A Pause Within a Pause

This blog post was originally published on January 29, 2021. As we move into spring but are still sitting in the pause of winter, it seems a relevant reminder from the past. Enjoy!

It’s been almost a year since I wrote a blog post, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. On the evening of Thursday, March 12, 2020, the schools in my state closed, chaos and fear reigned, and the world turned upside-down. I have worked for the last 10 1/2 months to process my feelings and to figure out what, if anything, I should do—the answer to the latter has been to err on the side of doing nothing, which goes against all of my internal impulses a good deal of the time. Sitting with the discomfort of fear, of helplessness, and of feeling out of control has been among the most challenging things I’ve endured, but it has given me back some unexpected gifts, especially this winter.

I have been reflecting since late spring on the forced “pause” the pandemic has given us. Though uncomfortable and unfamiliar to many of us, this slowing down, this stepping out of the race of productivity and go-go-go has removed certain stressors from some of our lives that we have long bemoaned but were unwilling to put down: working long hours away from home, juggling an over-full social calendar, not resting, not tending to our inner selves. What I noticed first in this pause is how still and how quiet I felt—it was like the moment after you stop stirring a cup of coffee with a spoon to dissolve the sugar and mix in the cream: the coffee keeps moving for a moment, but it’s just going with the flow—nothing is pushing it from the outside anymore—and then it just…STOPS. That’s exactly how I felt—like I just STOPPED. I stopped racing around to back-to-back appointments after working later than my regular workday. I stopped feeling guilty for not seeing people often enough, for not making enough plans on the weekends, for not doing enough things for other people. I was no longer able to spend time with people and to pour out and pour out and pour out without taking time for myself to rest and refill. I was “stuck” at home, sitting with myself in the quiet and the stillness…and I loved it.

As someone with adult-onset introversion, I was still behaving like an extrovert and feeling tired all the time. Over the last 10 1/2 months, I’ve learned what it means to be a self-caring introvert. I am still out-going—l love to talk to people and will eagerly speak to strangers in a public place if the opportunity presents itself—but I am better able to recognize when I feel empty, when it’s time to go home and be quiet and alone. This has been even more noticeable since the winter began. The shorter days, the longer nights, and the bitter cold have driven me physically in from the outside but also inside myself—this is typical of this time of year for many of us. This impulse to hibernate is one of the gifts of this season. This winter is special, though: the push from the outside to engage in society, to go to back-to-back holiday parties, to take special trips to see loved ones, to be present and productive isn’t quite as loud or quite as, well, pushy.

Every winter urges us to pause, urges us inward; this winter is a rare gift, however, because in that urging we don’t have the competing voice telling us to do the opposite. Many of my clients have noticed that they are feeling removed from others, that they are not feeling connected to friends and family, that they are feeling isolated within themselves—but that it doesn’t feel bad. This pandemic has been a time for us to get to know ourselves more deeply, and for some of us to meet ourselves for the first time. This winter draws us a little deeper inside, perhaps into the dark corners that we normally avoid. Don’t look away—these shadows are part of you. But that doesn’t mean you have to sit in the shadows and slide deeper into isolation that you won’t be able to return from come spring. When you feel that call to go deeper, listen, but take the light of yourself with you. Look with compassion at those shadows and tell them that you see them, that you accept them as part of you—send love into those dark corners. The shadows will never go away—they will always be deep within us—but giving them a little light and love during this winter pause within a pandemic pause will make them a little less dark when you emerge in the spring to bloom and reconnect with the world.

This winter is a rare gift. Don’t miss out on this unique chance to be fully present with yourself, to connect with yourself, and to love yourself more deeply than ever before—it is the perfect catalyst for deep healing.