I feel a little like a broken record this year, so please forgive me if I have been somewhat repetitive. I have the lingering sense that many of my newsletters have been variations on the themes of having a difficult year health wise, being late, dropping balls, ageing and failing. I hope that this hasn’t been too draining to read – in all honestly, seeing this list here, I feel a little exhausted on your behalf!
To give a bit of context, I have made some fairly big changes to my life this year. I have been shutting down my therapy practice (Talking Heads) to make space for The Loss Collective (which I am pretty much re-designing and is taking a lot more time and headspace than I anticipated); I have changed my working hours to be more present at home due to changing needs, particularly during the holidays; I have focussed more on my physical health; and I have realised that I cannot do all the things I used to.
For now at least.
I have come to view life in seasons. Or chapters. Essentially, accepting that nothing is static and that everything is changing. Always. Even when we don’t want it to. And for this reason, I cannot function at the same level all the time either. I am not a project of self-improvement, learning ways in which to function more effectively and successfully. Rather I am a project of self-acceptance, finding peace with the version of myself or my life that I am living each day.
I think the book Wintering by Katherine May left such a profound imprint on me through this process. Her stunning, poetic exploration of our changing needs in the long dark nights of winter gives us anthropological permission to go inward through this bleak season. To pause and attend to our biological need for the human version of hibernation. Outside of winter, the lesson I took from this book was a simple one about recognising your needs and adjusting to meet these accordingly. Pausing to listen to that noise within and simply asking ‘what are you telling me?’
These changes don’t need to be radical (and I appreciate often cannot be due to the demands of life). They also don’t need to be permanent, which has at times been a revelation to me. But there is always something that we can let go of – or let ourselves off from. And no matter how small, these changes can and do make a difference.
I am edging towards my 43rd birthday in a few weeks. Young in many ways and older in others. I have seen many people recently talking about feeling so much wiser in their 40s; caring less about what other people think and making decisions that suit them rather than what they think they should be doing. Sometimes, the way they describe this, it is as though they have reached a destination. The end of the line. The final stop, which appears to be an elusive place of wisdom where they make decisions that they genuinely believe that they will not regret in years to come.
Yet it’s a narrative I don’t feel I can relate to. I definitely feel wiser than I did in my twenties. I certainly hope I make better decisions. I do believe that I am getting to know myself better through life experiences, therapy and other tools of self-reflection. But I also know that I am changing, in quite an intense way right now. I realise that I have so much more to experience and learn. I am wiser and I am also incredibly naïve to what is to come.
I am both, and.
Michelle x
A note to my wonderful paying subscribers – I am so grateful for your ongoing support, particularly this year. Given that I haven’t been as consistent in my writing these last few weeks, I have decided to pause payments throughout October as a thank you for your patience and understanding as I find my groove again. If you pay annually, this means that an additional month will be added to your subscription.
Thank you all x
As someone who is also navigating the murky waters of baby loss, reproductive trauma, mid-life and the grief of realising I am probably-almost-definitely "one and done not by choice", your writing has resonated hugely with me this year. It's even encouraged me to make an appointment with my GP to discuss possible solutions to the burn out and/or perimenopausal symptoms I'm struggling with. So, thank you so much for sharing so much of yourself, so generously and, please, never apologise for that ❤️