Wintering

Wintering, by Katherine May was released in 2020. By no means a new term, but this word has since reached many more people, and rightly so. The book continually flips between wintering from the actual season; the shorter days, longer nights and isolating weather to the less obvious winters we all face; the hardships, the illnesses and the dark days we often suffer alone. Both an exploration of mental health and a celebration of the natural world.

I knew about this book for some time, but it was only when I was forced into my own wintering that I finally picked up a copy, just in time.

You see, at the beginning of December I came down with a raging fever. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, I retreated to my bed, bundled up as I sweated and shivered and was under the impression that I’d ride it out during the night and potentially be out of sorts for a day or two. Little did I know that the next 5 weeks would see me deteriorate in health, drop to my lowest weight and witness my usual energetic, strong body become weak and unpredictable. {I feel here is where I ought to say that, I’m sensitively aware that what I experienced for what really is quite a short time, is sadly some peoples reality every day. Chronic illness and recovery can be a scary and lonely place for people. I’ve had but a glimpse into what it feels like to be in that space and my heart goes out to anyone that is living with a severe on on-going illness.}

With it being flu season, I didn’t take any tests or see any doctors, as I said I expected it to last 3 days tops. On reflection, I believe it might have been Covid or another virus that was doing the rounds, but whatever it was that entered by body, completely consumed every part of me. The fever came and went, I experienced; sickness and diarrhoea, sore throat, the most bone rattling cough I’ve ever had (which came with a side of pulled muscle around my right breast and rib- ouch!), more mucus than I knew possible, blocked sinuses that caused debilitating headaches and painful throbbing in my upper teeth. The illness journeyed to my womb and brought on a heavy bleed mid-cycle, I had only ovulated 2 days prior, and for someone who is very cycle aware and tuned into my body and its bleed, this was quite something. Looking back, it’s rather fascinating, my body knew that I could not carry a baby in such ill health, so it brought on a bleed to eliminate any chance of that happening, isn’t that just incredible? To complement all these symptoms, I had a generous dose of deep sadness, loneliness and fear.

I am very fortunate that I’ve always had good health, stretching beyond good health, I actually consider myself very healthy; I move and use my body daily, I eat organic plant-based wholefoods, I don’t use chemicals and I’m clued up on which supplements my body needs and when. As touched upon I’m also high energy and strong, priding myself on using a bike as a main mode of transport.

But there I was, approaching the festive season struggling to stand for more than a few moments at a time, crouched over, weak and not improving as I expected. Days passed and I had to surrender to the fact that I wasn’t going to do and be the mother that I always strive to be. There wasn’t any festive baking, there was no trip to the ice-skating rink, the damn Christmas decorations weren’t even up yet and there was an alarming number of Octonauts episodes! It was eye-opening to see the pressure I usually put on myself to do so much, because as I lay there coughing and drifting in and out of sleeps, I saw that my girls weren’t missing any of those things. We eventually put the decorations up, and as I was so exhausted and out of sorts the girls had a whale of a time as I let them take full lead, I stepped back and learnt that yes, there wasn’t cookies baking in the oven as there usually is (that’s why our tree is called cookie), the house hadn’t been cleaned or tidied before we got the decorations out but my girls were so present and didn’t notice any of that. I was forced into a place of doing the absolute bare minimum that was needed. I abandoned all missions of home-made gifts for people, charity shop hunting was cancelled and any gifts I had already prepared never made it to the post-office. My days blurred together and staying at home, within these four walls became normal (not the best recipe for mental health!) I believe in the gut-brain connection and I know even the smallest bouts of illnesses can leave you feeling off sorts as the gut and brain are so interconnected. I felt deep sadness and cried to Rich many evenings, it wasn’t necessarily about being ill, I was actually practicing gratitude daily for my body, taking moments to thank and respect it, as it continued to do what it needed to heal me. No, this sadness was not linked to that, it was just a purging of sadness that needed to get out. Visiting any social media site became unbearable as everyone gathered with family members, feasted and partied. I longed to get bundled up and go for a coastal walk with my family, or join a potluck meal with friends. For the first time, I befriended sadness. I welcomed her in and sat with her. There was nothing I could do to escape (quite literally; walking upstairs was too much effort!). There I was, sad and ok with it.

