begin the yin

December on the west coast is the very definition of grey. It's wet, and it's dark. As I write, I'm listening to rain on the roof. Again. We're on our third atmospheric river in less than two weeks. The ground is WET. Like, next-level, sponge-soaked-with-water wet. It's full-body Gore Tex raingear wet, and even still, I managed to come home from tonight's dog walk with wet socks.

We're still making our way towards the darkest day, but I've settled into acceptance that the most yin time of the year has arrived. You may have your own ways of defining yin. In my world, yin means to slow down, to welcome moments of quiet, and to accept the ever-darkening days as an opportunity to reflect on the year and receive nuggets of wisdom to take forward into the light.

I didn't always love December. I spent most of my 20's and 30's in a deep funk through the winter months, relying on a morning dose of fake sunshine from my Happy Light to keep me going. But in my 40's, I began to see the beauty in the dark days of winter. And I began to see that everything needs a time to rest. Societally, us humans are programmed to rest at prescribed times: after work, at night (unless you have postmenopausal insomnia, but that's a whole other post), on weekends, on vacation. But the darker days of the winter months call us to slow down in a tangible way. And they give us permission to rest in different ways than we might normally choose through the lighter days of the year.

Speaking of nuggets of wisdom, now is a really good time to let you know that this is my second start on this post. The first go 'round, I sounded like I had it all figured out. But my today self laughed at my last week self as I re-read my writing and saw that I was avoiding some uncomfortable truths. AH has been worrying over me for a while. The man is the master of concern. He covers you in it. Enough to smother you, sometimes. And so, when the concern talk starts happening, I can tend to ignore it, if I'm honest. I mean, I have stuff pretty figured out. Regular therapy, good health care team, a wonderful online seasonal living community, and writing. You know, all the good stuff.

But... alongside the good stuff, I've been busy. Too busy. All day, every day, busy. We run our business from home, without staff. It's like juggling while holding a baby: drop one ball, and it's all coming down on your head. I've had a community volunteer position the last two years that has called me to operate a long way outside my capacity and bandwidth. Through this year I've realized again and again that it's too much for me. Much too much. But I'm not a quitter. I keep my promises and I fulfill my obligations. And so I persevered through to the end of the year. And then, in September, we found out that our neighbourhood was in an area proposed for rezoning to an apartment zone. And so suddenly this fall, I found myself attending Council meetings, meeting with Councilors, posting publicly on Facebook and starting an advocacy group for our community to rally against the proposed changes. You got it: busy got busier.

And then, I got sick. Just a cold, but it has lingered and refused to leave. It's broken me a little bit, which was surprising. And it's forced me to exhale. I didn't even realize that I'd been holding my breath. But I was! I thought I was doing such a great job of taking care of myself, tending to my self care, and supporting my personal growth alongside all the busy. And I was. Except, I was doing it all while holding my breath. I don't know when I stopped breathing, exactly. But at some point this fall, I started moving through my days without a single break or stop in the action. And when I got sick, and exhaled, and truly felt all that I'd been carrying in my body, I realized that AH actually had been right all along (he's so happy right now, reading those words): I'm done. Cooked. And something has to change. More than one thing, in honest truth.

And so, the yin has arrived right on time for me. Sure, there's the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. But let's face it: the wet, darker days of December force us to slow down. Tonight, instead of leaping into action in the kitchen, I'm sitting by the fire in front of the Christmas tree, taking some time to write. Sitting by the fire really is one of the best feelings I know. It's the very definition of yin for me. As I write, I'm reflecting on what keeping my commitments has cost me this year, and I realize that I can't continue as I have been. I've resigned from my volunteer position. It feels so good. And also awkward. Who likes a quitter, after all? But I've decided I'm going to like myself better without the stress of my commitment, and that's really all that matters.

And so, as the yin really settles in on our way to the darkest day, I have a few questions for you to consider along with me as we prepare for our to return to the light. What are you giving to that's not serving you any longer? What's taking your time, energy and focus that doesn't deserve quite so much of your care and attention? What personal needs and wants are you setting aside in favour of fulfilling a commitment that's making you unhappy? Don't get me wrong: we need to volunteer and give back to our communities and speak up for what matters to us and have a focus outside our own lives. But we need to give in balance with our need for rest and peace and joy and happiness. We need time to be quiet, to find our center, and to just be still. We need our yin. What's your yin? And what's standing between you and the rest your spirit is calling for?

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(Join me in the comments. I'd love to hear from you!)