A Year of Winter
Waking up to a season of Spring
I am waking up from a year of Winter. 2022 was cold and slow and drastically intense. When I started trauma healing last January, I had the assumption that I would do what my therapist suggested and every week would get a “little bit better” as I slowly blossomed into a happier, healthier version of myself. That was not exactly the case.
Regardless of my insights and triumphs, I began to sink down into myself… roaring with fierce winds and angry blasts as I turned my back on toxic relationships, depressing work hours, and social engagements. I barricaded myself into my tiny apartment, cracking open the door to a select few humans for cuddles and warmth.
It was stormy and frightening to examine my painful childhood, exposing my abuse and sores and broken pieces. The truth bounced off my battered parts with a blinding light that hurt my eyes and soul and memories.
But my roots grew deeper, searching for warmth and security while the world raged on. I bundled up and stomped through the snowy morning streets of my neighborhood. I fed the squirrels, crows, and deer and wrapped myself up in fuzzy blankies with my cat. I cried and painted and read and journaled until one day… an unfamiliar waft of warm breeze caught me off guard.
I was talking to my therapist about squirrels. Again. She asked me what those moments, of watching them nibble their breakfast, felt like in my body.
This is what watching my squirrel friends feels like:
Like everything is ok. I’m not thinking about anything else besides their black, glassy eyes and bushy tails and I wish I could hold them and squeeze their fat little bellies. My insides feel soft and full, almost beyond what I can contain. It’s warm and glowy and for at least one minute… nothing else matters.
“That’s ‘joy,’” she said.
I started looking for squirrel moments, for ‘joy’, throughout my day and discovered it all around me… in the pig-tailed toddler helping her momma at the sushi bar, in the floofy puppy I got to pet outside an apartment elevator, in my paints swirling together on a blank canvas, over steamy bowls of green chili with my friend, Jane.
I loved feeling joy so much that anything antithetical to it became unacceptable. I cut off every relationship that didn’t feel mutual or honoring or safe. I stopped drinking every night and instead hugged myself at the end of the day and reflected on all my daily squirrel moments. I did yoga after work, checking in with my body and all my little parts till I felt the hardened little buds of my heart start to soften.
It was a soft, slow transition, till the day I took myself out on a date. I had been working hard that week and decided I deserved a treat. I spent $15 on a photography magazine that I would usually never waste money on, and settled into a seat at my favorite restaurant, usually reserved for times of celebration. It felt a little odd being the only single person in a place full of couples, but I enjoyed my own company so much that I wondered why I had ever spent all of my dates with other men.
And a damn burst.
Suddenly, I needed to DO things. I was ready to break out of my little cave, sling the windows open, and get some fresh air. I signed up for a pottery class and it was amazing. I discovered I’m somewhat of a natural at working with clay. I bought tickets to see Nora McInerny, one of my favorite authors and podcasters, in April. I put down a deposit to go skydiving in June.
Sky. Diving.
It is only March in Colorado, which means we are heading into our snowy season, but it will be Spring all year for me as I burst forward. I’m now supported by these deep roots which have grown strong and mighty through the bitter cold. I know they will hold me up and support all my dreams, adventures, and mishaps. My Winter gave me the pause I desperately needed to hide, grow and grieve and I’m excited to see what blossoms in my Spring.
This is my response to the Promptly Written prompt about spring.
If you read and enjoyed this, a clap or comment goes a long way in brightening my day. It’s been meaningful to start sharing my trauma recovery journey and to read others’ work on this subject. If you write about trauma healing let me know who you are!
