Not the start I expected...

Or hoped for.

Hello (again, if you’re returning!) 👋🏾 I’m Ingrid and I publish Permission. I share words about my world as a grieving woman, in middle age, as a mother of boys, as an Australian living in The Netherlands, and all the nuance (and mess) that goes along with these. To know more you are welcome to check out my About page, and to read more you are welcome to check out Permission.

Happy New Year! I hope you’re coming into this new year with the energy and intentions that will bring you the year you’re hoping for.

I’m coming in slowly, a little tentatively, looking around each corner before stepping forward. Taking my time. Previously I’ve come into the new year with an abundance of energy and intention. Goals beaming excitedly from my eyeballs, planners and spreadsheets for the year ahead floating happily around me. Motivated up the wazoo. As I was staggering to the end of last year, tiring from the day job and the after-effects of a big year, I gave myself the solace that I would have a proper break over Christmas and betwixmas (that magical time between Christmas and the return to work when no one knows what day it is), and be ready for the new year with all the usual verve and pep of previous years.

This was such a great theory. I was really bought into it.

What I thought January would be like: scenic walks in the winter sunshine. Photo by Ingrid Fernandez

In reality I completely overloaded myself. We had family visit us for Christmas, which was lovely and comforting. Then a close friend visited from overseas for a quick and delightful fly-in-fly-out stay. And then we went to London for a five-day family mini break, before returning just in time for the boys to start school. Writing it out this way, it sounds like a series of fun and exciting holiday events. It doesn’t sound like too much. And it likely wasn’t too much, if I was at my full energetic capacity. But I wasn’t.

Something I’m learning about myself is that my introversion, as it shows up in my life, is making stronger demands to be heard. Whilst I have identified as an introvert for as long as I can remember, I haven’t listened to my needs as an introvert until very recently. I was an internal bigot against my own introversion. That sounds dramatic, but I had very little patience, tolerance or compassion for myself. I thought I needed to toughen up, get over it, get on with it – all those distinctly unhelpful directives for a deeply feeling person. I think this stems partly from a personal lack of understanding as to what introversion really was, and partly from what I perceived as an external invalidation of the traits and needs of introverts in general from a vaguely extroverted world.

These days, I’m much more plugged in to what I need in order to be able to function in my life. That cliché of not being able to pour from an empty cup is truer than I realised, and I’m now learning how to fill my introverted cup without shame or apology:

• Lots of alone time. And I mean a lot, as much as is available, with no such thing as too much (or if there is such a thing, I haven’t found it yet).

• Socialising in small groups, because big groups are overwhelming and overstimulating.

• Stepping away from being the decision-maker whenever possible outside of work, because being decisive and making impactful, informed decisions is a big part of my day job.

• Giving myself the gift of time before responding to a request, conflict or uncomfortable conversation. I’m rarely in life-or-death situations, so taking the time I need is a luxury I can afford.

• Committing to my toolbox of healthy habits (meditation, yoga, long walks, writing, exercise) which may not all appear every day, but I’ve recognised I need at least some of them every day.

Writing all these out provide great clarity as to why I started this new year completely unwell. My cup was beyond empty, I hadn’t been doing any of the things that helped me, and I was completely ‘peopled-out’. There had been no break for rest, as it had been full of people and travelling. There had been no time for my toolkit in amongst the festivities and the parenting. It had been a December of go-go-go after a year of go-go-go, and I was done done done. And so I woke up on 7 January with the worst flu I have ever experienced, which put me in bed for six days before morphing into severe bronchitis, which had me on intense steroids and kept me in bed for another four days. I honestly can’t remember ever being this unwell in my life, even during Covid times.

What January was actually like: bedridden. Photo by jurien huggins on Unsplash

I’m incredibly lucky to be cared for by my loving husband and children, and supported by the world-class Dutch healthcare system. And even so, it’s been a struggle. I don’t do well with being sick as it feels burdensome to those around me. As someone with an auto-immune condition, I spend a lot of my time trying to do ‘enough’ to justify the rest I need. It shouldn’t be this way – neither the burdensome feelings nor the justification for rest – but I’m still working through those. Baby steps, and all that.

A different way

If your new year is not looking anything like what you anticipated or planned or hoped, I hear you. Me too. And the noise of the new year, with the goals and the plans and the intentions, can feel overwhelming and vaguely attacking. And if you’re introverted, it can feel like you’ve fallen behind before you’ve even gotten started because you haven’t had a chance to do all the internal work we do on a near-daily basis just to feel able to face the world.

But perhaps we can switch the focus? Instead of focusing on what we haven’t done, how about we ask ourselves what can I give myself this January? Instead of asking what should we be doing, how about what will help me feel more myself right now? Perhaps instead of thinking about all the ways that January is looking wrong or hard or difficult, we look at the whole year we have ahead, and give ourselves a little grace?

Here are some things I can do and gift myself, which I’m finding are getting me back to my equilibrium, or at least closer to a fuller cup:

• Rest. Without reason or justification or excuse. Without guilt or shame. Rest.

• Having a joyful play with the “Goodbye 2024 Hello 2025” journal by Selena Barker. I’m very late to the Goodbye/Hello party that Selena has been successfully running since 2018. Her beautiful journals help us to envision and create a life we love. Yes please!

• Participating in Lindsay Johnstone’s Memoir in a Month program. I’ve been holding in my heart a desire to write of a very particular time in my life. I don’t know if I have the tools yet to write it with the nuance needed, but Lindsay holds a warm and supportive space for me to be able to explore this.

• Dipping into a daily practice of Yoga With Adriene. I keep it light and simple – I go onto Adriene’s free YT channel, I find the first video that resonates, and I hit play. I show up in the kids’ Lego-strewn playroom, dressed in non-yoga clothes, often without a yoga mat and with a ratty towel instead, but I show up. And feel infinitely better afterwards.

• Revisiting my comfort reads. I’ve touched briefly on my absolute dedication to and love of romance stories here, and there are some that I’ve been reading since I was a teenager. There is nothing in this world quite so nurturing as re-reading a well-loved book. The memorised words are a welcome home, the familiar scenes are a blanket and tea, and the known ending is a series of easy steps along a trodden path. For this season, it’s Nora Roberts’ Born in Fire. <Chef’s kiss>

I want to start the year as I mean to go on – no, not ill and bed-ridden, God willing. But calm, open-hearted, and compassionate. I want to treat myself with the care and concern I would treat my child or my best friend. I want to hold the year lightly, knowing that I can make all the plans and goals I like, but ultimately, the year is going to unfold however it’s going to unfold, and I’m along for the ride.