreat” as Katherine May urges us to do.

Until I had no choice, that is.

Because the reality is that if we don’t slow down when it’s time, we will eventually hit a wall. Whether it’s body, heart, mind, or spirit — or in my case all of those — at least some part of you will give out and just stop working.

“Burnout” felt like a good name for it, because my spark was truly gone for a while. But it never occurred to me that it could also feel like weeks of crippling back pain, or like a loss of hope in the future, or like losing myself even.

And I can tell you too what healed me — what is healing me, because this is still ongoing work.

It was doing what Katherine May prescribes. It was giving up, stopping all the outward activity, putting down the responsibilities, and tending myself. It was loads of sleep at first, then loads of journaling, and nowadays it’s a patient and loving tending and rebuilding of the foundations (home, health, etc.) that were shaken during the “hard times”.

What is it for you? What is this winter season asking of you? — whether it’s simply these colder winter months or perhaps also a personal winter that you’re navigating.

I hope you’ll come join me this month to pause, to listen deeply to yourself and the call of winter, and to respond with love.

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