I hope this finds you in some stage of recovery after the holiday season - so much easier said than done, right?! It's so tempting to jump right back into the grind.
Grief and winter have very similar qualities. Neither asks much of us in terms of effort. Instead, they invite a slowing of pace and a turning toward subtler energies: rest, contemplation, and a way of being that values being over doing.
Part of this winter “beingness” can feel like nothing much is happening. And yet, so much is happening within us as we grieve with intention. Anyone who has lost someone or something significant through a major life transition knows this truth in their bones: we are not the same person we once were. The line between “before” and “after” is unmistakable, but living in the in-between? That’s where things get messy, tender, and honestly… really, really hard.
This cocoon phase that is so beautifully captured in the image and quote below that often circulates this time of year deserves honoring. Winter is the season of restoration, stillness, and regeneration (the three themes we explore together in the community membership). Transformation is underway within the quiet moments of being.
I’ll be honest: this has been the hardest lesson of my life. My earliest experiences of loss were not honored as thresholds or sacred transitions - that language was completely foreign to me. I moved forward quickly, brushing past the mushy middle, unaware that something profound was shifting inside me. I hustled for perfection and external validation in my pursuit of “okayness”. I really was changing, but I lacked the language, the support, and the tools to understand what was unfolding.
Instead of slowing down, I did what many of us are taught to do. I pushed harder (have I ever told you about how, after losing my brother Rollo to suicide, I not only went back to complete my semester of student teaching after helping the family get back on its feet but then immediately began my master’s degree the day after I graduated with my bachelor's degree?). I consistently raised the bar for myself. I kept moving, never truly allowing myself to feel.
It has taken me decades to understand the impact of unprocessed grief, loss, and trauma. I’m still learning. For a long time, I was frozen in fear, anxiety, and distrust of myself, and of life itself. The work of my life now is devoted to thawing, to trusting, and to serving in the most honest way I know how.
What I know now is this: it is in stillness that our roots stabilize, our well of wisdom deepens, and clarity of mind, heart, and soul eventually emerges to guide us toward who we are becoming next.
If any of this resonates, please know that you are not alone. Most of us just were never shown a different way of being with grief. By family (our family can be really uncomfortable when we change), by culture (what would happen if we all took better care of ourselves and stopped being so damn productive?!), or most often by both, we were encouraged to keep moving, stay on the treadmill, and push through.
So as we approach the deepest part of winter, if you find yourself needing a permission slip to pause, to rest, and to simply be … consider this your official one:
I’m just beginning this community and currently have space for five more free founding memberships! We’ll begin gathering the week of January 19. If this feels like something you (or someone you love) might need, simply reply to this email. I’ll send a link to join absolutely risk-free. We don't have to cross life's thresholds alone.