Sensing the Shift; Letting Go and Seeking Joy

Sensing the Shift: Letting Go and Seeking Joy

Towards the end of last year, in the run up to Christmas, my dad became very ill. Alongside the practical demands came a huge emotional challenge as I faced the possibility of losing him. For me, already carrying what felt like an overloaded life, it was another layer to hold. For my mum, Marion, it meant moving into overdrive; there was no time to think about how she would manage the grief and distress of losing the man she has been with for nearly 50 years. Now that he is home and well, those thoughts are never far away for either of us, but we have been gifted time and our focus is on how to use it.

Around the same time, I found myself sitting in a friend’s kitchen discussing the coming New Year and realising I couldn’t recall what brings me joy. I concluded that perhaps when we go through huge changes in our life, which take us on a different trajectory and impact the core of who we are, it can be really difficult to re-establish those things which make us truly happy and connect with us on a deep, fundamental level.

Through conversations with various people, predominantly women, over the past few months, I’ve discovered that there seems to be a shift this year. A move away from the usual gusto of New Year, the impossible expectations of monumental change, the often-forced revelry and social pressure. Instead, more people are embracing the changing seasons, recognising the natural cycle and the compulsion to close ourselves off from the world as the nights draw in and we return to hibernation. During what are frankly the toughest months of the year, both in nature and in society, following the impact of the festive season, why on earth do we feel the need to try to be the best version of ourselves when the desire to just rest and recover is overwhelming?

For me, this realisation came partly through reading Katherine May’s Wintering, and partly through a personal journey last year which unexpectedly took me to a dark place and forced me to work hard to find my way out, bringing with it some great moments of self discovery and understanding. With this in mind, I have approached January quietly, cautiously and without pressure.

I’ve begun to recognise a habit of comparing myself to others in unrealistic ways and assuming judgement based on standards I personally don't have the capacity to meet, and on which others are absolutely not judging me. I’ve learnt to be kinder to myself and to accept who I am and what I am capable of, including really seeing what I am capable of and celebrating achievements rather than only acknowledging perceived failures. I am deeply grateful for my life and know how blessed I am; I had just failed to recognise my part in making it what it is, and in doing so I've often somewhat missed the laughter, pleasure and excitement that can be found in so many things.

Threaded through these reflections are conversations with my mum, whose own experiences echo strongly now. She was my age when her dad died, and her mum a year later. The years that followed were incredibly hard as she navigated grief, menopause, work and family life. Over time, she came to understand herself better and to forgive: her mum for her shortcomings alongside the immense love she gave; my dad for his clumsy but deeply felt ways of showing love; and herself for not getting everything right, while recognising she really hadn’t done too badly either.

Bringing those memories into the present, and with the inevitability of more loss and grief at some point in the future, it is love that keeps coming up for both of us. Love, acceptance of self and others, and forgiveness. All very easy to say; not necessarily easy to do.

This has led us to reflect on how disconnected modern life can leave us feeling. My mum talks about reading an article on giving up the internet for a week relying on paper maps, a Walkman, a newspaper, and feeling the pull of that simplicity, even while knowing how reliant we’ve all become on being constantly connected. She also read and recommended to me, Sharon Blackie’s If Women Rose Rooted, which speaks about women losing their connection to the land, ancestry and seasons. While moving somewhere remote isn’t realistic for most of us, it does highlight how nourishing it is to reconnect with the natural world, something we both notice when we give ourselves the chance.

For me, January has become about removing pressure. My mantra has been:
“Let it all go. Breathe, slow down. I trust that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I believe that the universe has got my back.”
Repeating this when panic creeps in, as I juggle a ridiculous number of commitments, has brought me a surprising amount of peace and an altered perspective.

There are no resolutions here. Instead, intentions. Gratitude for a reprieve, and a determination to stay in touch with what really matters. Seeking joy deliberately. Allowing rest. Allowing help; no mean feat for either of us. Enjoying small moments: noticing the colour of the sky, the first signs of new life, allowing ourselves to have a grumpy day if that’s where we’re at.

I don’t know how long either of us will stay in this place.
But for now, we're here.
And we're paying attention.