How’s your mental wellness? It’s November, I’ve noticed that moods are leaning a bit more toward grey and blue. We are tired, and we are tired of it. Pandemic fatigue is a real thing, and in spite of our hopes that things would be better, the pandemic has again worsened this month.
How do we cultivate and maintain mental wellness during such a challenging time? What’s the alternative to being constantly gripped by anxiety or falling into a state of despair?
I continue to find the answer to mental wellness in mindfulness and creativity practices — bringing mindful awareness to our circumstances and meet whatever is here with kindness. Engaging in creative effort that feels meaningful.
Rather than sinking into denial, anger, or despair, we can choose to acknowledge how things are with kindness. We can meet this deep grief with kind awareness and balance feeling the grief with cultivating peace and joy. And we can then ask ourselves, “Given the reality of how things are right now, what is my next wise step?” This approach can help us to be more resilient and maintain a state of mental wellness.
“Sit in stillness and quietness and listen for your next sane and joyful step. Allow yourself to be surprised.” –Amy Saltzman, MD
As the cold of November returned last week, I noticed that my mind had begun to dread the darkness of a pandemic winter. And then I recalled many winters ago following the diagnosis of a visual disorder when I came to dread the darkness of winter. At the time, I fought against the darkness by wanting it to be otherwise, and I sank into dread and restlessness
That same year, having grown weary of the heaviness that indulging feelings of dread brings, I decided to lean into the darkness and find ways to fully embrace it. I met it with kindness and acceptance. I honored the grief over the visual impairment by making art about it. And then I decided to do the things I had been longing to do more of but had put off due to a perceived lack of time. I listened to my favorite music, read more poetry, practiced painting, and made more photographs. I did things that comforted me and nourished my spirit. As a result of my efforts, I fell in love with winter that year and have met it with a welcoming heart every year since.
Recalling this last weekend, I decided to develop a practice of mindful wintering this year. I put on my most snuggly PJs, got out one of my softest blankets, and snuggled up on the sofa with Ari Rooh and a cup of my favorite tea. I listened to my new favorite Spotify playlist – Jazz in the Background (check it out. It’s really sweet). I read poetry– Wendell Berry, Audre Lorde, and Adrienne Rich.
I sat on the front porch for a little while, drank tea, and watched the birds at the feeder. I went for a walk with my camera and Ari Rooh and made photographs along Burnt Mill Creek. I spent some time in the garden gathering seeds. Each of these things brought peace or joy to balance the deep grief I feel about this whole world in need of so much healing. At the end of the weekend, I felt well rested and replenished.
As the darkness comes and we turn toward increased solitude in in an effort to keep ourselves and others well, how will you practice mindful wintering? In what ways can you more fully embrace the darkness, stillness, and increased solitude? How can you express, honor, and care for the feelings of deep grief?
What can you turn toward in these hours of darkness and solitude that soothes and nourishes you and brings comfort? How can you approach these coming months of darkness in a way that brings a deeper sense of meaning to your days?
I’m planning a few more online workshops for January (and maybe something brief in December) to help us all maintain mental wellness through the darkness of this winter. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, may we all dwell in the heart. May we be free from suffering. May we be at peace. May we be healed. May we be well and nourished by our mindful wintering practice. And may we all be grateful for breath, life, connection with loved ones, and all that we took for granted last winter.
Warmly,
Jen
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