It's the end of January. We made it—by the skin of our teeth—but we're here. I've been wading through sticky, dark treacle, trying to find some thread of creativity and hang on to it for all it's worth.
Caring and work responsibilities, dragging deadlines, and finalising the launch of a long-term project have seen the days drumming by me, as I try to realign with myself, and what I want from life, amidst it all. I’m feeling fulfilment, too; launching this newsletter platform for one thing, which I hope will bring me the connection I crave, the space to be vulnerable and honest. We are about to turn into February, which holds just that little bit more room and hope than January; which is often bleak, in direct contrast with all the intensity and shine of December. The pressure to get gifts, to wind up work for two weeks, be on top things, face family and all that brings; the caverns it opens and asks you to peer into. January is a tough, empty month, where the repercussions of the festive season take time to abate.
It's also where we internalize the idea of transformation and renewal, putting a lot of pressure on ourselves, even if we don't consciously buy into that ‘new year, new you’ thing. We're conditioned to feel it has an opportunity for change—that's not a bad thing because anything that invites you to reassess, to take stock and trim away what doesn't serve you, find more of what does—that can lead to great things. That’s not to say it’s easy work, however. The reward often comes later, from following your truth and identifying what aligns with that.
These last couple of days I have been the living embodiment of that; I’ve thrown caution to the wind and reached out to someone, been honest about how much I’m struggling to focus on my writing just now, and asked if they could they help. They could. And now I’m finding myself entertaining the frankly luxurious prospect of a retreat, away from it all, all the stresses, responsibilities and deadlines—imminently. Time. To relax, talk with others, eat, walk, think. Write what I need to write. Do the deep, gutting excavation of my history and stand face-to-face with it in the solitude of the hills and open sky. I’ve never been away on a retreat before, I’m nervous, but more than that, I am desperate. The fear of travelling alone, of booking last minute tickets, packing and spending a few days in the company of several strangers are all eclipsed by need. Transformed, to shiny pebbles I want to pocket. The prospect has morphed so easily into one I am outright thirsting for. Being autistic and having ADHD be damned.
It occurs to me that sometimes we don’t know what we need until we’re at a breaking point. When suddenly the light shifts and the land has an utterly different relief from the moment before. When insurmountable things, impossible things, selfish things, become necessary.
I want to share with you something that I think is highly indicative of the moment we're living in. To me, it's very poignant. There are three phrases that have been coming up again and again in my conversations:
I'm so glad that I met you.
I hope you're taking care of yourself.
You are not alone.
These words are power. I used to speak them only with my closest friends, but now I'm finding them coming back to me from different and sometimes unexpected places. The feeling is always mutual. It makes me question if we're not always voicing our gratitude as much as we should. Sharing that we recognise and can empathise deeply with someone's pain and experience. I know how it makes me feel when people say this to me. It's finding a kindred spirit. It's very fortifying in tough times to be reminded that you are valued and connected, that you are not going through this alone.
Anyone who lives with anxiety, panic, dissociation, neurodivergence—will know that any of these myriad things can interrupt and disrupt our brain patterns, our perceptions of ourselves. That they have the power to make us feel isolated, shut us down. We can learn tools, like CBT, or we can go to therapy: we can learn about ourselves. We can ready these new tools, wield them like weapons, but sometimes, the demons sneak in. Humans aren’t perfect.
These cycles can be particularly hard to navigate when you’re a voice for your community, and you spend time and energy bolstering others or fighting for justice, when you feel like a failure, or an impostor, because it becomes hard and you feel imperfect.
I’d argue it's our own perfectionism that makes us entirely unique and who we are. And it's our imperfections where we learn our greatest lessons and resilience. If, like me, you are amazed that it's the end of the month and that, no, it didn't go on forever— thank fuck—and, was that actually an extra five minutes of tangible daylight? Then give yourself a huge pat on the back. Because you survived another January. You are nearly towards the end of winter: at least the light is coming. And hopefully you've been able to manage the shadows a little bit, if not cast them completely aside, because let's face it, that's just not always possible.
I hope you’ve found a space that allows you to take a step back and look at the bigger picture, the map of you, and that you can trace what energies you’re aligning with. Sometime, it takes huge directional force to create change. Surrounding yourself with like-minded people, who you can bounce off, elevating yourself to a higher level, can help. And it can be achieved in the smallest of ways—an extra hour tacked on to your Friday, for journaling, or just free-writing. Maybe you'll pick up a memoir, or challenge yourself to pick up something you don't normally read.
Transformation and renewal isn’t only about saving up for a new class at the gym. For me, it’s been the effort to get outside more often again. I’ve been pretty glued to my desk these last two years, and I’m feeling it, physically, mentally, emotionally. Being outside again, to walk freely, at my own pace, without the constant tug to be responding to work, has had a considerable impact on my wellbeing, already. It has felt as though a huge part of me has been missing, and it’s slowly being restored, through every touch of a frost-encrusted leaf, weighty swing of a round pebble into the sea, or keening cry of a buzzard, high up above.
Additionally, I’ve been putting myself out there more. Releasing fear, seeking places that allow me to be unafraid. Like this one. It’s where I can speak honestly, share truths, and find the points that chime and resonate with you (I really love hearing from you). I’m recalibrating and shedding the layers, the old skins. I’m picking up autumn leaves and pocketing them, sticking them to my coat, seeing which colours I like best. Which shapes are my favourite.
I think that we humans build up layers and layers of membranes that are responses to life and the things it throws at us. It could be any number of things: perceptions, that other people have given us about ourselves; or idealisms about how we want to be; or even armour, to survive. We sometimes require a conscious shedding of those skins, to get back to who we are at the core.
It’s possibly more common for neurodivergent people who typically masks to survive: you get very adept at picking things up from other people to in order to fit in. And we maybe have to work that bit harder at chipping those things off again, but it can be done.
If you’re working on finding your truth, or a way back to the core of you, I hope you’re being kind to yourself and finding rest and stillness where you can. That you are taking a moment to breathe: in for four, hold for four, out for eight, is how I do it when I feel untethered. It helps if the air is fresh, better if it’s carrying birdsong. Breathing is often what brings me back to myself faster than anything. It’s what allows me to reset, and begin again.
Next time you feel stressed out or at odds with yourself, try it. You’re breathing in a world of connection, a million other people, breathing with you.
I’m glad to have met you. I hope you’re you’re taking care of yourself. And you are not alone.
I’d love to hear from you if this makes sense, touches a nerve or strikes a chord, basically if it resonates. How do you find your alignment? What brings you closer to yourself? Please leave a comment below, even if it’s just to say hello xx