Winter Reflections: Honoring the Past, Embracing the Future

How I’m Navigating the Darkness of Winter and the Light Within

The Winter Solstice marks the longest night of the year, but for those of us living in cold, wintry climates for nearly six months of the year, we know the darkest days of winter are still ahead. Once the twinkle lights come down and we find ourselves deep into January, the air will be so cold it hurts—limiting our once-refreshing wintry walks to hunched and hurried jaunts from our warm car to whichever warm entrance we’re aiming for.

As the trees are untrimmed and the halls undecked, everything turns a muted greige: the sky, the trees, even the snow piled along the roads.

We’ll endure at least twelve weeks of cold and darkness, not even daring to hope for the bright green of the first crocus leaves. In March, we’ll be elated to see skunk cabbage melting the snow around it—only to realize all too well that the warmth of the sun won’t touch our skin until the cold, rainy weeks of April have passed. And even then, only if our wishes for an early spring are granted before Mother’s Day.

These months force us to be in the moment. We don’t dare hope for the renewal spring in January any more than we’d wish for roasted turkey and sweet potatoes in July. Yet everywhere we turn, we’re encouraged to reinvent, renew, and re-re-re ourselves. We make jokes about kicking the last year to the curb, vowing, This is the year I… We barely pause to honor all we got ourselves through in the previous year before piling on hefty lists of how we need to be better in the year to come.

Okay, I’m in. I’ve talked myself into it! This ridiculous tradition sounds right up my Self-Deprecating While Pretending Nothing Bothers Me alley.

As I sit in my cluttered, messy house—with last night’s Christmas cookie-making ingredients crusted onto this morning’s kitchen counter—the remnants of a pre-holiday cold still fog my head. It’s just enough to make the day manageable but hard. A sweet dusting of December snow falls outside, and I’m still ruminating on a series of vivid anxiety dreams that a Sage friend helped me unravel. Here I am, vowing to tackle the following in the New Year and write about it along the way:

Honor My Past and Recognize My Power

With divorce comes pain and blame, even when it’s what you want and need. I’ve even struggled to write the word pain because it feels like admitting it takes away some of my power. But I vow to recognize the power in all I hold inside of me. I have no idea how, but we’ll be on that journey together.

Release Burdens and Resurface Some Truths

My home is filled with everyone’s past—the things, photos, and furniture of the dearly and not-so-dearly departed. I’ve been the keeper of lost, unwanted, and unhomed things for far too long. There’s a reason I’ve taken on this role, letting other people’s burdens become my heavy load—or my tripping hazard. Let’s figure out why.

Balance Responsibilities and Self-Care

I mean…do I even need to explain? We all do it, right? Work full-time, volunteer our time, clean, cook, pay bills, parent—plus anything else anyone asks us to do. I feel like I have no center of gravity, both literally and metaphorically—like a baby giraffe on a treadmill.

Nurture Lena’s Confidence

There’s so much I feel I need to do as Lena’s parent. Protect her, advocate for her, calm her. But as she gets older, there will be so much less of me by her side. She’ll need the confidence to do all of those things for herself. I hope you’ll join me on this journey as I try to single-parent the shit out of her.

Find My Voice Amid Distraction

There’s so much I don’t say because I’ve lived in other people’s stories. As a child, I was taught to deflect sympathies with, “Yes, but others have it so much worse. I can’t complain.” I know this mindset is flawed, but it’s still my default. I vow to write without the voices of others in my head—to discover and own my voice.

Moving Into 2025

I will move through the coming year with these mantras:

• I honor my past while creating space for my future.

• I am capable of balancing responsibility and self-care.

• I release what no longer serves me with gratitude and love.

• I guide myself and my daughter with wisdom and strength.

I hope you’ll join this middle-aged baby giraffe on a treadmill as I navigate all that 2025 brings my way.