Once again, I find myself in that nebulous space between Christmas and New Year’s… where I can’t remember what day of the week it is, or when I last drove my car, never mind where I may have put my keys. It’s been a few days since my bristly legs have seen anything other than pajama pants.

I’ve eaten my fourth plate of left over roast beef by now, and have gotten almost all of the discarded wrapping paper and empty packaging stuffed into the recycling bin, which is now overflowing. The rest will have to wait until after pick-up.

The littles are busying themselves with their favourite toys, games, puzzles, and crafts that Santa brought them. The bigger kids are glued to their smartphones and making plans with friends… nothing new there. The Christmas kitten is continuing to explore her new surroundings, getting to know us and the mayhem that sometimes overtakes our home.

The house is no longer looking like the warzone it was on Christmas Day, when the living room was strewn with chocolate wrappers, puzzle pieces, and toys, and the kitchen was abuzz with mixers mixing, salads tossing, hot beef gravy being spiced and sipped, and the melodic sound of laughter and cries for more wine ringing out. Now, with most of the kids’ new toys having been shelved alongside their old ones, and their new outfits and pajamas having been neatly tucked away into their dressers and closets, the house is quieter… emptier.

In about a week, maybe shortly after New Year’s, the tree will come down, my beautiful Santa collection will be stowed away until next year, and the rest of the decorations will be carefully repackaged and returned to the storage room in the basement. Christmas will be but a mere memory. And a good one at that.

By mid-January, we will have settled back into our normal, non-Christmas routine. The kids will go back to school, I’ll busy myself again with writing, and we’ll all get back to our usual activities. This is always the hardest time of the year for me. When the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season is behind us, and the coldest and darkest (in more ways than one) days of the year lie ahead. There’s really not much to look forward to until Easter.

This is usually about the time of year when I begin to feel the familiar pangs of loneliness and isolation. My body begins to feel dull, empty, and lifeless. In an attempt to overcome the darkness, I will begin upping my Vitamin D supplements, pushing myself to attend hot yoga sessions, and slathering my skin with self-tanning moisturizer. Anything to convince myself I’m not in the dark.

But this year feels different. I don’t want to force myself up out of the darkness. I don’t have the energy. I can’t muster the motivation to trick myself into feeling as if I’m in a different place… a warmer, sunnier, vibrant place. Not this time. This year I might just succumb to the dark. I might actually hibernate this time.

And somehow this feels right. It feels normal. Like I’m tuning into some profound, hidden wisdom locked away deep in my bones.

Centuries ago, we humans used to recognize winter solstice as a time of rest, much as the animals did. The bitter cold and relentless darkness of winter were viewed as a natural time to retreat within our homes and within ourselves. It was an opportunity to reflect on the events of the past year, to rest and recover, and to renew our bodies, minds, and spirits.

But somewhere along the way, we seem to have forgotten this, or at the very least, we decided that this darkness was a thing to avoid. Pagan rituals, celebrations, and winter games and activities dragged us out of the dark. And now, in modern times, socializing and consumerism have become the norm at all times of the year, with both becoming especially prevalent during the darkest time.

But this doesn’t feel right to me. My body is urging me to withdraw into myself. My mind is teeming with the thoughts and memories it has accumulated all year. This feels like a time to slow down. To process, and heal, and recover. A time to retreat into the comfort and protection of my own womb-like internal world. A time to plant myself deeply within my own being in preparation for my re-birth in the spring, when the warmth of the sun draws me out again and renews me.

I realize now that winter has often seemed unbearable to me… not because she is hard, bitter, and cold, but because I have ignored this natural tug to go inwards. So this year, as the darkness of winter surrounds me, I will succumb to it. Instead of struggling through the cold, barren emptiness, I will surrender to the kind invitation to retreat into her quiet and soft embrace.