How To Break The Spell

And really allow yourself to be wherever you may be.

Winters Smile

The enormity of pressure that comes this time of year, to wrap things up and begin anew always feels so suffocating to me.  This forced reflection, this liminal space where something will be coming to an end, while soon, something else will be beginning.  All the while, new programs are starting with deadlines nearing. Sign-ups for schools, and walk-throughs are being scheduled. Campsites for the upcoming summer are being booked, while at the same time, all of the things I have said I will get to in the new year seem to just keep piling up. The overwhelming “hmmm” somehow tells me I am already behind.  

Even as I write this, my shoulders begin to cave in. Luckily, my palm catches my forehead as my elbow tightly lands on my knee, allowing for a moment of respite.  In this slumped-over position, I begin to wonder what my posture is telling me, what my heavy shoulders would like to make known, what my closed eyes want to whisper to me through my fingers, and what wishes my held breath might have. 

And while this writing is in some ways an exploration into this posture, I can’t help but ask myself, why do we keep doing this to ourselves, when clearly, something else is deeply needed.  The exhaustion from the holidays and winter break feels so enormous.  All last week, as I spoke to other parents, I kept hearing the same, “My break was nice, but so happy it is over,”or “the holidays are always so stressful, and a lot. Happy to be getting back to routine.”  

And although I shared many of these sentiments, my thoughts drift to how we just seem to keep doing this to ourselves; on top of adding the pressure to somehow reinvent who we are.  To shed what no longer serves us, to make room for what’s to come; and so often, we can’t even catch our breath long enough to hear, to make space, to grieve, to welcome in.  Yet, we try to do it all anyway. 

As I write this, I know that some of it is inevitable and that some of it is even sweet and magical.  And as much as I loved seeing my son’s eyes light up with the wonder of it all, I still can’t help but feel curious as to why it feels so forced. This capitalistic bug that feeds off pressure seems to have gotten everyone and is quite hard to fight off. 

I also feel the same concern when it comes to intention setting. The tension that inhabits my chest and circulates throughout my throat, I know, is desperate to attempt to make some sort of meaning.  To reflect and go over the past year, to somehow see if the growth that took place can be measured, or if there is some insight into how to carry over the hopes for the new year.

New year, new you.  Slogans that are supposed to inspire only seem to fill me with dread and sometimes even anger. 

I have been sitting curiously with my resistance; in an attempt to understand why this time of year feels so not attuned with my needs and the needs of my family and community. 

And why this period feels so misattuned with nature and the cycles of the season. 

For the past few years, I have been really interested in the idea of wintering.  A big reason for this is because I moved to a place where winters are actually felt.  Where the darkness really exists and is something that cannot be looked over.  Winter, I have learned, is felt in the bones—this my body now can speak of.   

There is a stillness in winter.  I see it as my eyes notice all of the leaves that have fallen and have now turned into a soft purply, lilac color from being frozen.  Barren branches and trees look exposed, like a skeleton of life.  We see roots and how the branches show us who they are during this season, how they still stand with what appears so little.  They show us how to hold on to what is needed and how to let go, and let rot what is not.  Winter exposes the bones.  It exposes our bones.  It calls for stillness, slow breathing, and even death.  

Winters Bones

This knowing, coupled with the intense societal pressure to take stock, to begin anew, to start fresh, to release, and reinvent yourself, just doesn’t seem to be adding up.  And in no way seems aligned with what the trees are trying to teach us, to teach me. 

In no way am I against ritual.  Actually, it is the opposite. And, of course, I am wanting folks to be able to have space to reflect and connect with their hopes and dreams for the future.  I am just realizing I am not really into it feeling forced.

For I can’t force spring to come in the darkness of the season.  Instead, I have to sit in it and bring as much light in as I can. 

What I have learned about myself is that I like authentic, soft, and flexible intentions, little seedlings that I can plant and water over time.  I like noticing the new little buds that sprout overnight and the ways in which clarity comes without force.  I also know that sometimes these reflections happen close to the new year, and sometimes they don’t, and that that is okay.  The most important thing is that when they come—I listen. 

Sending you all thoughts of ease and permission to find an exhale exactly in the place you are. 

And dare I say Happy New Year.

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I wanted to leave you with two teachings that I stumbled upon that brought about some deep wisdom, an antidote. 

“It is the most reasonable thing if nothing feels new about the new year.  We are told it is a beginning.  We are told to leave it all behind.  But, our bodies, ancient and sensible as they are, defy the calendar.  

Our bodies tell the stories of what we have lived through, what is still ongoing, what is unfinished, what has long been growing inside, what will continue to sleep until another season when better conditions for new beginnings appear.  

In honor of myself, I will discard the expectations that I should be different, that I should let it go before I’m ready, that I should move on to something new. 

To honor of you, I will love you as you were, as you are, even if that is the same as last month, last year, yesterday.  I honor particularly of moving to your own rhythm, and find your own pace. 

May we have the courage to begin again, every day, to take as long as we need with the things that deserve more attention, and listen to the ancient wisdom of our bodies that sits outside of time.”

By Hillary L. McBride

Hillary McBride

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“I do not plan to start anew

in January

that is for spring

this is the night

in the dead of winter

where I pare back excess

to reach the bones of my life

so when I am reborn 

I am reborn as only

my most essential nature”

By David Gate