The Dead of Winter

photo by Patricia

You can let the wispy tendrils of winter pull you back in or count on the sun’s movement to lead you towards spring. Perhaps it is the surety of its path coming back so that the hanging sparkles on the porch begin to glow when it sets. Or perhaps the full spectrum lights used each morning are taking effect.

It feels as if the despair, lethargy, and unease while stuck in the dead of winter has passed. Though only mid-January there are signs of spring and there will be more.



photo by Patricia

The sun comes out brilliant all day… my heart swells in hopeful anticipation experiencing a moment of ease as the grind of winter releases her grip. We are on our way out of the cold cave of despair.

The spirit will fall just as the boot caves down into the snow with each step, but light guides the way, each step more springy possessing quickened energy, positivity and confidence. 

Moment to Moment

photos by Patricia

Calm one moment, the next feeling sped up and uncomfortable. Each moment the feelings catapult like a see saw. PTSD becomes more than just words the mind separated from the body spews out. Though accustomed to the split, there are moments when sadness erupts for having such challenges.

My broken brain won’t mend. It won’t. I am stuck with me, and my tendency to move ahead in haste and fear, a fear always there as if to strike like a shark out of water.

Drawn to movies where that same ebb of low drumming foreboding courses through it, that is the stuff pumped through my veins; waiting for the crack of lightening in the most quiet moments. Waiting, on edge, at the ready…

The Blizzard

photo by Patricia

Reproaching constantly when failing to meeting goals, expectations or plans fortifies the harsh force living inside that leaps to the forefront more quickly than the warm, soft one. The latter is newly cultivated and without nurturance wilts quickly needing continual moistening with tender attention.

You know winters are hard. Yet you expect to perform as if it is not. Reminders of its challenges and how difficult they are will soften expectations, heighten your ability to see successes over failures, and make the path more enjoyable.

It is work to repair so many years of engrained self-flogging that started at age eight and only flourished as decades passed. As a child touched in such criminal ways, and silenced to meet others needs of normalcy, it is common to take the crimes on as if they were your own.

Hating oneself solidifies. Self-love, what is that? That is the work, softness, warmness, and acceptance towards oneself. Is there a part of the brain that  never softens from the blizzard of self-reproach?

The windows yesterday were closed when temperatures began to drop from 60. Rain melted the snow filling the creek into a pond. Wind raged through the night. Upon waking it is 16 degrees and snow swirls to over a foot.

Kitten curls up on my lap as the word gratitude wraps around me like snow.   


photo by Patricia

Waking to the last tolling of the siren, the fire departments must be responding to calls about flooded basements. The unusual weather almost tipping 60 with constant rains have melted the snow. My breathing eases and hopes rise from the crumbly dark pit where winter has tamped me.

As if an ancestor to Poe, winter beats a drum of hollow desolation. Each day is faced with resignation but valiantly focusing on the up side to down. Every nuance of discord within the body is frightening. My connection is overly sensitive to its working or numbly cut off.

Longing for birds, sun, flowers and Spring, at least this lapse provides hope of getting there. Rain beats down and a window is opened to let in the sweet air and the delectable steady music of pattering drops. My spirit awakens by the break in frigid air and my body feels more pliable and willing to move.

Grateful for a taste of Spring it fortifies the courage needed to live each day fully. 

The Harvest

photo by Patricia

The journey within is often dark and scary. Issues of low self-esteem grew since the first wrong touch as a child of eight. Low self-worth became as solid and strong as bones that grew with them.

To move beneath those shadows can be frightening. Voices bellow a cadence of grim put-downs that put a being in a grave while still living. But with work fallacies dissolve and the real humanness inside can be explored. Treasures found have been there all along.

With realistic eyes see where you add to dysfunction or unhappy interactions. What is in your power to change, and what is not? What can you do to provide yourself with what you need so that there are no regrets? It is up to you and no one else.

The road is fraught with pits of self-recriminations because that is what I know. To furrow new rows where love  germinates takes attention and work. Newly spaded soft warm earth needs tending and care. Too often robotic me drives on and no softness sprouts up.

When feelings of cold self-rejection overtake trying to harvest a soft place to fall where before only ice existed is new territory that doesn’t come easily. Bringing softness to places where harshness tends to live is an ongoing journey into the depths of my being.