Wintering

I have just finished reading a book called Wintering by Katherine May, sent to me in the post by my sister (in her infinite wisdom). Wintering’s tagline reads, “The power of rest and retreat in difficult times.” This book likens our natural season of Winter with those times in life when we don’t feel like we’re winning. Times when we’re overwhelmed, over-tired, disappointed or perhaps hit with sudden loss or illness. In those times we find our resources depleted and are led into wintering, a time to withdraw, reflect and to gently recuperate ready for the slow but eventual Spring. I found this book soothing, offering the persuading reminder that Winter has its place and that sadness can teach us lessons too.

Right now, I am living in Alberta, in the prairie interior of Canada. This is my first proper Canadian Winter. Although I’m told that this Winter has been relatively mild (the Lord is gracious and compassionate), this is still the first time I’ve experienced temperatures below -5°C. I’ve learnt about hoar frost, ice crystals and frozen nose-hairs. More often than I expected, the weather forecast threatened another arctic exhale heading our way. At large though, I enjoyed this Winter. I felt full of wonder, enjoying the quiet streets, the satisfying windchill once you’re wearing a billion layers, and the blanket of white snow which makes even our urban alleyway look quaint.

Now, I find myself in my own season of wintering, brought on by too many months of stress, uncertainty, loss and changed plans. It created a deficit in me. Last Winter I braced myself to leave my job and city alongside my (then) fiancé, return home to England one last time as a daughter and not yet a wife, settle in Mum & Dad’s familiar house whilst packing and ramping up for our wedding day. March 2020 had a mind of its own though. There was one week when Nate and I found out that the Church and venue for our wedding had been cancelled, as had our flights to England. We stayed in Canada and retreated to Nate’s parents’ house to build new plans from square one. During those months (between March and August) I got used to coping, reacting, detaching from my emotions and feeling a persistent hum of worry. Occasionally I cried, but mostly I held it together.

My wintering season crept up on me. I optimistically expected to feel better after the stresses of 2020 subsided. Once Nate and I married, moved, and had a job arranged for Nate, then life would feel normal again, right? This was the finish line I paced myself for. What actually happened, though, was that I found myself feeling worse once we settled after getting married. Without distractions or that hum of worry, I had time to think, exhale, and ultimately, to unravel. Wintering had begun. Usually a morning person, I slept for hours longer each day. Usually a social person, I didn’t notice the solitude that filled my days whilst Nate was at work. Usually passionate, my sense of will and interest dulled.

I started receiving counselling in October last year. It worried me that I couldn’t pep-talk myself out of my slump, like I usually can. My counsellor helped me see that I was depressed (rearing its head as anxiety sometimes). She encouraged me that grief counselling would help abate my symptoms of depression. I was relieved to have somebody nod softly in agreement that last year really was hard, and to hear that my reactions were quite normal. I began to deliberately face the blur of last year by sitting, writing, drawing, praying and crying daily. Mostly crying. It was a chore, though a worthwhile one. I tried to keep fit and do things that felt joyous. Oddly, the only candidate in that category was baking, which I have continued to do throughout the weeks. My walk out of depression felt slow, but fortunately for me, my counsellor was right - dealing with the grief and emotions of last year helped wane my symptoms of depression. Now, darker days for me are far less frequent, and are certainly less jarring.

This time of wintering is a difficult gift. It remains really difficult to feel content with how I spend my time. Since I’m not working right now, and living in a city without deep roots, life can feel empty. My former markers of success are all reaping pitiful results: I’m not achieving, not earning, not producing, not multitasking. Without the pressure (or pleasure?) of high expectations, I have felt like a bit of a failure. But I am learning that my measuring stick needs to change. For each former strength that now lies dormant, wintering has taught me new habits. I am better at moving slower now. I walk slower, eat slower and sleep more. I spend more time calling friends and family. Each day I stretch, exercise and go for walks. I spend more time with God - praying, journalling or reading. I bake for the love of baking and write for the love of writing. Most importantly, I am completely savouring and enjoying these early months of being married to Nate. I have all the time in the world for him and for building us, and it has bound us together more closely.

If you find yourself wintering, you are in the company of many others (really, my counsellor told me so). I am weathered, but undoubtedly grateful for this time, and grateful for last year too - with its wins and losses. I am grateful to have learnt more about myself, and to have clung closely to a few really helpful people. There is value in this season, and there is time for you to go through it at your own pace.