The fear crept in on those long days when Rich was working and I was home-alone with the girls. Everything I was experiencing was amplified when I was the solo parent. My eldest is a worrier, and I was trying to find the balance of being honest and letting her witness this journey I was on and also protecting her and acting stronger than I felt. I’d have moments where a cough would last 10 minutes, my heart rate would rapidly raise and then id lie exhausted, shallow breathing and needing to nap and I know it scared her. I had the difficult conversation with her of what to do if ever mamma ‘faints’, because some days I felt so weak I questioned if I were able to stand. But I learnt to honour rest, before this I was somebody who shunned the idea, on reflection I was always go-go-go and could’ve benefitted from rest before I was forced to. Maybe this is one of the many lessons I’m taking away from my experience (as well as my new friends; sadness and fear).

I was forced into a personal wintering at the same time that the whole country was being encouraged to winter. As I sat, day in and day out, inside my warm home, I witnessed through the window a monotonous cycle of drastic weather (there was 4 days of frost which was beautiful), but other than that it was a stream of never-ending rain paired with howling winds. I longed to see and feel the sun. I began to resent our climate and its dark gloomy days. I became adamant that when the opportunity allows, we are leaving for a warmer place, where I can be barefoot in December as the sun rays penetrate through my skin, nourishing my cells. But this is exactly what Katherine May highlights, we can’t escape the winters. They’re a right of passage, both literally and metaphorically. Sure, in theory we could move to south of Spain (or not, thanks Brexit!) but what about when life events ask us to winter? There comes a time where we have to just stop, step back and watch the storm. Whether that be an illness, a change in family dynamics or quite literally 3 months of drizzle in England. She encourages us to be an active participant in all types of winter, to soften and let it happen because eventually our spring will come, and once again it’ll be time to bloom.

This acknowledgment and respect I have of wintering has helped transition me into the new year with ease and grace. I saw the unfair pressure placed upon us to party at a time when our energy is its lowest, to set big goals at a time of reflection. Now is not the time to start exercising, dieting or reaching that goal. We are naturally wired to be slow and steady now, to light candles, read books, cuddle with loved ones. The sun is returning, the days will become long again and with the spring buds comes an undeniable wave of energy that we will all feel and that is the time to start something new and challenge yourself.

Where am I at now? I am ‘better’ but still unable to do a full in breath and still holding my body at a funny angle as I wait for my rib muscles to heal (week6 of illness). I am having gentle afternoons and early evenings. I have a deep appreciation for my body and my health and I value my friends and family more than ever. I feel I’ve experienced something profound, a stillness laced with fear, sadness and loneliness that dominated the festive season of 2022 for me. As I look back, I don’t regret the parties I didn’t attend, the to-do lists I left untouched. I however, have a gratitude for my improving health, my home, my 3 loves and for the gift of wintering, in all its meanings.

Wishing you all vibrant health in this coming year and I encourage anyone reading this to slow down, observe and wait with a childish excitement for the/your Spring.

Some of my favourite quotes from the book;

“We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.”
― Katherine May, Wintering

“If happiness is a skill, then sadness is, too. Perhaps through all those years at school, or perhaps through other terrors, we are taught to ignore sadness, to stuff it down into our satchels and pretend it isn’t there. As adults, we often have to learn to hear the clarity of its call. That is wintering. It is the active acceptance of sadness. It is the practice of allowing ourselves to feel it as a need. It is the courage to stare down the worst parts of our experience and to commit to healing them the best we can. Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife.”
― Katherine May, Wintering

“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximising scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”
― Katherine May, Wintering

‘’ As I walk, I remind myself the words of Alan Watts: ‘to hold your breath is to lose your breath.’ [he] makes a case that always convinces me, but which I always seem to forget: that life is, by nature, uncontrollable. That we should stop trying to finalise our comfort and security somehow, and instead find a radical acceptance of the endless, unpredictable change that is the very essence of this life.’’

— Katherine May, Wintering