I write to you today as the gloomy rain drenches everything in sight.
The finish line of fall is near,
Yet the crisp bite of winter hasn't arrived.
This season is unusually warm and wet,
And I'm feeling reminiscent of winter's past.
The emotional imprint of this time of year still alive in me.
The two-week countdown to Christmas stirs an odd cocktail,
Inherited gloom mixed with a childlike flicker of joy.
I feel pangs of sadness about the stress and expectation I grew up knowing Christmas to be,
Matched by tender gratitude for the crafting,
Singing,
Baking,
And generosity my younger self loved.
This year I've been drawn to write cards early,
Volunteer at a soup kitchen,
And hang extra lights around the house.
I'm also seeing my mentor more regularly,
Meeting my past and present with more love.
Decades of slowing down,
Understanding,
And compassion have permanently shifted what this season means.
And still,
Something is stirred.
We don't need the darkness of winter or family gatherings to look at where healing might occur,
But they certainly set the stage.
The holidays bring it all up,
Whether we feel equipped to be with our emotions or not.
What feels especially challenging is that while nature models slowness,
Quiet,
And introspection,
The world around us does not.
This time of year magnifies everything.
The feelings we've learned to hold and the ones we still outrun.
And if we want to heal it,
We need to feel it.
But that requires slowness.
It asks us to move against the grain of what's happening all around us.
The outer world is loud right now.
Flashy distractions,
Endless stimulation,
Long cozy nights of numbing out,
And triggers from every direction.
Growth doesn't happen by bypassing this or outrunning it.
We cannot grow unless we're willing to turn inward,
Meet our shadow,
And learn to befriend it.
As Carl Jung wrote,
Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart.
Who looks outside,
Dreams.
Who looks inside,
Awakes.
Joseph Campbell described this inward turning as the essential task of the hero.
Not conquering the world,
But crossing the threshold into oneself.
The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.
Looking within at what feels hurt,
Scared,
Or unfinished is what heals.
This may be the most wonderful time of the year,
Full of joy,
Generosity,
And connection.
And it is also a potent time to feel,
Discern,
And grow.
Our feelings are intelligent guides.
They signal when something is off,
In the stories we're telling ourselves,
Or in the energy around us.
But staying attuned to them is difficult when we're rushing to finish work,
Buy gifts,
Plan meals,
And navigate old memories rising all at once.
Where does rest come in?
And how can we hear the wise inner voice?
How do we feel and heal while still living our stressful lives?
When I work with my teacher,
I often want a breakthrough,
A clear answer,
A next step,
A perfectly articulated value.
She gently brings me back to the present moment again and again,
Reminding me that wisdom already lives here.
Listening to the wisdom our feelings point us toward right now is powerful.
Last month,
She asked a simple question.
What do you create in your sessions?
What occurs around you?
So many feelings for such a simple question.
The answer was slow to arrive,
But my feelings rushed in.
They often do with her directness.
My mentor,
Steady and attuned,
Intent on helping me see my own light.
Still,
Old myths of inadequacy flooded my intuitive senses.
I was used to being overtaken by feeling.
That day,
I had showed up to our online meeting sick,
Foggy,
Exhausted.
Yet something in me knew to keep the appointment.
She has walked with me through many quiet deaths of who I thought I was as a teacher,
As a protector,
As a daughter.
Recently,
I noticed a shift.
She was no longer speaking to my inner child,
But to the self I am becoming,
The one who trusts what's next.
I was getting better at remembering what was true.
I exhaled and let the answer come without editing.
I value a space for transformation where people feel held free and able to share.
She added,
And first they slow down and soften in your presence.
That softening creates space for awareness.
Slowness has always been my guide.
A decade ago,
I slowed movement way down in my classes,
Long before I understood the nervous system science behind it.
I just felt it.
I even shaped my entirely shifted ethos around a line from Daniel O'Dea's The Tantric Quest.
Slowness is a divine thing.
When we slow down,
We can begin to look inside and awaken.
We can feel and begin to heal.
Years earlier,
A friend handed me a sticker that read,
Feel it to heal it.
He put the stickers everywhere around town.
I loved the sentiment as a concept,
But it would be a long time and a lot of support from mentors until I let myself slow down enough to feel safe in my own feelings.
Slowness allows us to feel,
Remember,
Unearth,
Grieve,
And release.
Feeling alone doesn't heal,
But it softens the armor.
Feeling everything all the time is unsustainable.
It leads to burnout and compassion fatigue.
Avoiding feeling even numbs us to joy.
Wisdom lives in between.
Feeling with wisdom means slowing down enough to listen without collapsing.
Sensing what wants attention and what needs rest.
It means responding,
Not reacting.
This is a hero's path,
One that requires courage,
Discernment,
And care for the nervous system.
The holidays and the quiet cloak of winter show us what we need to feel.
The outer world is loud.
Winter invites us to turn inward.
In this season,
We can yet again learn when to soften and when to let the body speak.
Pause,
Soften,
Sense,
Respond.
This is the time of year we need it most.
Feeling with wisdom takes time.
Because our patterns run deep.
Because triggers are sharp right now.
Because we're moving against the current.
And our attention is pulled in many directions.
It takes time.
And yet,
Slow down anyway,
And take it.
