Perfectionist Rehab

Winter is finally over.

I live in a small New England town. Winters tend to be long, cold, dark, and downright depressing. I am especially affected by seasonal depression, as are most people with tumultuous backgrounds. When the weather is fair, you have an escape from your reality. You can go outside, frolic in the yard, and avoid abusive environments.

There’s nowhere to hide in the winter.

Deciduous trees are bare, so there are less places for wildlife to hide. Grass is laden with snowdrifts and ice. Lakes and rivers are frozen. There is an inescapable nature to cold. It seeps into your bones, sometimes for hours after initial exposure. Abuse victims are trapped inside for weeks at a time. No breaks. No reprieve. No relief. I left my abusers fourteen years ago and my body still remembers what it was like to be trapped with them. I’m certain most of my issues stem from this feeling. My impatience for the sun’s return so that I could get the fuck out of the house.

Spring is finally here.

The color of the sunlight has already shifted from pale yellow to warm gold. The maple trees have their new red buds. I found a spider in my house for the first time in months. Birds are returning home. My husky has begun to shed her undercoat. I compulsively cleaned every surface and decluttered every room in my house.

“Michelle, we don’t have to get everything done today.”

My poor husband was trying to convince me to pace myself. However, as I’ve mentioned before…I’m incorrigible. Once I have the itch to straighten our house, I will not stop until everything is orderly again.

The spring-cleaning purge is complete. I have a sizeable donation pile packed into the garage for our next trip to Salvation Army. My pup has a grooming appointment next weekend. My little boys are sound asleep, and the house is quiet.

I find myself ruminating over the turning of the wheel of the year.

Winter is representative of rest, healing, rejuvenation, and connection. It’s not time for heavy projects or a flurry of activity (pun intended). While humans do not hibernate, we become quieter. We connect with our families, friends, and housemates over warm meals and hot beverages. We tell stories, consume too much television, and read.

Winter is an excellent time for dreaming.

We identify what we want to do next and discuss our options with our trusted advisors. In yoga terms, winter is savasana, or Corpse Pose. While savasana is the essential final step to a yoga flow, it is often one of the most challenging to master. This is because Corpse Pose is performed lying on your back, intentionally calming your nervous system, reducing stress hormones, and integrating the physical benefits of the practice. It involves conscious, still relaxation for five to ten minutes, promoting deep and mental restoration.

Savasana is challenging because, quite simply, it is the art of doing nothing. We live in a time that constantly demands our attention.

Our movement. Our engagement. Our emotions. Our money. Our time.

The last pose in a yoga sequence is not actually a move at all. It’s radical intentional presence. The permission to do nothing.

Spring is representative of fertility, abundance, new beginnings, joy, gratitude, and faith. Spring is a rejuvenator, breathing life into those of us in the Northern Hemisphere still cloaked in snow. Spring promises change, blessings, and good news. Spring proves the passage of time, when winter’s bleak nature would have us convinced that things will remain terrible forever.

Spring is an excellent time for preparation.

We clean house. We set goals. We store away our winter-themed decorations and replace them with faux carrots, rabbits, and eggs. We switch out our pine-scented candles for lavender and lemon. A common misconception is that spring is the time for action, but I genuinely disagree. If we use yogic analogy once more, spring is the equivalent of coming out of savasana.

You bring your awareness back into your body. Invite gentle movement into your fingers and your toes. Give yourself a delicious stretch. You place your palms together and bow to your heart. You thank yourself for the work you’ve done throughout the session. You thank yourself for showing up. You thank yourself for resting.

This is spring.

At the vernal equinox, the day and night are about the same duration, though daylight is slightly longer. Sunlight becomes stronger, and the earth begins to awaken. This is the same for me as stretching after an afternoon nap.

I can be in such a rush to be productive, that sometimes I forget that I must get my blood flowing before I sit up.

Here’s to beginnings, fresh starts, renewed perspectives, gratitude, lemon-scented everything, and chamomile tea.

May my confusion, hurt, and stress melt away with the snow.